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rainstormies · 2 days ago

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Second Door on the Right | Eddie Munson

pairing: eddie x r!little sister's friend

word count: 3,1k

summary: best friends with his little sister, you’re stuck hiding a secret crush on Eddie - the ‘black sheep’ older brother who never sees you as more than family

best friend's brother | summer romance

1 | 2

The sound of pencil scratching was the only noise in Julie Munson’s room — besides the quiet hum of her Lisa Frank radio tuned to a Top 40 station and the occasional sigh from your side of the bed. You were both knee-deep in algebra, legs tangled in fuzzy blankets, notebooks spread out like an academic crime scene.

“I swear,” Julie groaned, flopping back dramatically, “if I ever use the quadratic formula in real life, I’ll personally mail Mr. Lawson a handwritten apology.”

You smiled, erasing a wrong answer. “He’d probably thank you for it.”

Julie laughed, tossing a gummy bear at you. You caught it in your mouth.

It was easy, being her best friend.

Julie was the kind of girl who knew every word to every Avril Lavigne song, had glitter nail polish on rotation, and wore way too much strawberry-scented body spray. You were different — a little quieter, maybe not as sure of yourself, not as pink-and-sparkly. But with Julie, it never felt like too much or not enough. Just… different.

That’s probably why you spent more time here than anywhere else.

The Munsons’ house was warm in the way older homes were — all creaky floors and mismatched furniture. There was something comforting about the chipped paint on the banister and the smell of laundry detergent mixed with whatever candle her mom had burning downstairs.

The only part that didn’t feel warm was Eddie.

Julie’s older brother. The infamous weirdo.

He was two years ahead of you — a senior now — all chains and boots and hair too long for your parents’ taste.

Julie called him “a total freak.” You weren’t supposed to listen to his band’s tape. “Too loud, too weird.”

But sometimes, when Julie was in the bathroom and you were waiting, you’d press play on the worn tape deck near her desk. Just for a second. Just to hear the sounds he made.

You’d never say it out loud — but you thought it sounded like something real.

Tonight, the house was unusually quiet. Their parents were out. Julie’s mom had made lasagna and left it in the oven with a note: “Don’t burn the house down. Be nice to your brother.”

You didn’t ask.

Julie leaned toward the window. “Is that his van?”

Sure enough, the rumble of a familiar engine pulled into the driveway. The headlights swept across the front lawn, briefly illuminating the floral curtains before going dark.

Julie groaned. “Ugh, he better not stink up the hallway with that gross cologne again.”

You hid a smile, scribbling the last answer on your worksheet.

Heavy boots on the stairs.

A door creaked open — then slammed.

His, definitely.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Swear he was adopted.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look that different.”

Julie gagged in response. “Gross.”

There was a pause. Then—

“I’m gonna grab something to drink. Want anything?”

“Water?”

“Coming up.”

Julie padded out, leaving the door ajar.

You sat back against her pillows, stretching. The hallway light spilled into the room in a soft line across the carpet. You could hear her footsteps downstairs, faint.

And then… another door opened.

You glanced up.

Eddie.

Fresh from whatever band thing he’d been at — hair messy, boots unlaced, rings glinting in the low light. He was halfway down the hall, a towel thrown over his shoulder, rubbing at a spot on his jaw that looked freshly bruised.

He didn’t see you at first.

And when he did — when his eyes landed on you, half-tangled in blankets and bathed in glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his sister’s ceiling — he paused.

For once, no smirk.

Just a blink.

“Didn’t know you were over,” he said, voice low and rough from yelling over amps or maybe from late nights and cheap cigarettes.

You tried to sound normal. Cool. Unbothered. “Homework night.”

He nodded slowly. Leaned against the doorframe.

“You like math?”

“Not really.” You shrugged. “Julie hates it more.”

That got a grin. “No surprise there.”

There was a beat of silence.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting — the fading bruise, the string of bracelets on his wrist, the band tee you didn’t recognize.

“New shirt?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

His eyebrow ticked up. “Noticed that, huh?”

Your cheeks burned.

God.

“Looks… cool,” you added, trying not to sound like you cared.

“Thanks, Princess.”

The nickname had no bite to it tonight. Just something soft. Familiar. Almost affectionate.

Julie came thudding back up the stairs, breaking the moment. She glanced at Eddie and scowled. “Don’t you have a dungeon to crawl back into?”

Eddie gave you one last look.

“I’m going,” he said, backing into the bathroom. “Don’t spill glitter in the hallway again, I swear to god.”

Julie huffed and shoved the door closed.

Your heart was racing and you didn’t know why.

No — you did.

You just didn’t want to admit it yet.

You don't fall asleep right away.

Julie was out the second her head hit the pillow — muttering something about how algebra had personally wronged her. Her breathing evened out quickly, soft and rhythmic, and you lay there next to her, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars she never bothered to peel off the ceiling.

They looked more real with the lights off.

The hum of the house was different now. Calmer. The occasional creak of the floorboards, the low whir of the box fan in the corner. Outside, crickets sang like they didn’t know tomorrow was the last day of school.

You thought about Eddie.

You didn’t mean to.

It wasn’t the first time you’d stayed over. Wasn’t the first time you heard him come home, the way the whole house seemed to shift under his boots, like he moved in a different rhythm than the rest of the world. But tonight was different.

He hadn’t called you Princess in weeks.

And somehow, it made your chest feel weird.

You turned toward Julie, asleep in her pink unicorn pajamas, mouth slightly open.

“Hey,” you whispered. “You awake?”

No answer.

You reached for the tape player beside her bed and hit play. Madonna, soft and muffled. You turned it down to almost nothing.

Somewhere in the hallway, a door creaked.

Then shut.

Maybe he was still awake.

You turned over again and stared at the ceiling until the sun started rising.

It was hot by the time you left school.

Sweaty backpacks, melting lip gloss, pencils snapped in celebration. You and Julie walked home in a tangle of limbs and laughter, shoes kicking dust up off the sidewalk.

“Three whole months,” she said dramatically, flinging her arms out like she might fly. “Three months of no Mr. Lawson, no homework, no waking up at 7am — this is better than Christmas.”

You smiled, tugging your ponytail tighter. “You say that now. By August you’ll be bored out of your mind.”

She shot you a glare. “Blasphemy. I have plans.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh, yeah. Pool days, mall trips, making out with Nick if he ever calls me back…”

You laughed.

“And,” she added, “you, me, and Hawk Theater. Every weekend. Deal?”

“Deal.”

By the time you reached the Munson house, the sun had turned the metal railing by the steps too hot to touch. You followed her inside, backpacks thunking onto the floor. The place was quiet — her mom’s car gone, probably at the store.

Eddie’s boots were by the door.

Julie noticed too. “Ugh. He better not be hogging the living room again.”

You opened the fridge, grabbed two root beers, and bumped it shut with your hip.

Julie flopped onto the couch, feet kicked up over the armrest. “We should go see that movie I told you about — the one with the aliens?”

You raised a brow. “The one that’s definitely rated R?”

She grinned. “My cousin’s older than he looks. He can get us tickets.”

You handed her a drink. “So, illegal?”

“Totally worth it.”

From the hallway, the sound of footsteps. You looked up just in time to see Eddie — shirtless, towel around his neck, water bottle in hand. Hair messy like he’d just showered.

You froze. He glanced your way and smirked.

“Ladies,” he drawled.

Julie groaned. “Do you own shirts anymore?”

“Not in summer, I don’t.”

He didn’t linger. Just grabbed something from the counter and disappeared back toward the stairs.

Julie cracked open her soda. “You’d think he was auditioning for a Whitesnake video.”

You didn’t say anything. Just took a sip and stared at the blank TV screen, hoping your face wasn’t red.

That night, you stayed over again.

Julie had begged. “We have to start summer right.”

So you packed a bag. Again. And she let you steal one of her extra toothbrushes. Again. You both ate popsicles on the porch in the fading light and made a list of everything you were going to do that summer:

Pool days (minimum 12)

Mall runs (must include frozen yogurt)

Sleepovers (non-negotiable)

Secret movie nights

Maybe find cute boys

That last one was Julie’s idea. She wrote it in big capital letters. You didn’t argue. You just bit your lip and thought about how she'd react if you had put Eddie's name next to it.

By the time the moon was high, the list was taped to her mirror, and you were curled up under the same blanket, your feet pressed together like you were twelve again.

You heard him come upstairs.

Felt the quiet of his steps this time.

Not stomping. Not clunky. Just… slow.

You closed your eyes and pretended not to listen.

And when you dreamed, it wasn’t about the pool or the mall.

It was the hallway.

The soft knock on your door that never came.

The sound of your name whispered like a secret, just once.

The door opening.

And his eyes.

Always his eyes.

The pool was packed.

Lawn chairs cluttered like forgotten furniture, kids cannonballing into the deep end, boom boxes wheezing out Van Halen and Madonna in equal measure.

You were still toweling off your legs when Julie returned with two giant Slurpees and a fresh wave of indignation.

“I swear to God,” she huffed, flopping down beside you on the cracked white chair, “Nick’s gonna give me a brain bleed.”

You took your drink without protest.

“What happened now?” you asked, already smiling.

She sucked her straw dramatically. “Okay, so first he’s all ‘we should hang out later’ — like, okay, duh, it’s summer. But then he’s like, ‘not sure what time though, my cousin might come over’ and I’m like… is this a date or a group project?”

You laughed. “Maybe he’s just awkward.”

“Awkward I can handle,” Julie said, adjusting her sunglasses. “But this is mixed signals. This is Morse code from hell.”

You hummed in agreement, barely listening now — because across the pool, just past the diving board, Eddie was laughing. Shirtless, wet curls tied back, black swim trunks clinging low on his hips. His tattoos looked darker in the sun, like they’d soaked up all the heat and made it part of him.

His friends were with him — a blur of noise and long limbs. One of them did a backflip off the diving board that earned an actual applause.

Eddie didn’t notice you watching.

But Julie did.

She followed your gaze, peeking over the rim of her shades. “Ugh. Them.”

You blinked. “What?”

She nudged you with her elbow. “You need a summer romance. Like, real bad.”

You choked on your drink. “I do not.”

“You do too.” She kicked her feet up. “We should find you a guy. Not Nick — he’s too flaky — but like… someone who plays guitar and has good hair.”

You stared down into your cherry slush.

“And definitely not Eddie,” she added without missing a beat. “Because, ew.”

You smiled like it was funny.

Like it didn’t sting more than you expected.

Julie leaned back and closed her eyes like the sun might solve all her boy problems. “God, my life is so tragic.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

Your eyes flicked back to the far end of the pool, where Eddie now sat at the edge, bare feet in the water, hair dripping down his shoulders. He leaned back on his hands, laughing at something the guy next to him said, and your stomach flipped like someone had kicked it off the diving board.

You’d told yourself it was nothing. Just a phase. A dumb little thing — the way your ears perked up when he talked, the way you remembered dumb things he said weeks later, the way he smelled like tobacco and shampoo and something warm underneath it all.

But sometimes… sometimes you wondered if it was more.

And sometimes, like now, it hurt to know he’d probably never see you that way. Not when you were just Julie’s friend. The one who wore matching pajamas and snuck Oreos from the kitchen at midnight.

You were the hallway he passed through to get to his room.

Not a destination.

You took another sip of your drink and stared straight ahead. “Yeah,” you said finally. “Definitely not Eddie.”

But your eyes betrayed you.

And across the pool, his met yours — just for a second.

And then he looked away.

And you tried not to hope that maybe, just maybe…

…he was thinking about you too.

The house was quieter than usual.

No TV humming from the living room, no pots clanging in the kitchen, no Julie yelling your name to help her pick an outfit she’d already decided on.

You padded barefoot down the upstairs hallway, arms crossed against the muggy air.

The A/C was busted again. Mr. Munson had sworn he’d call someone about it, but the only thing colder than the vents was his sense of urgency.

You’d gone in search of something cold to drink — maybe a popsicle, maybe something sweeter — when you passed by Eddie’s door, half-shut between the bathroom and the linen closet.

And stopped.

There was music playing low inside — Sabbath or Dio, something murky and metallic — and a faint golden light spilled onto the hallway floor from the cracked doorframe.

You should’ve kept walking. Should’ve gone straight to the kitchen.

But then you heard the pencil.

Scratch, pause, scribble.

Curiosity tugged at your heel.

You stepped closer, careful not to creak the floorboards, and peeked inside.

Eddie was hunched at his desk, back to the door, a foot tucked under him, pen moving in frantic little bursts across a notebook. His hair was down again — dark curls brushing the collar of a faded Corrosion of Conformity shirt — and his stereo crackled faintly beside him, the low buzz of guitar filling the room.

You opened your mouth without thinking.

“Is that… a goblin with a mohawk?”

He didn’t startle much. Just turned, slow and curious, pencil still in hand.

“Technically,” he said, tilting the page your way, “it’s a bloodthirsty goblin prince with a tragic backstory and a taste for vengeance.”

You laughed softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Ah. My mistake.”

His smile pulled easy and crooked — not the kind he gave at school, all performative and exaggerated. This one was quieter.

“Julie’s friend. You're here again.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Eddie. You're also here again.” You said in reply.

He gave a mock gasp. “You remembered my name. I’m touched.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile stayed.

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just full.

The kind of silence that made you feel like something was about to happen — even if it didn’t.

“What’s it for?” you asked. “The sketch.”

“Campaign,” he said. “New storyline I’m working on. Politics, cursed forest, lots of weird magic shit. Should keep ‘em busy for a while.”

You let your eyes drift to his desk — the notes, the tiny painted miniatures, the barely-hanging-in-there shelf above it stacked with books, cassette tapes, and a photo cracked along the frame. Him and Julie. Probably first day of school. He had the same wild curls even then, just shorter. Less tamed.

“You ever play?” he asked.

“I tried once,” you said, snorting. “There was this group at the library. One guy made me a wizard and then got mad when I wouldn’t pretend to fall in love with his elf.”

Eddie barked a laugh — loud and honest.

“Oh, hell no,” he said. “You deserve reparations for that. On behalf of all Dungeon Masters, I offer you free snacks and a proper character arc.”

You grinned. “I’ll consider it.”

He watched you. Not in a creepy way — just kind of… curious. Like he didn’t expect you to still be standing there.

“You always this funny?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Only when I’m not being called Julie’s sidekick.”

“That’s unfair,” he said, tilting his head. “You’re more like her secret weapon. Don't know how she'd survive without you.”

The compliment caught you off-guard. And the fact that he had noticed.

Your gaze dropped to his hands — ink-stained fingers curled around the edge of his desk.

“I like your room,” you said. Quietly.

He blinked, surprised. “Most people say it smells like weed and paint thinner.”

You smiled. “It does. But it’s still cool.”

A moment passed. And then another.

You didn’t want to leave.

He didn’t ask you to.

But then you heard the crunch of tires in the driveway, the unmistakable squeak of Julie’s voice through the open front door.

You stepped back fast, heartbeat loud in your ears.

Eddie stood up, like his body moved before his brain could catch up.

He looked at you. You looked away.

The bathroom door opened behind you, and you ducked around it quick, already pretending you were on your way down the stairs.

Julie’s voice was louder now — something about how their mom nearly hit someone with a shopping cart, and how Nick finally said he’d call her after work.

“There you are,” Julie said, spotting you in the hallway. “What’ve you been doing?”

You paused. “Was gonna get a drink.”

You followed her to her room, your pulse still high.

You didn’t look back.

But you could feel it — Eddie’s gaze at your back. Like the brush of static.

And that night, long after lights were out and Julie was talking half-asleep about the outfit she wanted to wear when she saw Nick again, you brushed your teeth and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Not Julie’s friend.

Just a girl with her heart lodged in her throat.

And a crush that was getting way too hard to hide.

a little summer romance fic for u<3 inspired by my current vacay in spain💌 song aesthetic: bad omens by 5 seconds of summer

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tj-crochets · 5 days ago

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I went to my first pride event today and it was so fun!!!! Everyone was so nice, I got so many compliments on my beetle shirt, I talked to two different charity organization people about possibly volunteering/donating things, I got so much cool art (did like half my holiday shopping), and I got to see a large poodle with dyed fur that looked like a Lisa Frank thing in real life (rainbow tiger stripes and leopard spots) I also brought the little pride plushies I had left from previous years and handed them out to people and some people were like "oh this is cute" but some people it was like oh this is the person this plushie was clearly intended for (like the pan bee to the pan person running an ethically sourced bug-based art booth who loved it) Conveniently, I got a larger plastic cauldron from Joanns before the local one closed, and I think I'll make the larger one my designated spot for accumulating halloween plushies over the year instead of the medium one, and use the medium one for accumulating pride plushies/bracelets/whatever so I can give out more at the next pride event I go to

#the person behind the yarn #just little plushies it was crochet ones and a mini bee #but it was so so fun!!! people were so surprised and so happy #and everyone was SO NICE

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maraudereestauderelb · 21 days ago

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When the Sun Still Shines (Billy Russo x Reader)

You were Maria’s little sister. The one who never had to deal with real tragedy - until now. On a sunny day that felt all wrong, you buried Maria, her two children, and the life you once knew. Grief is suffocating, the world keeps spinning, and the last person you expected to see again was Billy Russo.

“This doesn’t fix anything”, you whispered. “No”, he agreed: “But I still need you.”

Warnings: Death of family members (including children), funeral, grief, emotional trauma, PTSD themes, emotional isolation, sexual content (grief sex, blurred emotional boundaries, adult themes)

18 +

It wasn’t raining, the sky wasn’t clouded, and the wind wasn’t blowing. It wasn’t like the weather could have changed anything. But to you it just seemed wrong that the sun was shining down on you as if it was a beautiful day. Tons of happy people had been driving past you on your way. Families in cars headed to the beach, kids on their bikes driving to the park, couples walking hand in hand simply relishing the nice weather. All of them were living their lives as if nothing had happened, as if the world kept on turning. But your life had come to a temporary hold. Not only yours, but your entire family’s.

So many things in life are temporary. Death isn’t. And out of all of the horrible things happening in the world; carrying your own child to its grave might without any doubt be the most horrible of them. Today it was up to your parents to do that. They had lost a daughter. You had lost a sister. Maria’s husband had lost his wife. And if all of this wasn’t dreadful enough, her young children –your niece and nephew- had died as well. All of them way too soon. With their lives still ahead of them. Nothing about it was fair, but when had life ever been fair?

It had. At least to you. Born as the third daughter to a great upper middle-class couple. You had always been one of these people, who never experience anything bad. Thirteen years at school were followed by another four years at college and three more at a business school. After graduation you had directly found a job in New York City, only an hour away from the place where you had grown up. You had great friends and all together everything seemed to be going great until- yeah…until you had received a phone call a few days ago. Your older sister Maria had died and with her, her daughter Lisa and son Frank Junior. Her husband Frank Castle was missing since. You had no idea how he was dealing with all of this, but you also didn’t want to imagine what he was going through, it was already hard enough for you to deal with your very own emotions.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?”, your sister Amy asked as she stepped next to you on the green grass of the graveyard. She was the oldest of the three sisters and without a doubt had always been the one who was the most responsible. Your parents and your sister, plus Amy’s husband and daughter, were the first to arrive at the graveyard. Amy had been talking to your parents until she had decided to look after you, who had been staring at the picture of Maria and the kids since you had arrived.

“Like a terrible nightmare”, you answered with a nod.

“You know nobody expects you to accept it right away, but I know how you deal with things, Y/N. You can’t push it away forever, you’ll eventually have to give in to it. The feelings, the pain, the loss-“

“I know”, you cut your older sister short. Of course, you knew all of that and the fact that nobody had seen you cry over the loss of your sister did not mean you hadn’t.

“You know, if you need something, you can always call me. If you feel alone at your place, you can always come over. Henry wouldn’t mind you staying with us for a while either.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“Especially today you shouldn’t be alone. You’re coming with us to Mum and Dad’s after the funeral? A few friends and family are coming over, we’ll have some things to eat and-“

“Mm”, was all you gave as an answer, mainly because you wanted to be alone.

“Maybe”, you moved on: “Maybe you should check on Mum again. I don’t think she has stopped crying once.”

More and more guests had started to arrive. Friends. Family. People you knew, and some you didn’t. Yet all of them had felt the need to offer their condolences to you. You were sick of shaking hands. Seeing your mother and father in so much pain, sad men and women everywhere. This didn’t help you, if it made one thing, it was making you feel worse. But Maria, Lisa and Frank deserved this; you being there to mourn over them.

You weren't down for conversations and cut everyone short who tried to talk to you more than necessary. All their faced morphed into one and if anyone would ask you the next day whom you had been talking to, you wouldn’t have remembered. You didn’t pay any attention to anyone until a familiar pair of brown eyes appeared at the scene. Billy Russo.

~~~~~ FLASHBACK ~~~~~

“It’s so good to see you! I’m so glad you were able to make it”, Maria greeted you and pulled you in for a warm hug, after she had opened the front door for you.

“Good to see you too”, you answered and added: “Where’s Frank?”

“Living room. Just give me your jacket and you’re good to go.”

“Thank you. It’s freezing outside!”

Although you were going to College in the center of New York City not too far away, it was your routine to stay in the city on most weekends. But this weekend was special. Frank was on leave and it also happened to be his birthday, so you hadn’t been able to turn down the invitation. Maria had told you, the party wouldn’t be a big thing, only a few friends and family members, and even though you knew that all of your friends from college would be going out tonight, you favored seeing your family again.

When you stepped into the living room your gaze wandered over a few faces until you found Frank. He was talking to a man who had to be one of his friends and was holding Lisa in his arms. You were still surprised how quickly things had developed between Maria and him. The marriage, the house, the baby and then Frank leaving again. But Maria seemed to be happy and that was everything that mattered.

“Happy Birthday, Frank!”, you hugged your brother in law and placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Good to see you, Y/N”, he smiled at her.

“Good to see you too! Let’s switch”, you offered with a smile on your lips and took Lisa from him as you handed over his birthday gift.

“Hello, baby girl”, you said rubbing your nose against Lisa’s who seemed to try and say your name but just couldn’t get it right. It was adorable.

“Oh Curtis, by the way, this is my sister-in-law, Y/N”, Frank then introduced his friend.

“Nice to meet you, Curtis.”

“Nice to meet you too”, he answered with a genuine smile: “Looks like there’s a ton of women power in this family!”

“You got no idea, man”, Frank laughed and winked at his wife who had caught his eyes.

After you had chatted with Frank and Curtis a bit more, you decided to check if your older sister need help with anything in the kitchen.

“Oh, here you are!”, your oldest sister Amy exclaimed as you entered the kitchen.

“Hey, Amy!”

“Haven't seen you in a while”, the blond woman told you and grabbed one of the two bottles of beer you had just taken out of the fridge from your hand: “I was really wondering if you’d show up today."

"Why?", you asked puzzled and followed your oldest sister to the small breakfast table.

“Thought you’d rather go out and party, like every weekend”, she teased you.

“Hey, I'm not going out every weekend!”

“But most of 'em”, she grinned: “Don't try to deny it. I can see it on facebook.”

“Jesus, shouldn’t a woman your age still be on icq?”, you laughed at your sister and earned yourself a playful punch against your shoulder.

“Hey!”

“Private Party in my kitchen?”, Maria suddenly stepped into the room as well.

“Yeah, Amy’s going all mummy on me again.”

“Great. You really need that. Did I miss the boyfriend topic?”, with these words the brown-haired woman sat down on a chair next to you.

“Don't you have guests to take care of?”

“Well, actually you're just in time for that”, Amy said and ignored your jab.

“What about the cute guy on one of the pictures you posted on Facebook the other day?”, Maria wanted to know curiously.

Gosh, this really wasn't your topic and you could really feel how you got more and more annoyed with their curiosity.

“Okay, if people your age continue to have Facebook it's going to die very, very soon.”

“Are you saying we’re old?”, Amy grabbed for her chest and pretended to be hurt while hiding a smile.

The three sisters were giggling when another person entered the kitchen out of a sudden. Their laughter died in an instant.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you”, he quickly excused himself, his voice being the smoothest thing you had ever heard.

He was totally stunning. From his dark hair, his well-groomed beard, his brown eyes to his tall and strong body, everything about him seemed to be perfect. Why hadn’t you seen him sooner?

“You didn’t. Do you need anything?”, Maria assured him.

“Frank’s looking for you.”

“I'll be there in a minute”, she told the man, you didn't know, who -sadly- walked off after Maria had answered him.

Nevertheless, you couldn’t move your eyes from where he had been standing, and it was a surprise that you hadn’t started to drool already.

“Who’s that?”, you finally asked and tried very hard to act all casual, which failed miserably and had your sisters bursting out into laughter, who had been eyeing you the entire time.

“Told ya she’d be into him.”

“I'm not! I just asked who he is!”

“Sure”, Maria answered teasingly.

He was an attractive man and probably had lots of women looking at him like that!

“It's Billy”, Maria finally gave in: “One of Frank’s friends.”

So, he was probably in the military as well.

“But considering the fact that you called the two of us old, Billy’s definitely too old for you as well”, Amy added which made at least one of her sisters laugh.

“You two are such idiots”, you just muttered as you got up but couldn't hide a smile as well.

Of course, you spent the rest of the evening secretly admiring Billy who didn’t even seem to fully recognize you.

~~~~~ END OF FLASHBACK ~~~~~

You had just come back from the cemetery. Your boots still had dirt on them from standing at your sister’s, niece’s and nephew’s grave. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made the walls feel like they were pressing in, suffocating you. You had spent your entire childhood in this house. With your sister.

You had moved through the crowd, feeling numb. Numb from the sorrow, from the loss, from too many hands touching your shoulder and saying “sorry” with eyes full of pity.

You had really thought, you’d be able to handle all of this, but you couldn’t take it anymore.

Amy had been the only one, you had told, where you were going, before you now walked up the stairs unnoticed by most. Everything about this place, reminded you of her, it was horrible!

You walked into your childhood room like a ghost.

Softly you closed the door behind you and leaned against it for a second, exhaling a deep sigh before you crossed the room. Everything still looked the same. Posters on the wall, the same floral comforter on your twin bed. A piece of you had never left this room, even as your whole world had moved on.

You sat down, clutching the edge of the mattress, your hands trembling slightly. You stared at the floor, the voices from downstairs muffled. A few tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them. It wasn’t just Maria you missed. It was Lisa’s laugh. Frank Jr.’s tiny hands wrapped around your finger. The way Maria used to roll her eyes when you and Billy teased each other in the kitchen.

You felt hollowed out.

A soft knock broke the silence. The door creaked open.

Billy’s voice was low: “Hey.”

You quickly wiped your cheeks. You didn’t like it when people saw you cry. When others could tell, you weren’t as strong as you’d like to be.

“Hey.”

He stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him.

“I saw you come up here. Figured you might need a second. Or someone.”

You nodded but didn’t answer. He crossed the room and sat beside you, his hands clasped loosely between his knees.

After a minute, you spoke: “I thought I could handle it. But I can’t.”

“I know”, he said quietly: “I know.”

You glanced at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes red-rimmed but dry. You remembered when that face used to make you nervous in the best kind of way. How it still did.

“I keep thinking it’s not real. That if I just close my eyes and open them again… they’ll still be downstairs. Maria laughing too loud. Lisa clinging to my leg. Frank cracking a joke about something stupid.”

“I’d give anything to hear him say something stupid again”, Billy murmured. But Frank was missing. No one knew where he was.

You had overheard Frank talking to Maria once. Your brother-in-law had said Billy wasn’t good for you. That he couldn’t stay with one woman. That he was too old, too charming for his own good. And that you were family.

So, you had never made a move and neither had Billy.

You swallowed. “It’s all gone now. Maria. Frank. The kids. I don’t even know what’s left.”

He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. His thumb lingered against your skin.

“I don’t know either”, the soldier whispered: “But you’re here. I’m here.”

Your gaze traced over his face, taking in each and every detail. You locked his eyes in yours and then you saw the flicker of an emotion crossing them. Guilt? Pain? Then he kissed you.

The kiss was slow at first, born out of aching. You leaned into him because it felt like the only thing holding you upright. His hands slid around your waist. Yours curled into his black button-up-shirt.

You pulled back slightly, eyes meeting. Frank and Maria were gone. Nothing really mattered anymore.

“This doesn’t fix anything”, you whispered.

“No”, he agreed: “But I still need you.”

And then everything shattered.

Your mouths met hard, messy, no rhythm - just need. His hands grabbed your waist and you moaned into his mouth, hips rolling forward like your body already knew where it wanted to be. You tugged at his shirt, popped the buttons, didn’t care if you ripped it. You wanted skin. Now.

He pushed you back on the bed, mouth trailing down your throat, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. You clutched at his hair, grinding up against him through your dress, panting against his ear.

“I want to feel something”, you said, voice rough, begging: “Anything, Billy.”

That broke him.

He flipped your dress up, dragged your panties down without hesitation or gentlesness. His fingers slid between your thighs and you were already soaked. Grief had turned to heat, and your body was screaming for release. He sank two fingers into you, slow at first, then fast, curling just right.

You cried out, hips jerking.

“Harder. Please.”

And he gave it to you. Everything. Brutal. Honest. Like a confession in the dark.

Then he was undoing his belt, pants shoved down just far enough. He grabbed a condom from his wallet - always prepared, even now - and tore the wrapper with his teeth. The sound made your stomach clench.

When he slid inside, you both gasped.

It was almost obscene, the way your bodies fit. You grabbed the back of his neck, your legs wrapped around him like chains, pulling him deeper, faster. The bed creaked. Your breathing turned to panting, then pleading. You had imagined this way too often over the years and now it was finally happening.

His rhythm was ruthless. He fucked you like he was punishing himself.

You clawed at Billy’s back. Bit his shoulder. Moaned his name again and again until it wasn’t a name - it was a chant. A curse.

“Tell me you need me”, he growled.

“I need you”, you gasped: “Fuck, Billy, I need you. Don’t stop, don’t-”

He slammed into you deeper, harder, gritting his teeth as your nails dug into his spine.

“You wanna come, baby?”

You nodded desperately.

“Then take it. Fucking take it.”

You shattered.

Your body arched off the bed, your scream muffled in his shoulder as wave after wave ripped through you. Billy kept going through it, chasing his own release, his movements sloppy now, desperate. His hands gripping your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise.

He came with a groan, biting down on your neck, his whole body shaking above you.

It was silence that followed, only interrupted by you erratic breathing.

Your body was still trembling. You didn’t speak and he didn’t move, just kept his weight on you like he knew you needed it. No gentleness. Just presence.

You ran your fingers through his hair. Closed your eyes. Let yourself feel held, even if it wouldn’t last and didn’t change anything.

-> MASTERLIST

#billy russo x reader #billy russo smut #billy russo imagine #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x you #billy russo fanfic #billy russo #the punisher #ben barnes #selina writes

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quitealotofsodapop · 9 months ago

Note

How do the courts react to Haoyu? I mean, this is the youngest stone monkey in existence and also looks like, in Pigsy's words "a Lisa Frank" piece and a mixture of Spicynoodles, so...

Haoyu arrives + Royal court confusion.

For those confused by the "Lisa Frank" comment; Haoyu has been imbedded with the power of the Five Heavenly (or Five-Coloured) Stones, and comes out with bits of rainbows in his features - notably his eyes. Add in Red Son's absorbed life energy, and you've got a ginger-furred baby monkey (reference pic is a langur) who sneezes rainbow fire.

The celestial and demon courts are jubilant, if not very confused. Haoyu's birth is the greatest news all of the Celestial Realm has had in months since the passing of the Jade Emperor. But the knowledge that the parents of said child is the Emperor's recently-recognised half-bull grandson + the surprise stone monkey successor of Sun Wukong = makes everyone baffled at the same time.

The Queen Mother has gone all out on the celebration ever since she learned that both parent and baby were safe and healthy. She's been planning the whole event for at least five weeks. Xiwangmu's great-grandson is the shining light of the universe as far as she's concerned!

MK shows up to the royal birth announcement wearing sweatpants cus monkey boy be exhausted. Red Son appears in traditional court attire, happily showing off MK and the baby like they both didn't just roll out of bed that morning. Also his big royal robe makes a great impromptu blanket once the three of them become too tired with the festivities.

Haoyu himself is still in "will not stop clinging to mom or will scream"-stage of development. So if a hard-headed noble or servant tried to take the baby off of MK; they get hit with the loudest screeching a barely-1-pound baby monkey can make. And a near-death experience courtesy of all baby's protective family members. MK has to stop Xiwangmu from reflexively tossing the offender off a cloud.

Many of the celestials and trusted demons of the party at first assume Sun Wukong and the Six Eared Macaque to be MK's parents, only to be shocked to be introduced to a stout pig-man and a gangly human scholar.

Tang, proudly: "He takes more after me, as you can see." MK & Pigsy: (*fond sighs*)

Wukong and Macaque still proudly refer to Haoyu as their "grand-student". Especially Macaque ever since the baby saw his real ears and started making his own wiggle and glow as some sort of wordless communication - Mei calls it "baby rave mode".

DBK is trying his best not to cry or explode out of his clothing. Haoyu isn't even the size of a human baby, and the old Bull sobs whenever he sees him. Haoyu loves his big purple Yeye Bull, and has started doing little calf-headbutts to greet him. DBK would destroy heaven itself for this little orange puffball.

DBK and Xiwangmu have also come to a tentative agreement; even though the Queen Mother didn't approve of the method in which DBK and PIF eloped, he's still the better of her son-in-laws (Li Jing has been kicked down the celestial food chain ever since the incident with the Stones).

PIF is busy making her presence known since this is her first time presenting to the celestial court in centuries. She's worse than Red for showing off MK and the baby; bragging to any curious ear that dare listens.

PIF, talking to another noblewoman: "Well clearly Xiaotian and my son would produce the first great-grandchild! Red Son has had an infatuation for the boy ever since they met!" Red Son, embarrassed: "Mother!" MK, laughing: "Aww!! Babe! You had a crush on me?" Red Son: "MK, we're legally married with a baby." MK, giggling: "Still!"

Nezha's hackles are raised, watching over MK's shoulder like a guard dog. Not only keeping to his duty as Protector of Children - but also because part of the ceremony is him giving Haoyu his 100-day blessing (his Man Yue was a lot smaller and personal). It's a big deal for him. Erlang thankfully provides him some backup. At least the little guy isn't keen on being anywhere not attached to his parents anytime soon.

At the end of the day Mei and the rest of the Noodle Gang manage to distract the party so MK and Red can get out of there and relax. it's been a busy day for these two, and an even bigger one for the baby.

Xiwangmu goes searching for them frantically after noticing her Grandson and Grandson-in-law missing from the party. She finds them curled up in their guest room with little Haoyu snoring away between them. She quietly grants them her blessing and leaves the three sleep on. Her little rainbow quartz has a big universe to see.

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hbyrde36 · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 1: Under My Skin

Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Art (coming soon!) by @glitterfang

Beta'd by @penny00dreadful

Rating: E | WC: 5937 | Chapters: 1/2 | AO3 Link

Not for the first time, Eddie was really regretting his decision to book a client on a Friday night, and a new client at that.

It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, exactly. There were no dates on his calendar, and going out to random bars and clubs on the weekends to look for quick hookups had begun losing its appeal lately.

But it’d been a long week, and he’d much rather have been getting ready to plop down on the couch with Chrissy to split a bottle of red wine while they watched Drag Race, than preparing to do a cover up for some idiot who’d gotten his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his body, only to fall victim to—The Curse.

Ask any tattoo artist and they’d be the first to tell you, there was no surer way to guarantee a breakup than to ink your significant other’s name on your body forever.

And yeah, it probably wasn’t fair to judge the guy before they’d even met, but there were only two kinds of people who tended to make that particular mistake—dumbasses, and hopeless romantics. He just kind of assumed his client fell into the former camp, rather than the latter.

Eddie had just started wiping down the front desk counter, which doubled as a display case for the various accessories and body jewelry they carried trying to kill some time between his last appointment and cover-up-guy, when Chrissy came walking out of her studio.

It was one of the biggest perks, in his opinion, of owning their own shop. Not only did each of them finally have their own work spaces—no more having to listen to other client conversations or fighting over a single bluetooth speaker—but being their own bosses also meant they could decorate and customize their own studios to their heart’s content.

The main area of the shop was a bit of a catch-all, much like his and Chrissy’s shared apartment. It featured neutral walls lined with a mishmash of all the things they loved, sprinkled in and amongst odd antiques, knick-knacks, and various pieces of unique artwork. There was everything from vintage vinyl record jackets tacked to the wall, to faux taxidermy mountings of creatures that had never existed in real life.

Entering Chrissy’s studio was a little like stepping inside a Lisa Frank notebook cover. All vibrant rainbow colors and aggressive animal print. Eddie had painted the walls himself, color matching the exact shade of fuchsia as the adjustable chair he’d custom ordered just for her. He was no interior designer so she’d taken it from there, and though the finished product was a little too bright for his tastes, even he had to admit it was still pretty fucking metal.

Eddie’s space was the polar opposite, featuring dark stained wood furniture and a style of decor that could be best described as a slightly more grown up version of a teenage boy's bedroom. Band and movie posters lined three of the walls, but instead of being held up with thumbtacks, or scotch tape, they were neatly laid in matching frames with thick black edging. The remaining wall held a gallery of photos. Him and Wayne from their last fishing trip, one from when he and Chrissy had received the keys to the parlor unlocking its doors on the first day that it was theirs, and an old snap of him and his high school bandmates standing in front of their homemade banner, among many others.

It wasn’t until Chrissy came up to lean on the counter with her jacket zipped-up and her purse slung over her shoulder that he realized something was up.

“Don’t forget to lock up when you're done.” She said, tapping her nails on the glass. “Oh! And can you stop and pick up some oat milk on your way home? We’re out.”

“Wait, where are you going? Didn’t you have a client booked tonight too? I thought we were in this together, Cunningham!”

“Not anymore.” She said cheerfully, leaning across the counter to rest her elbows on the glass, leaving an ink smudge on the exact spot he had just finished cleaning. He swatted at her with the damp rag and she jerked back with a giggling-gasp.

“Mine had to cancel.”

Eddie groaned. “I hate when clients do that.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. It’s like a free night off I wasn’t expecting.”

“Not exactly free, since canceling means not paying in full.” He grumbled.

“Oh lighten up! It’s not like we’re that behind on bills or anything.”

“Tell that to the electric company.” He said, mostly to tease her, though he couldn't help glancing up at the excessively large and kitschy skull chandelier he’d found on Amazon that definitely didn’t use high efficiency light bulbs, but he had sworn at the time was worth it for The Aesthetic™.

“Why are you always so grumpy?” Chrissy asked, jutting her lip out in a dramatic reenactment of him pouting.

Not that he was one to pout.

“I’m not!”

“Look at your face, you're grumpy right now!”

“That's because y- you’re…” He cut himself off with a sigh.

He couldn't begrudge her the time off, he’d be hightailing it out of there just the same if it had been him.

“Just get out of here.” He said, conceding defeat.

She beamed. “Okay! See you later!” She said, all but sprinting to the front doors. “Don’t forget about the milk!”

“Wait, why can’t you–” He started to ask, but she was on the other side of the door before he could get the words out.

“Oh forget it.” He mumbled, stashing the glass cleaner away where it belonged.

About fifteen minutes later the bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of what Eddie assumed to be his last customer of the day.

Except, it couldn't be.

It couldn’t possibly be because the Adonis that had just entered his humble tattoo parlor was, quite frankly, bonkers hot. There was no way, absolutely no way someone had this guy—this guy—so obsessed with them that he went and got their name tattooed on his perfect body and then just… let him go.

It was unthinkable.

“Hi, you must be Eddie. I recognized you from your Instagram.” Pretty-boy said with a shy smile.

“Steve?” Eddie asked, blinking hard, completely unable to mask the tone of disbelief.

The other man nodded.

Shit, okay.

So this was him—Steeeeeeve Harrington. This was the guy.

Maybe there was something wrong with him? There had to be a catch, a series of very red flags or something because all Eddie could think about at that moment was, if he ever got a chance with Steve? He’d never let him go.

Get it together, Munson!

The bright side, of a sort, was that Steve smacked of straight guy energy, so it was unlikely Eddie would even be in the running for a chance anyway. Better to just put it out of his mind.

Though, he supposed he could still… look. It's not like looking ever hurt anyone. Not that he made a habit out of ogling the clientele. Of course, none of his other customers had ever come in wearing vintage Levi’s that fit their ass like a glove, not to mention the way they fit around his–

“Eddie?”

Fuck.

Had Steve been talking this whole time while he’d been off daydreaming about what those sinfully tight jeans might look like on his bedroom floor?

“Yeah.” A soft chuckle fell from Eddie’s lips as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “S- sorry, man. Spaced out for a second there I guess.”

What the fuck was wrong with him today?!

“It’s okay. I was just asking if the plan was still the same? In your last email you suggested we should do this over two appointments.”

Work question… yes, good. Focus on the job!

“Right. With what we talked about I'd like to concentrate on just the outline today, maybe a little shading, and then in six weeks or so once that’s healed have you come back for the color. If you’re still alright with that?”

Eddie could do the whole thing in one shot if Steve really wanted to sit that long, but with something like this he didn't want to feel rushed. He’d done a few concept sketches after emailing back and forth with Steve about what he was looking for, and honestly what they’d come up with wasn’t really his usual style. He could do it, he was more than capable, but he had to wonder why Steve had picked him, out of all the tattoo artists in the city. He’d seen Eddie’s Instagram, so he knew the kind of work he usually churned out. Hell, Chrissy would have been the more obvious choice for this.

Of course, now that he’d gotten an eye-full of Steve in person he was glad he hadn’t tried to pawn him off on her. He was also really hoping Steve would agree to the split sessions, it would give them an excuse to see each other again.

“Whatever you think is best. I’m putting myself in your expert hands.” Steve said, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks.

That was… interesting.

Maybe Eddie had been a little bit hasty in his initial straight assessment?

Steve’s deposit had been paid, and they’d already gone over pricing through email so there wasn't much to discuss as far as that was concerned, After signing some paperwork and getting the other man’s ID scanned into the system there was nothing left to do but walk Steve back to his studio and get this show on the road.

“You can go ahead and take your shirt off, get comfortable. I’ll show you the stencil I drew up and if it looks good we can put it on and get started.” Eddie said, gesturing to his client chair.

He leaned over his desk while Steve got situated, taking a second to gather his thoughts, as well as add a small finishing touch to the transfer sketch before turning back to his client. The sight made his throat go dry.

It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.

At Eddie's direction, in preparation, Steve had shaved his chest. More specifically, Steve had shaved half of his chest. The side Eddie would be working on, that sported the existing tattoo, was bare—smooth as a baby's bottom. The other side was…

It was…

Jesus Christ.

It should have looked ridiculous actually, and it was a little funny, but honestly all Eddie could think when he stared at the untrimmed side of Steve's upper body, resplendent with the most glorious chest hair, was that it was a travesty, a crime even, that he’d never get to see the whole thing grown out in its full glory.

The lack of a shirt also highlighted the fact that Steve was incredibly toned, much more so than he had initially appeared even through his slim fit henley.

Eddie shook his head, praying it had suddenly become an etch-a-sketch and he could clear out his thoughts by sheer force.

He truly didn’t know what had gotten into him. It was hardly the first time he’d worked on someone he found attractive, but usually he didn’t notice it quite this much. When you pierce and tattoo for a living you get used to seeing a lot of bare skin, including occasionally, areas typically reserved for romantic partners. Professional hazzard, but it’d never been a problem for him before. He was an artist, this was his craft, and bare skin was just another kind of canvas.

He blamed it on his current dry spell, self-imposed as it was.

It was easy enough to go out on a Saturday and find a guy or girl to bring home for the night, but he was so tired of one night stands and meaningless hookups in bar bathrooms. Where was the substance? He wanted companionship. He wanted a partner. He wanted to fall in love.

Eddie cleared his throat and crossed the room to hand Steve the stencil, busying himself with raising up his stool to the proper height and pulling on a pair of thick black neoprene gloves while the other man looked it over.

“It’s great.” Steve said.

“Good.” Eddie quietly let out the breath he’d been holding. “Alright I'm gonna put this on and have you take a look at the placement, make sure you like it, then we can get started.”

Eddie squeezed out a dime sized amount of the stencil gel and rubbed it into Steve’s chest, laying the transfer paper down in just the right way so that the final design would sufficiently cover what was underneath, assuming he had scaled it right.

It was perfect. After a quick check in the mirror, Steve agreed.

While they waited for it to dry Eddie double checked his set up to make sure he had everything he would need for the session.

“Ready to get started?”

Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slow. “Yeah. I am.”

His reply felt heavy, like maybe he was talking about more than just the tattoo. Had they known each other at all Eddie might have asked about it, but they were basically strangers, and it wasn’t his job to pry.

With steady hands he set the needle to Steve's skin and got to work.

They weren’t at it for very long before Steve started to squirm.

Eddie ignored it at first, he could tell the guy was trying hard to keep himself still, and he wasn’t really moving enough to actually disturb the work. Sometimes it took a bit for clients to sink into the feeling, to let the pain fade to the background enough that they could relax a little bit or at least be able to keep their body from trying to react to the odd sensation. But then he noticed the light sheen of sweat spreading over Steve's upper body, and would have sworn he could somehow feel the other man’s pulse quickening beneath the hand he had pressed so closely to his heart, even over the vibration of the tattoo machine.

He should probably stop and do a check-in, suggest a breather or some water. It wouldn't be the first time a seemingly tough muscle-bound guy had struggled to sit for him.

He opened his mouth to say something about it, lifting the needle as he took a quick glance up at Steve’s face, but what he saw had the words dying on his tongue. Steve was staring back at him, face flushed, breath coming quick and shallow, bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

That… did not look like a face that was in pain—or rather—it didn’t seem like the pain was unpleasant.

Fuck.

Eddie flicked his gaze quickly back down to his hands, the needle, fighting the urge to look lower.

He shouldn’t.

It wasn’t right.

The professional thing to do would be to ignore the reaction completely.

But Eddie was a weak, weak man.

He looked.

Just a quick peek, less than a half-second that his eyes wandered south, and immediately he regretted it.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck.

Suspicion confirmed. Steve was hard. He was also huge if the unmistakable outline was any indication. Eddie bit his tongue, fighting back the groan that was trying to fight its way out of his throat.

Those jeans should be fucking illegal. The only thing worse would’ve been a pair of gray sweatpants. Now he was the one sweating.

“Sorry.” Steve said, voice strained.

Eddie stilled, lifting the machine away from Steve's chest again before looking back up to meet his eyes.

“For?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, challenging him to continue to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“It’s fine, really. It… happens. Everyone reacts differently to the pain.”

Steve let out a high pitched and breathy huff of laughter. “It wasn’t like this last time.” He muttered under his breath.

Eddie tried hard not to read into that, not to think about what the difference might be.

“Do you need to take a break?”

“No,” Steve swallowed hard. Eddie watched, momentarily mesmerized by the bob of his adams apple. “But, uh, can we talk or something? To distract me?”

He sounded so vulnerable, and a little embarrassed. It was enough to snap Eddie out of his daze. The last thing he wanted was for the person in his chair to feel uncomfortable. Talking he could do, it was one of his best things.

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” Eddie asked casually, getting right back into his line work.

“You.” Steve answered quickly, pausing to clear his throat. “Um, I mean, did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much. I used to spend all my time, including the time I should have been using to study or do my homework, drawing, sketching, painting, you name it, and it just kinda developed from there. I gave myself my first stick-and-poke when I was about 15. My uncle was pissed. Not about the tattoo exactly, but he was worried I wasn't being safe enough about it—sanitary and stuff. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. So, Wayne took me out the next day and we got a book about it, and he bought me all the right materials. Even let me practice on him when I graduated to a tattoo machine.”

“He sounds like a really great guy.” Steve said.

“Yeah, he is.” Eddie could feel the wistful smile spreading across his own face. “Not just anyone could step in and raise someone else’s kid like that. Just wish I got to see him more. I go back to Indiana to visit him a few times a year, but it’s not the same.”

“I don’t see my family very much either, but we’re not close.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My parents, they’re–” Steve trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Well, let's just say they're not as supportive of my—life choices, as your uncle was for you.”

“Oh?”

“I, uh, came out to them a while ago… as bisexual? They didn’t take it very well. Said I was just going through some kind of phase or crisis or something. Sorry, this is probably, like, way too much information to share with someone I just met.”

“No. it’s—Okay, maybe to a normal person it might be but I've never been what anyone would describe as normal. And… I get it.”

Eddie didn’t really have to say it. The outside of the shop sported every kind of pride flag you could think of. There were pictures right behind him on the wall of him and Chrissy at their first ever pride parade right here in the city. Not to mention his social media profiles, where he had a bi flag right next to his age and pronouns in his bio. Steve knew, was the point, and Eddie was glad he’d felt safe enough in his shop—with him, to talk about it.

“Wayne was really good about that too.” Eddie said softly. “I’m sorry your parents weren’t.”

A comfortable silence settled between them after that and Eddie left it unbroken, better to let Steve decide which direction their conversation went from here—if he wanted to continue it. He seemed more relaxed already and his… predicament had mercifully gone down as they spoke.

“When did you—how did you… know?“ Steve asked after a while.

“Junior High.” Eddie answered quickly, smiling to himself as he indulged in a little nostalgia. “Kinda the opposite of the usual story, I guess. I thought I was gay. I had such a crush on this boy a grade above me. Nobody that would have given me the time of day mind you, I was a band geek and a huge nerd, but he was very nice to look at. Then he changed schools. I was heartbroken of course, which is my excuse for why I let this girl drag me under the bleachers during gym class. One second we were just sitting there talking and the next she was in my lap with her tongue down my throat.”

“And?”

Eddie shrugged. “And I didn’t hate it. I reacted exactly the way a young boy reacts when a pretty girl is kissing them and grinding in their lap. Honestly, it blew my mind a little bit—had to reevaluate my whole world view.”

Steve hummed in understanding.

“It’s still mostly men for me but–” Eddie sighed wistfully, “Women.”

“Women,” Steve agreed reverently, letting out a soft laugh. “It was a bit more recent for me. A friend took me to a gay bar—dragged me there actually.” He started to shake his head, stopping instantly when he seemed to realize he might be moving too much.

Good boy.

Eddie smirked. “I bet you were popular.”

“You could say that. I’ve never had so many people offer to buy me a drink in my life.” As Steve went on he began to rub his hand along the chair's armrest, mindlessly drawing patterns into its surface with his long fingers.

“It’s funny, at 25 I didn’t think I had anything new to discover about myself, at least nothing big, but after that rather eye-opening evening I had to, like you said, reevaluate some things about myself. It wasn’t a huge shock I guess. Like, I had found guys attractive before—friends, celebrities, whatever, I just thought everyone felt that way.”

“Ah, the bisexual’s fallacy. Sure I think about other dudes sometimes, but only the normal amount.” Eddie said.

“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t!”

Eddie stopped tattooing as they held each other's gaze, both managing to keep a straight face for only a second before simultaneously dissolving into hysterical laughter.

Figuring it was as good a time as any to take a short break, Eddie stripped his gloves off and slid across the room on his stool to a small mini-fridge he kept tucked under his desk, stocked with water and juice—something he always kept on hand in case a client got lightheaded.

As they sipped their drinks and both took an opportunity to stretch, Eddie decided it was finally time to put his foot in his mouth.

“So, how are you enjoying things on this side of the field? Someone as pretty as you, I'm sure you get asked out a lot.”

“No, uh, I don't know. I- I haven't really been out on any dates with guys.” Steve stuttered out nervously. “Kissed a few, but that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Eddie said. He meant it too. Not only was Steve something special to look at, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He deserved to be taken out and shown a good time. Maybe he was shy.

Steve laid back in the chair, puffing his chest out as he got back into position while Eddie slipped a new pair of gloves on.

“Why, you offering to show me the ropes?” Steve asked, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

Eddie’s mouth went dry.

Okay, not that shy then. Surely it was just fun friendly flirting though, right?

“Don’t tempt me.” Eddie teased back. Two could play this game.

“Why not?”

“First rule of the trade, or at least the Munson doctrine, no dating the clients.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Steve said, and without even looking up Eddie could hear the smile in his voice, a hint of–challenge accepted–in his tone.

The next hour flew by as they continued to chat, both remarking on the differences between small town life and city life, as well as lamenting how expensive it was, and how neither of them thought they’d still be living with roommates in their mid-to-late-20's.

For a while Eddie waxed poetic about Chrissy, who of course filled the roles of bestie, roommate, and business partner, which tickled Steve to no end.

He told the other man how they’d met, apprenticing at the same tattoo parlor at around the same time. and wound up bonding for life almost immediately. They were total opposites on the surface but deep down they were remarkably similar. Eddie didn’t go into too much detail, as it wasn’t his story to tell, but alluded to the fact that he and Chrissy had the shared experience of being born to shitty parents, only to be raised by another family member. A grandmother in Chrissy’s case.

It meant that they understood each other more than most, and yeah, being around one another 24/7 also meant they got on each other’s nerves a lot, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

At some point Steve’s cell phone began to ring from where it was shoved in his front pocket. He apologized profusely for forgetting to switch it on silent before they’d gotten started, but Eddie assured him it wasn’t a big deal.

Or—it wouldn't have been, except either it was some kind of emergency, or someone who was intent on reaching Steve immediately, and continued trying to call three more times.

“We can take a break if you need to get that.” Eddie offered.

Truth be told he could use a little breather himself. All this time of being essentially face down in Steve’s incredible chest was getting to him a little bit, not to mention the way his forearm lightly brushed along Steve's stomach whenever he braced himself across the man’s body. The feel of their bare skin touching was almost too much, and more than once Eddie felt himself breaking out in goosebumps.

“Yeah, I think we’d better. It’s gotta be my little brother and knowing him he won’t stop calling until I answer.”

Eddie busied himself removing his gloves and taking a long drink from his water bottle while he flipped through a few drawings on his side table, trying to look like he wasn’t hearing every word of Steve's side of the conversation.

“Hey buddy, I'm a little busy right now. What’s going on?”

Steve paused, listening attentively to the voice on the other end of the call.

“Dustin, he’s not abandoning you. Just because he wants–”

Sighing as he was abruptly interrupted, Steve somehow made the huff of breath sound both annoyed and fond.

“Well, did he actually say he didn’t want to play D&D with you anymore?”

Eddie’s head snapped up of its own volition. Did the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen in real life just say D&D?

“That’s what I thought.” Steve said with a satisfied tone. “It's gonna be fine. I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Sorry about that.” Steve said, addressing Eddie this time, rolling his eyes as he ended the call. “Teenagers.”

“Pretty cool little brother if he plays Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Oh no.” Steve groaned. “Not you too! He and all his little friends are obsessed with it.”

“I used to play all the time with a group back in high school. We still try and get together for a one-shot at the holidays when we’re all back home visiting.” Eddie paused, concentrating for a second on wiggling his fingers into yet another set of gloves. There wasn’t really all that much left to do, another 20 minutes or so and he’d be done with the outline. “Was he alright, your brother?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Steve replied as he sat back, getting into position. “We, uh, technically we’re not actually related—I'm an only child. But I used to babysit Dustin when he was younger and when he grew up I just sorta stuck around. It’s only him and his mom at home and I guess I thought… I dunno, like, maybe I could help? I drove him to his first school dance, taught him how to do his hair, shave, that kinda stuff.”

“That's… that’s really sweet, man. I’m sure he appreciates having you around.”

With every new thing he learned about Steve, Eddie felt like he was in deeper and deeper trouble. He’d been having a tough enough time keeping it together with simply lusting over a hot body, but now Steve was turning out to be this sweetheart of a guy and, client or not, Eddie thought he might just be worth breaking all the rules for.

“He’s worried his friend group is falling apart because one of the guys is going out for the basketball team. He’s afraid if Lucas gets in good with the jocks he won’t want to play with them anymore.”

“As a former outcast and enemy to jocks everywhere, I can understand his concern.”

“Are you saying we wouldn't have been friends in high school then?”

“Steve, Stevie, please. Please don’t tell me…” Eddie trailed off, stopping what he was doing and gasping for dramatic effect–hand over his heart. “Oh god, you were captain of the sportsball team weren’t you?”

Steve giggled, his beautiful eyes sparkling with it. “Basketball, to be exact. I was the co-captain of the swim team too.”

“I knew it would never work between us.” Eddie tutted, shaking his head as he got back to tattooing. “Are you reformed, at least?”

“Once a jock, always a jock, I'm afraid. I’m a personal trainer now.”

It explained a lot, and the perks—pun absolutely intended—of Steve's day job were undeniable, but as hot as the mental image of him pumping iron was, the idea of Steve palling around with toxic gym bros all day was almost enough to have Eddie second guessing everything.

“Don’t worry though, I don’t like gym bros any more than the next guy.” Steve said conspiratorially. “My clients are mainly older women looking to maintain their strength and mobility as they age.”

Aaaaand Eddie stood corrected. “Lucky ladies.”

Jesus Christ, could this guy get any more perfect?

Steve shifted in his seat, starting to get antsy after keeeping still for so long.

“Just a few more minutes, almost done.” Eddie murmured, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on a spot near the curve of Steve’s collarbone.

“Do you do a lot of these? Cover-ups I mean?” Steve asked. “My roommate is the one who actually suggested it. For some reason I just never thought about it as an option.”

“I don’t know if i’d say a lot, but a fair few, yeah.”

“You, um. You can ask about it… If you want.”

Eddie glanced up in surprise. He would never have brought it up without being prompted, it just didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t deny he was curious, and if Steve was okay with it then–

“Okay, I'll bite. Who’s Nancy?”

“My fiance’. Well, ex-fiance’ now. We broke things off a little over a year ago.”

“That’s rough, I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, It’s… I should have probably seen it coming? We were high school sweethearts—got together before we really knew who we were on our own. But I was dumb and in love. I got the tattoo and proposed. I was so happy that day, but looking back it was so obvious that she’d only said yes out of pity or guilt, not because she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.”

The part of Eddie that believed in true love—and all that cheesy shit—was sad that a couple who had been together for so long, who had essentially grown up together, hadn’t been able to make it work. Selfishly though, a small piece of him was happy to learn that they’d been broken up for quite some time, lessening the chance that, if he did somehow gather the courage to ask Steve out when the tattoo was done, he wouldn’t be on the rebound.

“It was tough. I felt like a failure for a long time, like I was having to start my whole life over from scratch when I'd thought for so long that she was it for me, but it's actually been… good. We weren’t right for eachother, I can see that now. As much as it hurt, I'm grateful she had the courage to break things off when she did.”

“I’m glad you’ve been able to come to peace with it.”

“Getting this tattoo feels like the final step into letting that life go, y’know?”

Eddie nodded. Steve’s demeanor before they got started made so much sense now.

“Is there some significance to the design?” He asked, making his final line and setting the machine down. He wiped at the excess ink on Steve's skin, raising his head just in time to see the way the other man’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, Robin. She–she’s everything to me. Like a best friend, but more somehow. I don’t think I really knew what unconditional love was before her. She’s like, another piece of my soul or something. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Eddie froze.

The tattoo design was a bird—a robin.

A robin.

For, Robin.

How could he have been so stupid!

Of course, Steve was getting one girl’s name covered up with something to represent the new one.

Jesus Christ, they were both idiots.

Eddie for getting his hopes up, and Steve for making the same mistake—twice. At least this time it was a symbol and not a name, so if he and the latest potential Mrs. Harrington didn’t work out, at least he wouldn't have to worry about covering it up.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked.

The question spurred Eddie back into action. He spread the foam soap over Steve’s chest continuing to clean the finished tattoo while his heart crawled up into his throat.

“Yup. All good.” Eddie forced the words out.

That's what Steve must have meant about not going on dates, he already had someone at home. Why hadn’t he just said that before though? And why had he flirted with him?

Maybe he’d felt funny at first about admitting to being with a woman after all the talk about being bisexual. Not that Eddie would have judged, but he knew a lot of people did—bi erasure was so real. He understood that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less that Steve had, inadvertently or not, lead him on.

Eddie gently patted the newly cleaned skin dry with a paper towel and carefully applied a square of Saniderm over the area, smoothing it out as he gave Steve his usual spiel, albeit a little robotically, about how to care for the tattoo over the coming days and weeks.

He quickly turned his back when he was done, telling Steve he could get dressed, and feeling stupid as all hell for being this upset about a guy he barely knew. He’d felt something though, potential—a spark. It was more than he’d felt for anyone in a long time.

Steve got quiet, looking a little confused with the sudden 180° Eddie’s mood had pulled. He felt a little bad about that as he brought the guy back out to the counter, but it wasn’t as though he’d suddenly become unprofessional. He was just… no longer being overly friendly.

After confirming the date for his second session, Steve paid his balance and Eddie walked him to the door.

“Have a good night, Steve. Call the shop if you have any concerns or questions about aftercare.”

Steve bit his lip. “Oh, I… okay. See you in six weeks then.”

Eddie forced a smile, waiting until Steve was out of sight around the corner to lock up, and slunk back to his studio to disinfect it so he could finally go home and sulk.

Chapter 2

All my thanks to @penny00dreadful for all of your wonderful beta work, and cheerleading, and support, and just generally being THE BEST 💜

#steddie fanfic #stranger things reverse big bang #steddie #tattoo artist eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fic #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #tattoo artist chrissy cunningham

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stnkiconverse · 11 months ago

Text

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.8 - Move.

⇠ Previous

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: none. (yet;) )

WC: 2.5k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse, cannibalism and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

The flower shop should have closed an hour ago, but you linger, waiting for the moment when the streets are entirely empty, save for the two figures standing just outside. Their silhouettes are dark against the streetlights, unmoving as if they're statues waiting to come to life. You know they're watching you, have been watching you since Lisa left, and you can feel the anticipation building within you, your heart pounding in time with the seconds that tick by.

Your hand brushes the duffel bag under the counter. Inside, the axe rests, ready to be drawn, its cold steel offering a promise of the violence to come. But not yet.

There's a thrill in the waiting, in drawing them in, making them believe they have the upper hand. You allow yourself a small, calculated smile as you stand and head toward the door, making sure to keep your eyes on them-unblinking, so they don't vanish like mirages.

You open the door slowly, the creak of the hinges loud in the still ni ght air.

You lean against the doorframe, your smile widening as you catch their attention. "Need anything? Why don't you come in?" you say, your voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that barely conceals the malice beneath.

They exchange a glance, something dark and knowing passing between them before they step inside. Jeff, with his grotesque, carved smile, and Toby, with that unsettling gash on his cheek, walk in as if they belong here, as if this were their domain. You close the door behind them, the soft click of the lock sealing you in together.

The shop is dark, the dim lights casting long shadows across the walls. It's quiet, too quiet, but it's the kind of silence that hums with potential energy, ready to explode at any moment. You walk back to the counter, each step deliberate, your pulse quickening with every inch that brings you closer to the axe hidden just out of sight. You lean casually against the counter, your smile now a thin line of anticipation.

"So what was it?" you ask, voice low and taunting. "Frank? Mary? The cute little couple? Tell me, which one caught your attention?"

Jeff leans back against the wall, his smile widening into something obscene, something that belongs more in a nightmare than reality.

"We've been watching you for a while," he says, his voice a deep, scratchy, gravelly rumble. "You've got a real knack for this sort of thing. But Frank... he was fun."

Toby, standing just a step behind him, stutters slightly as he speaks, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y-you really p-put on a show with that one. K-kinda hot, actually."

Your fingers tighten around the handle of the axe inside the duffel bag, your patience wearing thin. The time for games is over. You slowly unzip the bag, the sound almost lost in the tension-filled silence. But they notice. Jeff's grin only widens, sensing the shift in the air.

"So, you're fans? Admirers? Or just creeps who get off on watching?" you ask, your tone hardening as the playful edge disappears.

Jeff's laugh is rough, almost manic, filling the small space with its grating sound. "Creeps? Fuck yeah, maybe. But we're not the ones leaving corpses with pretty little flowers stuck to them, are we? There's something about a girl with an axe that just... does it for me."

"You've got spirit, b-but let's see if you've got the guts," Toby adds, his eyes raking over you with a twisted sort of admiration. "I like a girl w-who knows how to use an axe."

You've heard enough. Your hand tightens around the axe's handle, and with a swift, powerful motion, you pull it free and swing at Jeff. The blade slices through the air with deadly precision, aimed right for his head. But Jeff moves faster than you expect, dodging the blow with a speed that sends the axe slamming into the wooden wall behind him, splinters flying everywhere.

"Feisty!" Jeff growls, clearly enjoying the thrill of the fight. "You know, I like it when they fight back."

Without hesitation, you yank the axe free, ready to strike again, but they're already on you. Jeff and Toby move like shadows, their movements almost too fast to follow as they slip past your attacks, dodging each swing, each stab, with ease. It's infuriating, the way they toy with you, their grins never wavering.

Your breath comes in sharp bursts, your frustration mounting with every missed strike. You're good—no, you're great-but they're better. Still, you refuse to back down. You grab the sharp scissors from the counter, your grip tightening as you change tactics. When Jeff gets too close, you lash out, the blade slicing through his arm. Blood spatters, but it only seems to excite him more.

"Now we're getting somewhere,"

Jeff laughs, his voice edged with manic glee. "If you wanted to get close, sweetheart, you could've just asked."

Without missing a beat, you grab his wounded arm, yanking him close and driving the scissors into his stomach.

The blade sinks deep, and for a moment, you see the flash of pain in his eyes. But it's fleeting, replaced almost immediately by that maddening grin.

"Is that all you've got?" Jeff rasps, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"You're gonna have to do better than that."

You shove him back, watching him stumble, but before you can capitalize on the moment, Toby charges at you, relentless. You barely manage to grab a nearby vase and hurl it at his face. The vase shatters against his cheek, sending shards of glass flying. Toby staggers, momentarily disoriented, but the grin on his face only widens.

"Nice shot," Toby sneers, wiping the blood from his face with a wicked smirk. "B-but you'll have to try harder than that, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, the back door creaks open.

"Y/N? You okay? Sorry, I just forgot my pho-" Lisa's voice cuts through the chaos like a knife.

You freeze. The sight of Lisa standing in the doorway, her expression shifting from concern to shock, sends a jolt of something-fear, anger, you're not sure-through you. But it's short-lived. Instinct takes over, you drop the pair of scissors and reach for the axe.

In one swift, brutal motion, you turn and swing the axe. The blade connects with Lisa's forehead, splitting her skull with a sickening crack. Blood sprays, and her body crumples to the floor with a heavy thud.

For a moment, the world goes silent.

The weight of what you've just done hits you like a freight train, but you can't afford to dwell on it. There are bigger problems now-two of them, in fact.

With a growl of frustration, you spin back around, adrenaline surging. You throw the axe at Jeff, who's grinning like a madman, but Toby shoves him out of the way just in time. The axe slams into the wall again, and you realize, with cold clarity, that you're outmatched.

Jeff and Toby close in, their movements calculated, confident.

You duck behind the counter, your mind racing. You can't afford to lose control. As you crouch, your hand brushes against the sharp scissors you used earlier. Grabbing them, you prepare yourself, refusing to let fear take over.

Just as Toby reaches over the counter, you spring up, slashing at him. The blade cuts across his cheek, the same one already marred by the vase shards. Blood trickles down, but his grin doesn't waver.

"You're making this fun," Jeff hisses, his voice a mix of pain and exhilaration. "But you're outnumbered, sweetheart."

Jeff moves faster than you can react, swiping the axe from the wall. He wields it with a sinister ease, his manic grin never fading.

You refuse to back down. As he closes in, you slash at him with the scissors, managing to land a deep cut on his other arm. He winces but doesn't stop, his eyes gleaming with twisted enjoyment.

With the odds stacked against you, your mind races for a way out. You grab the nearest object—another heavy flower vase, a much bigger one —and hurl it at Toby's head. The vase shatters on impact, sending him reeling backward, giving you the opening you need, Jeff drops the axe and you grab it.

Before they can recover, you bolt for the back door, your axe still in hand.

You don't look back as you disappear into the night, taking a winding, familiar path home where no one can see you.

The adrenaline pulses through your veins, making your limbs feel both weightless and leaden as you make your way through the shadows. The path is quiet, secluded, and you're thankful for it. By the time you reach your door, you're exhausted, every muscle screaming for rest.

You drop your axe by the door and stumble into your bed, not bothering to remove your shoes. The moment your head hits the pillow, you're out, sleep claiming you almost immediately.

—————————————————————————

When you wake, sunlight is already filtering through the blinds, harsh and unforgiving. Every muscle in your body aches from the fight, but there's a sick satisfaction deep in your chest. You survived.

You reach for the remote, turning on the TV as you sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The local news flickers to life, the anchor's monotonous voice droning on until the words "Local Flower Shop Burned Down Overnight" make your heart skip a beat.

The screen shows the smoldering remains of the shop, firefighters still working to put out the last of the flames. You feel a cold chill run down your spine, but it's quickly replaced by a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Jeff and Toby had destroyed the evidence, ensuring that no one would ever know what happened there last night. But it also means one thing: the police are going to be all over this.

You know you have to leave Greenville. The police are already suspicious of you, and with the shop destroyed and Lisa dead, it won't take them long to connect the dots.

You have to disappear, and you have to do it now.

But not without one last act. One final spree to leave your mark on this town forever.

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. You look like hell- dark circles under your eyes, your skin now pale and slick with sweat. But there's a fire in your eyes, a hunger that burns hotter than ever.

You can't leave Greenville without one final act of defiance. One last spree that will haunt this town long after you're gone.

You pack your weapons-your axe, a few knives, and whatever else you can find. You know exactly who your targets will be. The people who have wronged you, who have looked down on you, who have made your life hell.

You wait until night.

Your first stop is close to home- a neighbor who has always been a thorn in your side. They're outside, tending to their garden, completely unaware of the danger lurking just behind the fence. You wait, your breath steady, your grip on the axe firm. When the moment is right, you strike. The blade slices through the air, connecting with flesh and bone.

The neighbor's body crumples to the ground, lifeless. You drop a small petal right next to your now deceased neighbor.

You don't linger. You move quickly, efficiently, leaving the body behind as you make your way to your next target—a former employer. You slip into the building unnoticed, your footsteps silent on the tile floor. The boss is working late, just as you'd expected. He doesn't even see you coming. The axe slams into his neck with ease, his body slumping over the desk in front of him. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "This is for everything you ever did to me."

You leave a single flower petal on his desk, a final message to anyone who finds him—a petal from a red spider lily, the symbol of a final goodbye.

Your spree continues, each kill more brutal than the last. A random stranger on the street, caught off guard by the blade of your axe. A police officer, targeted specifically to send a message.

With each kill, you leave behind a calling card—a petal from the red spider lily, each one a cold, silent farewell.

As the night wears on, the bodies pile up. The town is in chaos, sirens blaring in the distance as the police scramble to contain the madness.

But you're always one step ahead, moving through the shadows with lethal precision.

Your final target is someone who has always been just out of reach—a high-ranking official, someone who has the power to ruin lives with a single decision. You've been planning this one for a while, waiting for the perfect moment. And now it has arrived.

You approach his house under the cover of darkness, your heart pounding with anticipation. The windows are dark, the street quiet.

Perfect.

You slip inside, moving through the house like a ghost. Your target is asleep in his bed, completely unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the door. You stand over him for a moment, savoring the power you hold in your hands. Then, with a swift, brutal motion, you bring the axe down.

The blade connects with a sickening thud, blood spraying across the room. Your target doesn't even have time to scream.

You stand there for a moment, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

The room is silent, save for the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You look down at the body, at the blood pooling around it, and feel a sense of satisfaction settle over you.

This is it. The final goodbye.

You reach into your pocket and pull out a single red spider lily petal. You place it on the pillow next to your target's head, a final message to the town you're leaving behind.

You don't look back as you leave the house, the darkness swallowing you whole. You have one final task before you can disappear for good.

You arrive in Tuscaloosa under the cover of darkness, just as you had planned. Two duffel bags propped on your shoulder, one with your axe and a couple knives, and the other with as many clothes you could fit in it.

You have a new place waiting for you, a small, nondescript apartment on the outskirts of town. It isn't much, but it's perfect for laying low. Plus, it’s near the woods. Something you’ve been planning to explore since you rented the apartment.

As you unpack your things, you can't shake the feeling of satisfaction that lingers in your chest. You've done it.

You've left your mark on Greenville, and now you're free to start over.

But even as you settle into your new life, you can't stop thinking about the thrill of the kill. The way it made you feel alive, invincible. You know it won't be long before the hunger returns, before you're driven to kill again.

But for now, you'll lay low, bide your time, and wait for the perfect moment. And when it comes, you'll be ready.

Tuscaloosa looks like the perfect place to wreak havoc in.

FUCK COLLEGE😡

i don’t like this chapter lol

Who’s gonna tell her who lives in the woods of Tuscaloosa??? 👀

Once you’re done reading this, go vote on this!! It is VITAL for the story, pinky promise.

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet @akashic06072007 @hey-an-original-url

#creepypasta #fandom #slenderman #slender mansion #creepypasta fic #creepypasta x reader #horror #psychological horror #supernatural #supernatural thriller #ticci toby #jeff the killer x reader #ticci toby x reader #jeff the killer #jramblesaboutsoap #j’s fics!

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elen-tari2 · 1 year ago

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My Kastle Scene Wishlist

I’m not sure what Kastle content we might get in Daredevil Born Again, but there is also talk that they might make a new Punisher show. What are some scenes/parallels that you would like to see between Frank and Karen? Here’s a few of my musings

Reversed Hospital Scene! I would like to see Frank momentarily panic over Karen getting hurt and have a turn holding her hand in a hospital bed. I feel like we deserve this scene so bad. (Caveat: Frank CANNOT be the reason Karen got injured, even if it’s just she got shot in the arm or has a concussion; Karen is in dangerous situations regardless of Frank being near her or not and he needs a wake up call for that). Bonus points for the total opposite of telling her to walk way—this time HE GETS IN THE HOSPITAL BED and puts his arms around her and just holds her and Karen gets to feel completely safe for a few minutes. Just go all out with the hurt/comfort trope for these two. Anyway, I have a whole WIP fic devoted to this, so honestly it has become my top wish to see some parallels drawn with another hospital scene.

Karen gets to help in a fight and shoots someone. I feel like since they never got to have the Wesley conversation, a way to show-not-tell would be for Karen to kill a bad guy and then Frank come check on her to be like, ‘hey are you okay?’and she’d be like, ‘yeah, I am.’ She’d be a bit shaken up but grimly holding it together because it’s not her first time killing someone. This would also work in contrast to the scene where Amy shoots the guy in the hall and then Frank infamously takes the gun from her and takes the responsibility of his death away from her. Sorry to make Karen suffer because I know she’ll feel bad about it, but I’d be okay with seeing her character go a little bit darker to save someone’s life. She’s been carrying that gun since DDs2, she deserves to take out a baddie on her own and it’d be a great segue into rehashing some of her past that Frank NEEDS to know about

Frank meets Paxton Page. Will the show make time for this? Probably not. But damn do I want to know what Frank would say if he knew that Karen’s dad cut off his only daughter, when Frank would do anything—anything—to spend one minute with Lisa again. I’d love to see Frank go to Fagan Corners with Karen to put flowers on her mom and brother’s graves. We spent three seasons of Frank being able to open up around Karen and talk about his family with her. Meanwhile she has never once said anything about the losses she’s suffered. Frank needs to know and I don’t want it all jammed into one big backstory dump where she tells him she killed her brother and Wesley in the same conversation. Another option would be for Frank to accidentally visit Karen on the anniversary of her mom/Kevin’s death and she is having a breakdown. If we can’t get into any of Karen’s past, have Frank find out Karen has his burner phone saved in her contacts listed as Home. I’ve seen that idea in several different fics and it just needs to be canon. They are Home to each other.

A scene where Frank holds Karen all night and they don’t have sex, but it’s profound. (Think like Spike holding Buffy). If they are nervous about comics fans being mad about Frank Castle finding love again, give us some physical intimacy and closeness where you know they mean everything to each other but can’t cross the line and make things real. Fan fic writers will know we won and then fill in the rest for those cowards.

If they’re willing to make Kastle real, give us a goddamn kiss. Actually, just let them have sex, because Karen Page has been forced to stay chaste for YEARS and she deserves to get laid. And Jon Bernthal seems to be more than comfortable doing sex scenes soooo please just make it the most beautiful thing ever filmed because they are so in love with each other. It has to be noticeably different in tone from the scene with Beth. And Karen cannot get shot the next day, don’t even start with any of that bull$hit trauma for Frank.

Kastle pillow talk scene. Since it’s Disney Marvel now, I don’t know how much we can hope for with a sex scene. So the pillow talk scene that follows had better be some life-altering confessions of love and cuddles. Do not even think about him sneaking out before she wakes up like he almost did with Beth. Karen deserves something good to happen to her for once, let her have a perfect night and a gentle, soft morning after. She deserves it even if Frank isn’t sure if he does.

Karen Page and Dinah Madani Friendship. I’m rewatching The Punisher s2 and one thing that pissed me off was the scenes of fake bonding between Dinah and Krista Dumont, drinking wine together and discussing men (Frank and Billy, who else). So. To make up for that, we need some genuine female friendships, like Karen and Dinah going to a shooting range together or gym or going out to a nice bar for girls night. Even if Frank has been keeping his distance, these ladies have struck up a friendship and Karen has someone to hang out with besides her lawyer coworkers.

Karen gets to meet Micro/The Lieberman family AND Curtis. David knows how Frank really feels about Karen. Curtis needs to find out Frank DOES still have something good holding him in this world. And Karen should meet Frank’s friends.

Okay those are some of the scenes I want to see for Frank and Karen! If someone could please get this list to the Punisher writers for the future of the show, it’s actually very important that we get some of this or I’m gonna have to come write for the show myself. 🙈

#kastle #frank castle #karen page #the punisher #jon bernthal #deborah ann woll #dinah madani #amy bendix #curtis hoyle #david lieberman #micro #daredevil #karen page deserves to get laid #daredevil born again #marvel #mcu #Netflix mcu

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krissiefox · 7 months ago

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A collection of art blogs on tumblr I like and wanted to recommend! This is a VERY long list so I will post it below the divider.

https://www.tumblr.com/ashleyfableblack (My Wifes art! <3 )

https://www.tumblr.com/squisheebugdoodles https://squishescommishes.tumblr.com/ (my friend Squishees art blogs!)

https://letrune.tumblr.com/ (my friend Letrunes blog!)

https://snaggle-teeth.tumblr.com/ Fun cartoon art!

https://soapygoat.tumblr.com/ Cute animals!

https://seanatar.tumblr.com/ Yoshi, capybaras, cartoons!

https://stevebeach.tumblr.com/ Horror art and Ninja Turtles.

https://www.tumblr.com/imageblanket Colorful furry art and animations.

https://gingerpepp.tumblr.com/ Traditional furry art, and cool outfits!

https://rinacat.tumblr.com/ Art and comics. Lots of video games!

https://magnagallina.tumblr.com/ Colorful art, some cartoon stuff.

https://gwendolynewood.tumblr.com/ Cute animals and Pokemon.

https://dingostuff.tumblr.com/ Furry art, video games, cartoons.

https://lisa-frank-fan.tumblr.com/ Collection of Lisa Frank & Lisa Frank inspired art.

https://lisafrankismyfather.tumblr.com/ Lisa Frank and colorful art collection

https://pandorathedragon.tumblr.com/ Cute & Colorful furry art.

https://fuckyeahconceptart.tumblr.com/ Concept art for movies & games.

https://mienar.tumblr.com/ Relaxing animated scenes.

https://bubblebaath.tumblr.com/ Furry art & horror art.

https://dukesnukes.tumblr.com/ Cool artists who does a lot of art of characters like Jason Vorhees and Duke Nukem. Very nice person, too!

https://roboch.tumblr.com/ Cool fantasy dogs!

https://felixcolgrave.tumblr.com/ Blog of animator and artist Felix Colgrave!

https://goodsniff.tumblr.com/ Lots of cool and weird drawings! Yipee!

https://ask-the-giant-woman-blog.tumblr.com/ Cute art with animals and Steven Universe characters.

https://aperturejam.tumblr.com/ Cool cartoon art!

https://www.tumblr.com/welcome-to-nevernorm Fun cartoony art with monsters n stuff!

https://www.tumblr.com/frolick-crow More Fun cartoony art with monsters n stuff!

https://unagiart-blog.tumblr.com/ Colorful furry art with dogs!

https://pepoodraws.tumblr.com/ My Little Pony and furry art!

https://junipercryptid.tumblr.com/ Beasties, furry art, portraits, and more

https://wisemanart.tumblr.com/ Cool goth and furry art!

https://moult.tumblr.com/ Very nice furry art. I find their work very cozy.

https://www.tumblr.com/chrispandres-blog Spooky art & Satanism.

https://nlorier.tumblr.com/ Furry art and fursuits! Very cute style. :)

https://www.tumblr.com/lennguine Cozy furry art with nice autumn colors. :)

https://redpanther23.tumblr.com/ Comics and furry art, real nice style!

https://halcyonrealms.tumblr.com/ Photos of art books

https://snatti.tumblr.com/ Beautiful paintings! Some feature a cute corgi. :)

https://waysingleton.tumblr.com/ Cute cartoon art!

https://glowingmagic.tumblr.com/ Colorful art and photos based on 80s plush toys!

https://thephoebster.tumblr.com/ Cute cartoony art!

https://yeaboiiiii.tumblr.com/ Cool cartoon art & animation

https://seidurs.tumblr.com/ Spooky clown art!

https://tkshoelace.tumblr.com/ Furry art & My Little Pony art.

https://www.tumblr.com/bellum-and-her-phone Comics starring an adorable creature named Bellum!

https://marybellamy.tumblr.com/ Cartoonist who worked on the My Little Pony comics.

https://zorilita.tumblr.com/ More furry and My Little Pony art!

https://mikestmblr.tumblr.com/ Furry art with cats!

https://jayfosgitt.tumblr.com/ My Little Pony and comic art!

https://rockosedits.tumblr.com/ Art in the style of Rocko's Modern Life!

https://simonhaiduk.tumblr.com/ Paintings, Photography, fantasy art.

https://artofperf.tumblr.com/ Video games and furry art

https://artsyapocalypse.tumblr.com/ Comics, Video game art, cats!

https://theonicole-blog.tumblr.com/ Creator of the coloring book "Unicorns are Jerks"

https://gammaworldwar.tumblr.com/ Post apocalyptic and dark fantasy art

https://skeletorz.tumblr.com/ Cool Colorful digital art! Lots of round shapes.

https://www.tumblr.com/therobotwig Artist who creates amazing photo scenes using small character figurines!

https://www.tumblr.com/enby-art-creations Wonderfully colorful neon psychedelic art!

https://www.tumblr.com/alariko1 Beautiful paintings of buildings and landscapes.

https://www.tumblr.com/possessedpasm Furry artist with a delightful vintage style!

https://fox-teeth.tumblr.com/ Art & comics with a very nice art style!

https://strangegutz.tumblr.com/ Artist who makes awesome little doll characters!

https://tanidareal.tumblr.com/ https://schnolf.tumblr.com/ New and old blogs of furry artist tanidareal! Lots of cute animals. :)

https://jacobchabot.tumblr.com/ Cool art of monsters, cartoons and superheroes!

https://7116811219.tumblr.com/archive Some spooky colorful art and gifs!

https://izaart.tumblr.com/ Cool colorful art with lots of critters and video game characters!

https://olliemnjones.tumblr.com/ Amazing painter. Their work is so full of atmosphere!

https://www.tumblr.com/skitterhop Super colorful and strange furry art. Sometimes horror and gorey stuff.

https://2poodles.tumblr.com/ Cute colorful furry art!

https://www.tumblr.com/mayodrawsstuff 70s styled furry art! Very cute stuff.

https://www.tumblr.com/kei01g Furry, ASCII, wiggly art. Neat stuff!

https://jacksachs.tumblr.com/ Very cool surreal and whimsical art!

https://www.tumblr.com/snippit-crickit Furry art, animations, Minecraft, and more!

https://parkston.tumblr.com/ Groovy furry art that feels like an old cartoon!

https://spectrowhirl.tumblr.com/ Super colorful art and animation!

https://elhuervo.tumblr.com/ Very colorful psychedelic sci fi and fantasy art. Also contributed music to Hotline Miami!

https://tysonhesse.tumblr.com/ Artist who worked on the Archie Sonic comics.

https://plastiboo.tumblr.com/ Horror & Dark Fantasy Art

https://sjofisk.tumblr.com/ Pretty, colorful and sometimes spooky animals!

https://nickybarkla.tumblr.com/ Nice art of various movie characters and celebrities.

https://pusheen.tumblr.com/ Blog about a cute chubby cat!

https://vagonparovoz.tumblr.com/ Cool animated ASCII art!

https://little-tunny.tumblr.com/ The illustrated adventure of some silly cats & dogs! One of them is named Soup. :)

https://www.tumblr.com/capydoodle Adorable blog of capybara art!

https://thecaffeineartwarrior.tumblr.com/ Colorful and fluffy fantasy art!

https://kanotynes.tumblr.com/ Interesting sketchy art!

https://www.tumblr.com/twistcmyk Very fun expressive art! There's also a little doggie.

https://outsidewolves.tumblr.com/ Adorable furry art with dogs! Has a very fun vintage feel.

https://www.tumblr.com/intergalacticpanic Star Trek art! Especially Data and Geordi. :)

https://everydaylouie.tumblr.com/ Very fun and whimsical 3d art!

https://256colormode.tumblr.com/ Pixel art, computer art, MS Paint art!

https://astroeden.tumblr.com/ Lots of nice furry and MLP Art.

https://www.tumblr.com/letterstolooneybird Very cute blog with The Rock-afire Explosion characters.

https://gamgyuls.tumblr.com/ Very nicely painted furry art!

https://godsofsummer.tumblr.com/ Cool grungy furry art.

https://sugarbunnyshop.tumblr.com/ Cozy autumn themed animal, scarves, plushies!

https://acornfriend.tumblr.com/ Lovely paintings of Animal Crossing and critter characters!

https://www.tumblr.com/pascalcampion Very nice paintings as well as stories and comics.

https://obsidiandawndotcom.tumblr.com/ Art Resources!

https://akron-squirrel.tumblr.com/ Fun cartoony art!

https://cuchulainn-4.tumblr.com/ Nice variety of art styles.

https://catcrumb.tumblr.com/ Small little cat drawings.

https://www.tumblr.com/making-friendos Cute animal drawings!

https://www.tumblr.com/thebujochannel An art journal blog.

https://www.tumblr.com/sparkarez Artist who makes very nice art of various cartoon characters.

https://taski-guru.tumblr.com/ Very cute & pretty furry art!

https://operationunderwear.tumblr.com/ Cool weird gross art!

https://the-chade.tumblr.com/ Art blog. includes gay ponies!

https://rumwik.tumblr.com/ Lots of cute animals and pokemon!

https://www.tumblr.com/kolza12 Adorable little mouse dolls!

https://www.tumblr.com/kit-catterson Furry art!

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not-poignant · 11 months ago

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Hi! I am usually a lurker, but I have been following you for about a year or so (found from r/MM_Romance AO3 recs search) and my first read was Deeper into the Woods. -- Do you have any recommendations for "realistic" portrayals of sadists? (AO3 stories or MM romance but also open to non-fiction recs/other) -- I do not have any real-life experience with people who identify as sadists or the kink community in general, so I wonder how exaggerated the fiction is sometimes. Thank you for your time!

Hi anon!

I'm going to rec two of my own fics - Spoils of the Spoiled (especially tracing a young sadist who has to figure out where the lines are between reality and fiction in his own life), and Falling Falling Stars (which depicts an experienced genuine sadist who is quite frank/open about talking about it and is comfortable in himself about it).

You probably have a lot more experience with real life sadists than you know, since most of us are just regular people! (And quite a few of us are also masochists as well). Honestly it's possible to see people with sadistic tendencies in every walk of life. From massage therapists who enjoy working the knots out of their clients (including the 'good pain' it results in), to the professional manufacturers of boutique hot sauce, who like nothing more than watching someone suffer through what they created.

(And same with masochists - you need only look at the people who enjoy that hot sauce and the pain it causes them, lmao.)

You might also like the published m/m romance series by Lisa Henry and JA Rock known as the 'Boy series.' It starts with The Good Boy and the sequel is The Boy Who Belonged. It is, imho, a great and realistic depiction of an experienced sadist and a newbie masochist, as well as a trauma recovery story with an age gap, which realistically addresses the age gap, the sadism, lateral ways of being sadistic with someone who finds impact play triggery, and more. For me it's still one of the gold star versions of published m/m which shows the perspective of both characters, so we get to see what they're both thinking, and - imho - it's pretty realistic!

I'm also gonna rec one of my fanfics, The Beast that Chose Its Own Bridle, since a lot of the chapters are from the sadist's perspective, and while the setting is fantasy, the actual thought processes behind setting up scenes, the intention, riding the line between too much hurt and the right amount, what kind of pain is sexy and what isn't, etc. is - I feel - quite realistic. It's one of the things that fellow sadists have praised my work for (that the sadists feel like real sadists, and not just wish fulfillment sadists, who are otherwise apologetic for enjoying someone's pain), and while I still have a lot to learn re: writing in general, it's one of the reasons I write what I do!

#asks and answers #inadvertent recs #falling falling stars #spoils of the spoiled #the beast that chose its own bridle #self recs because i can #pia on writing #pia on fanfiction #folks can add more in the replies #there are other good representations i just #am tired and need to feed my dog lunch aslkfjsa #but also frankly #i feel like most sadists read like service tops #instead of genuine sadists #so i'd caution folks to be aware of if you're reccing just a good service top character #or a genuine sadistic character #who is a good representation of what it's like to be sadistic *in reality*#administrator gwyn wants this in the queue

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lilacflowersss · 7 months ago

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>A young teenage boy stands in his room

>What is this young boy's name?

>Idiotic Bloke

>Wtf? no!

>Joey English?

>better

>Your name is Joey English, You're a young lad going through your emo phase. Which you don't consider it as a phase. IT'S MY TRUE SELF YOU TWAT. Anyways the only happiness in your life are Legos,Video games, Anime,and Good Music. And when you're bored of those things,you would writie in your journal or read your favorite book.

>Joey look around your room

>You look over to your special shelve of your collections. Lego sets that you got for your birthday,your Gameboy and Switch,your Goku anime figure,and your manga and novel book collection. Oh and the guns your dad gave to you for "self defense" and "protection". Who the fuck would give a 13 year old guns?? Who would even trust a teenager with this kind of weapons. Why the hell are you even thinking about your father. You fuckin hate your dad. He's a fuckin idiot. What did your mom even see in him?

>Whatever let's continue

>The comfort side of your room. Which of course has your bed, a window with a nice view and your posters.

>Joey view your posters

>You look at your Lisa Frank unicorn poster. Unicorns are your favorite animal. Your spirit animal. The most mythical creatures you ever seen. Makes you upset that they're not real. But it is your dream to see one and keep it as a pet.

>Joey look over to at the other posters

>Romeo and Juliet. Such a poetic story. Ever since you read it in literature class it became your dream to create a story inspired by this play. But nothing beats your most favorite story. Twilight. Such a masterpiece. You can go hours and hours talking about it. For it is poetic. A Creation from the gods above. Stephenie Meyer is a genius. She's your idol and you wanna meet her one day and thank her for her amazing creation.

>Now go to the other corner of your room

>These posters are your favorite. It consist of your all time favorite music artist that your mom showed you about. Odetari and ICP. Now these are the rest of your rifles that your father give to you for Christmas. Imagine a 10 year old opening up a present expecting a new gaming console only to be getting a shotgun. That was the worst Christmas ever and the same year you wanted to disown your father. Next year you hope you get a sword from your uncle. The only problem is that your parents don't trust you with sharp objects after the piercing incident. But somehow trust their kids with guns? Whatever.

>End of short introduction

#this is a short introduction of joey if he ever was in a mspa (which i doubt I'll be doing) just so you can know a little bit abt him #I'll also do his sisters soon #homestuck #joey english #fankids #english-ibar kids #my art

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thatseventiesbitch · 1 year ago

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That '90s Show Part 2 Review

Overall, I'm giving Part 2 4.5 Stars out of 5!!!! I completely loved it, and thought it was an improvement from last season. I am now all the more excited for part 3, given what I know is still coming. 😜

If you're interested, here's my real-time reactions thread from Twitter (pinned to the top of my bio).

Stay tuned for my breakdown (warning: there be spoilers here):

The Good

The H U M O R continues to be the brightest spot for me. This is a genuinely funny show - I laughed out loud (okay, closer to howled if we're being honest) several times. It feels similar (though not identical) to T70S' brand of humor. I can tell it was made by the same people. This season, like last, Ozzie was my main man and had the one-liners that sent me the most but I can say the same for Jay, Gwen, Nate, and Leia too. And Bob. Oh hell, all of them! I'm sure I'll be reblogging my favorite moments for months to come while we wait for part 3!

The C H A R A C T E R D E V E L O P M E N T is the other shining star for me. The first season was limited (disappointing?) in this regard - to be fair, they only had 10 episodes to introduce us to a whole new handful of characters and make us care about them, and they mostly did. But this season brought the depth I was looking for - and we're only halfway through! 🤯 We learn more about Jay's playboy past, and see how he's actively working to grow and change and do his relationship with Leia differently. Ozzie is humanized when he has his heart broken - and his friends are there to pick up the pieces 💔. Nate struggles with his feelings and relationship with Nikki all season, and by the end of episode 8 he seems to be grappling with still having real feelings for her that he can't move on from. Nikki's pregnancy scare really affected her, and not in the way one would necessarily expect. She ended part 2 feeling lost and unsure of her direction, or what she truly wants (and not her parents), for the first time in her life. Gwen's storylines were perhaps my favorite of all (I'm a big Gwen stan, okay?). I was impressed that they decided to 'go there' with the racism plot, and even more impressed at the frank conversation she had at the end of the episode with her white (and well-intentioned, but bumbling) mom. Was it perfect and resolved? No. I think that was kind of the point. Not to mention her navigating her first real feelings and her relationship (?) with Cole. And Leia, my lovely Leia - she is learning about communication, forgiveness, honesty - all with the gentle guidance of her family and her friends. And that's not to mention Red and Kitty, who had sweet, plot-driving storylines of their own. I loved their realization that they like their rut - but loved even more when Red was inspired to live every day like it's his last and pushed through his fears to go to Paris with Kitty 🥰. This longer season has afforded more 'filler-like' episodes for us to just hang out with the characters, and get to know them more intimately. What are their wants, fears, insecurities, innermost thoughts? We are getting there. We are really getting there. Let's see what 8 more episodes will bring!

BOB! Bob gets his own point, because I enjoyed him so much (and seeing him and Red eventually come together to be overprotective grandpas 🤣. I laughed so much at his relationship with Leia, how they were just chilling in the basement, how he wanted all the teen gos. And Gwen's "What the heck, do you tell your grandpas everything?" 😂

DONNA! I adore Donna Pinciotti (Forman?), always have, and I adore her even more in the '90s than I thought possible. I love seeing her as a mom and her relationship with Leia. More pls.

This season felt more '90s to me! They incorporated more '90s references and brought back the regular fantasy sequences that always set the original apart. Off the top of my head, I loved: Kitty's Carmen Electra fantasy/nightmare (😂), Leia's Lisa Loeb fantasy (🤣), the Macarena (that shit was e v e r y w h e r e in the mid-90s, man), the Mentos commercial, Jay and Silent Bob (Kevin Smith cameo!!! also, Leo's son???) and all of Kitty's '90s slang that she picked up from the kids at school 😂👏🏻

The guest stars! Mitch and The Angel returned from T70S, and I am a big Will Forte/that era of SNL stan so I thoroughly enjoyed his appearance, too (and know he's been involved on the OG series on the writing/production side).

Red's trains (callback to season 1 of T70S - whoa!!) 🥰

I thought they struck a good balance this season between those heartfelt, 'very special episode'-type moments that '90s sitcoms were infamous for, without actually being too sickly-sweet, ala a Full House or Girl Meets World type moment. Donna and Leia's interaction in Nikki's bedroom regarding the voicemail comes to mind, as well as the is-Nikki-pregnant storyline and Nikki and Nate's celebratory dance at the end 🤣.

Which reminds me - I thought Nikki and Nate's storyline was intriguing. I have always been sort of a fan of their relationship - I don't think it's as bad as some others seem to - but remain unconvinced that they're 'meant to be' or endgame or whatever. But I enjoyed watching them navigate their break-up this season and then reluctantly find their ways back to each other, though. We'll see where it goes in part 3!

I immediately noted (and was pleased!) that there was a Laurie mention and a Midge mention this season. Both very off-hand, but it was something I was curious about. Who will be next? Betsy Kelso? 😮

The Bad

For me, ngl, Topher Grace's (Eric) absence was really felt. It is definitely the kids' show now and a substantial storyline isn't one I'd ever expect, but gosh I missed him from the family scenes at the beginning (both those with Red & Kitty, and those with Donna & Leia). The silver lining is how the other characters continue to reference him - almost in every episode, really - and so we still learn things about him and his relationships to his wife, daughter, and parents through these mentions from other characters. There will always be a part of me that is crossing my fingers for another Eric appearance, though, and I think there always will be.

Kitty's characterization as an overbearing mother was overdone. To be fair, this isn't a deviation from the original show. This is how she was often written towards the end of T70S - overbearing, possessive of Eric, lashing out at Donna or feeling in competition with her. It was done for laughs, but it wasn't particularly funny to me (and never was) 🤷‍♀️.

Not enough Geia content for my 'shipper heart 😩. We got one boob touch 😂, and it is clear that Leia still prioritizes her friendship with Gwen above all else (I lol'ed when she worried Gwen was in jail and that she would have to commit a crime to join her) but I want more, damn it! Part 2 solidified for me that Geia is never going to be anything more than a crack!ship. 😰

Which reminds me - Jay and Leia are kind of 'meh' for me. They're fine, I don't dislike them together, and I do like how we're seeing them both learn and grow through their relationship but... it just inspires kind of lukewarm feelings, I guess.

There wasn't a lot of Sherri in part 2. I love Sherri. Hope to see more of her in the next part.

The Ugly

I am pleased to say that I can't think of anything!!! Fez was absent (although they didn't directly reference their break-up, Sherri is clearly single and on the prowl all season) but I didn't miss him (🤭). Ditto to Kelso and Jackie - although we did get one reference to Jay's dad and the Kelso family heirloom (aka porn). I would say the ugliest part is that I now have to wait until October for part 3!!!

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malikdiao · 1 month ago

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being here now

dedicated to the generation that has to watch the world end

it often feels like we’re the last of many and our kids will be the first of a few…

my whole life, i’ve been fascinated by this streak of human nature that i seemed to find in more and more people, the older i got. this spark that some seemed to possess and others didn’t, that some seemed to find all on their own, while others, in a display so poignant, even icarus himself would be impressed, flew around the globe only to never find it. for the longest time, i didn’t dare speak it, but, dearest reader (and i assure you, this is not one of those terrible self help book hooks): i was watching people rediscover their humanity in the face of a thousand impending apocalypses.

as someone who lives in a world of fractal patterns, scale degrees and programming languages, i should adore the idea of cyclical history, of a world that rebuilds itself from the ruins of what came before, only to destroy itself in its hubris.

the thing is, i don’t.

i choose to believe in a universe of free choice, of made decisions and broken and kept words. even if those choices were profoundly shit or some promises could never be kept.

the sad thing about this philosophical ivory mind palace i’ve foolishly locked myself in is that in all my effort to reject determinism, i’ve embraced a world view that is more deterministic than any other, one, with an end of the world. for real. no fakeouts, no great plan bullshit and no one to mourn, what we will have lost. the last few humans will walk barren lands and bitch about the weather they inherited from former generations that had the audacity to play god with the planet they were living on. and if, somehow, after all of this tabula rasa bullshit, this timeline manages to birth future societies, however different they may be from ours, they can only find solace in the art we left them.

cursed by all the knowledge in the world and a lifespan that doesn’t suffice to understand ourselves or even what it means to have an identity, we are faced now, with the hardest of questions, any large enough group that shares some common identifier has to answer at some point: how do we want to be remembered, when the dust has settled, the final bomb has fallen, the final tsunami ravaged thousands of lives (or whatever ragnarökian monstrosity we will have created to end our collective suffering, i personally hope for a kaiju solution), what will remain of the simple but crafty and intelligent human? what contorted versions of our stories will survive, what utter trash utilitarian art, in our times reserved for the walls of cheap b&bs and otherwise sterile doctors’ practices, will be revered as remnants of a once great culture?

the hurtful truth is, i have zero fucking control over any of that and so does everybody else, but that doesn’t matter because i fervently cling to the belief that engaging with these questions is one of the most fruitful things we, as humans, can do. to ask ourselves how we want to portray us, the human race, if we get the chance to make a good first impression.

who we are

would you indulge me and follow me on a little thought experiment? let’s say, a little alien arrives on earth for 24 hours with the mission to engage with as much meaningful human art as possible. what do we show him? the mona lisa? beethoven? or do we paint our banners with the achievements of cultural outliers like frank zappa and yoko ono? are the western artists and personalities even worth our time, when their works have been of so little influence to cultures beyond the western egocentrism?

we tried to answer similar questions before, i’m sure some of you are right now screaming about the voyager golden record at whatever device or paper you are reading this on and yes, you are correct, there were already efforts to codify the human experience™. intended for any intelligent extraterrestrial life form who may find them, the two golden records we shot into space contain “sounds and images selected to portray the diversity of life and culture on earth”.

the thing is, we don’t exercise our self defining rights like this because we want to lay the ground for others to understand us. we circle back to this behaviour like addicts, every cult, every religion, every artist, every fucking idiot under the sun has tried to answer the question “why am i here and am i supposed to make something out of the fact that some stupid coincidence gave me life?”. we don’t build tidy square shelves to display information about ourselves to others. we build them to create any semblance of a form that we might be able to mold ourselves into, to gain the illusion of self recognition. simply, to have an identity with which we can face the final and devastating fact of modern existence: the only way out of this hell of our own making is to recognise that everything is profoundly shit and the only way to change that is to be nice to each other.

and i don’t mean that in that naive ‘let’s all hold hands, sing and move to self-sufficient farming communities’ way that middle aged white men in the arts tend to gravitate to, no no. it’s too late for salvation for us, somehow the goddamn religions ended up being right about that. what they were wrong about and what so many of their teachings (however corrupted by a needlessly violent transgenerational game of telephone) seem to overlook is that there is no great evil and there never was. there simply is human nature that tries so hard to codify itself and everything around it, that it has invented morality. a concept of good and evil, in a world of coincidences, just to torture our existence. of course, morality has given us society and society has given us art and culture and love and everything else we live for. but was it worth it?

maybe that is what both christianity and charli xcx meant with their apple metaphors? in that case, i do have to agree with eve and pandora and all the other mythological mothers of monsters that our modern moralist way of interpretation has punished with ignorance. unleashing sin unto the world seems to have been the right idea. humanity had to be given the tools to unmake itself to learn what it really means to be human.

what it means to be us

i’ve been what i’d call a jumper my whole life, i never had one closely knit social circle, rarely had best friends (especially few that would have called me the same), no; i revelled in being able to peek behind the curtain of as many different social groups, scenes and subcultures as possible, i loved learning the little specific rules any group of humans forced to spend time in close proximity with each other inevitably develops, i adored all of it.

growing up, i think, the more i learned about these rules, the more groups i got to uncover and socially dissect, the more understanding of the “human code” i had, the more secure i got in my belief that being normal and belonging were just things you could learn.

i was wrong of course, but i had to learn that the hard way, had to go through my very own deconstructionist phase. the truth, as we all well know, is that i was an autistic little boy, a finally fully functioning artificial intelligence at the end of time, rationalising his own fear of attachment as interest in others while looking for solutions to problems bigger minds have failed to solve. there is no human code, no simple answer, no 101 guide on what it means to be truly human.

there’s only a question: are you willing to fucking try? are you willing to create something, inspire someone or change something just to make someone else’s day better? because after millions of years of evolution, thousands of years of philosophy (side tangent: how absurdly amazing, that we as a species have created a discipline that does nothing but pose questions way too grand for a singular human experience?), that’s what it comes down to: your ability to choose to be the most agreeable, social and humanitarian version of yourself and what you do with that responsibility.

ultimately i believe there is nothing that can save us from the end of the world, it’s all going to shit anyways. if it’s not grim mother climate change that will eradicate us, we’ll just finish the job ourselves. i guess i'm trying to say that the most meaningful response to that realisation is to remain compassionate, to create, now, more than ever and to live.

mythologizing the modern

i’ve called myself an agnostic for my entire adult life. the first time i heard the term was during recess in 11th grade, a guy i went to school with proclaimed himself as such and after we asked him what that meant, he answered: “i don’t know if there is a god and i don’t care!”. i realise now, that this simple, almost flippant answer to one of the universe’s biggest questions, does actually go deeper, then it was given credit for by our gaggle of pseudo intellectual teenagers (of course, we all still started branding ourselves as agnostics from that day on).

i think, in essence, there are two beliefs in this world, one that is rooted in nihilism and one that refuses to submit to the realisation that our being here is a mere coincidence. you either accept that there is no meaning behind all of reality or you craft an explanation, you either become an atheist or a believer. i am aware that most of this sounds like a fundamental critique of religious belief, but i firmly ascribe myself to the second group:

at first glance agnosticism seemingly presents itself as a third alternative, another way, for those who reject the binary, but i’d argue that agnosticism in itself requires a form of belief, an acceptance of the possibility that there is more in this universe than meets the eye.

all this might be the reason for the obsession with mythology i’ve been carrying around with me all my life. i thoroughly enjoy the stories humanity has written, rewritten, morphed and anastomized, all to explain the same natural and societal phenomena through different cultural lenses. they tell us what our forerunners valued in this world, what they feared and worshiped, and most importantly, how they chose to personify the unexplainable without even realising their doing so. we continue to do this, of course, with the internet arguably being a modern reinterpretation of a chaos entity, an unknowable black box, that constantly births horrors into this world. or rather, children. it is us, humanity, that turns those children into horrors, it always has been.

i think in this simple fact lies the distinction between harmful and cooperative belief, since its acknowledgement requires a sense of responsibility that most religious fanatics seem to lack. in their fervent misconception, that their interpretation of our being here is the only correct one, they forgot why this interpretation was created in the first place. simply, to remind us that however unknowable the universe might be, it still matters how we treat one another.

i fear our modern gods’ apathy towards humanitarian individualism will have grave consequences. we’ve completely neglected to craft new mythological explanations for why every single human life is worth cherishing, protecting and celebrating. rather, we’re practicing a misguided global collectivism, controlled by a select few so far removed from the struggles of the many, they might as well be living on different worlds, without any gods to punish their hubris (except the unknowable sea of course, it still punishes those who disrespect its depth without any regard for their billions of dollars and technically advanced u-boats, ain’t that right, hamish harding?).

in essence, this is the issue the metamodern movement seeks to tackle, it is us artists that are tasked with creating rivaling mythologies and new grand narratives that acknowledge modernity’s excruciating complexity. we are supposed to be the ones with the tools to communicate that meaning can be found in all things, that all people and circumstances contain multitudes and how fruitful it can be to embrace the whimsical, the honest and the unique.

as gods do, they punish us for this of course, they give birth to new children, like midjourney, suno and chatgpt, to threaten our livelihoods if we don’t learn to adapt.

the problem is, adaptation alone doesn’t suffice. to stay relevant, we can’t default to complacency. we cannot simply refold ourselves to fit into existing forms and structures, it is our obligation to want more, to critique the norm, to chase the whimsical and create new pathways.

i struggle with that responsibility.

a lot.*

*as you can probably tell by my pseudo intellectual ramblings here

the creation

what stories are there left to tell in a world suffocated under thousands of self referential, fan serving, recycled bullshit franchises with connected and alternate universes, remakes, spin-offs and fanfictions. i think modern media’s refusal to tell new stories over rehashing plots about the same two families in the unbelievably vast star wars universe speaks to a tendency in modern society, that should be watched closely. it mirrors a societal standstill at an unbelievably inopportune moment.

we’ve been replaying the same “societal movie” since leaving industrialisation behind us, or, as francis fukuyama would say, we’ve arrived at the end of time. he was wrong of course, in assuming, that this was the end (he admitted as much himself), he just hadn’t given the prevailing system enough time to collapse.

with said collapse happening all around us, the responsibility to formulate utopias only grows, the privilege to coast along, to double the load we collectively bear in giving it to the next generation no longer exists. there isn’t enough time for the marvel franchise, whatever ya-novel you like the most and bubble pop on the radio to be all we do. we need new stories, no matter if they were written with a mythological intent or not, simply to remind us that we, as a global society, can and should prioritise humanity over the system we continually force ourselves into.

this privilege scares me shitless.

i’m convinced that all art reflects the time and circumstances it was made in. so how do i create art that adequately captures even a fragment of the neverending onslaught of actuality, the present confronts us with?

should i even be a creator if future generations plan to extract wisdom about us from our art?

what does my being a creator mean for the art i created?

i don’t believe in a death of the author. or rather, i don’t think the concept is more than a helpful lens, to finally disregard the concept of work immanence. in assuming, the identity of the author doesn’t contribute to his works’ interpretations, we can highlight the facets of the work, we would otherwise be neglecting, to further a story about the author, we might want to push (even subconsciously), that much is clear. the problem is: i don’t believe this alone is a sufficient way to observe a piece. true artistic meaning often hides in the artist’s world building rather than in a single work. it shows itself, when you look at the authors struggles, convictions and intersectionality, when you see them, as what they are, a single anchor point amidst a thousand generations of artists influencing and commenting on each other in and across tiny subcultures.

this view of the art world and artistic expression in turn requires something from the artists. if my creating in itself does mean something for the art i then release into the world, my approach simply must be holistic, i have to consider how me being perceived as the artist influences my pieces’ reception and interpretation, maybe even consciously adjust the aestheticised personality i carry into the world, just to give my pieces the best chance to be understood how they were meant. of course if you start seeing artistic expression in this way, every single decision in the artist's life becomes an artistic one. in a sense this deifies him, turns a simple creator of things into a creator of worlds. the question is: are we capable of being compassionate, merciful deities?

being, perceived

my writing probably shows that i am obsessed with perception and its implications. on the one hand, i am fascinated by our ability to receive certain stimuli and then have our brain interpret them as a facsimile of reality and how that process in turn shapes our understanding of reality in and of itself. on the other and far more importantly, i struggle with a histrionic personality disorder. dubbed narcissism's friendly cousin, histrionism is characterised by a pattern of attention seeking behaviour, extreme and exaggerated emotional performance and a mind bogglingly self indulgent need for stimulation. every interaction and every form of societal participation is fueled by my insatiable need to be perceived, categorized and understood, simply because i’m not capable of being someone or understanding myself in a fixed state on my own. i have no concept of the self, when i picture my identity, i see a cloud of smoke floating in nothingness, ready to fill out the next social mould. completely unwillingly, my self gets reconstructed anew in every interaction i have, built atop the ruins of the most recent identity mantel i dawned, maybe repurposing some of the aspects and assets i liked in previous versions of myself, always mirroring and stealing parts of other peoples’ selves.

notice, how i used the word mantle, to describe my identity? a piece of clothing, externally imposed, but with a somewhat regal connotation, as if other people would honor me in some way by giving me a self to perform. this feels true, people allowing me to perform an identity for them somehow sparks the same excitement i feel, when my art is appreciated.

in that sense (viewed through an admittedly fractured lens), simply existing among humans is an artistic act in and of itself, the self becomes the canvas for others to paint onto and our understanding of our identity becomes a curation of millions of hastily drawn pictures in thousands of different styles.

all of this seems to point to a purely subjective reality, an understanding of the world shaped by our meagre five senses and our embarrassingly underdeveloped ability to grasp, retain and transfer information simply rules out every version of objectivity. i’m very interested in what that means for artistic expression in the traditional sense, a purely subjective world suggests that art can not be good or bad, intentionality becomes the only defining factor. i’m not sure if i find that realisation scary or freeing.

meaning and subjectivity

so far, i haven’t talked about what i’m even trying to do here. this piece, in all its unnecessary grandiosity, is an attempt at written art that cannot be replaced by ai.

we’re rushing towards an age, where every cultural lineage can be reproduced by a few button presses, where technical proficiency and virtuosity will get stripped of all their value. true artistic expression in the ai age must be singular, disregard any impulse to be part of a genre, it has to actually embrace the narrative of inbetweenness, that metamodernists have decorated themselves with instead of just remixing modern and postmodern sensibilities.

oddly enough, skibidi toilet, a youtube machinima series by creator alexey gerasimov, released on his channel DaFuq?Boom!, might be a perfect example for post metamodern art. on the one hand, gerasimov seems to be obsessed with the singular point of view, all of his short form videos are framed, as if they were shot by a single foot soldier in an expansive, senseless war, always looking up, never in control. on the other, he deals with themes that feel uniquely of our time (surveillance, technocracy, war in the age of technical innovation), without really commenting on them. his complete disregard for a grand narrative (except maybe a strained reference to the interplay of dionysian and apollonian schools of thought) feels distinctly not metamodern. rather, i’d argue, garimovs videos are forerunners of an artistic movement that has yet to be defined, i’d like to propose the term idemodernism.

idem is meant here as self-sameness, the only thing that matters in an idemodern context, is the artists relationship to their art and audience and the meaning they choose to make through the way, they present (or choose to obscure) their identity. in a perfect world, this would also finally kill the concept of great masters and bring a transparent, conscious curation and communication of ones influences to the forefront.

oscillation has become obsolete and been replaced by self performance. while metamodern art fluctuates between modernist narratives and their cynical postmodernist deconstruction, idemodernism chooses to collapse the viewpoints into something new, it refuses to acknowledge them as distinct points you move between, disregards the swinging between two diametrically opposed poles. rather, both become equivalent tools to create a truly singular artistic self that does not need to reconcile discrepancies, because it inhabits them. irony, for example, no longer serves to critique or deconstruct societal narratives, but becomes a way to highlight the contradictions and insecurities of the artist.

in short, idemodernism tries to capture the feeling of being here, now.

#literature #philosophy #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writers and poets #essay #art #existentialism #morality

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