#this is cross about killer in some way. bits of it are anyway. especially the part i mentioned

[unknownarmageddon]

have you heard this song,,,,

I HAVE NOT i’ll listen to it right now hang on

[urhoneycombwitch]

I know what they call you.

You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you. shy!reader

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after. 

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music. 

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm. 

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways. 

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask. 

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him. 

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return. 

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me. 

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm. 

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot. 

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house. 

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids. 

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of. 

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again. 

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty. 

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair. 

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke. 

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it. 

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code. 

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter. 

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive. 

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily. 

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending.  “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out. 

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them. 

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in. 

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it. 

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom. 

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth. 

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits. 

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring. 

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence. 

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music. 

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around. 

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows. 

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic. 

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms. 

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate. 

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart. 

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down. 

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement. 

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?” 

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard. 

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs. 

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands. 

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel. 

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves. 

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own. 

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks. 

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form. 

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours. 

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp. 

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch. 

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights. 

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown. 

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you. 

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him. 

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation. 

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam. 

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders. 

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh. 

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,” 

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips. 

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao

[summercourtship]

𝖍𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖞 '𝖏𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖑𝖘𝖊𝖓' 𝖏𝖔𝖍𝖓𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖝 𝖋!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 | 18+

I started writing this in fall 2020. At it's most ambitious, it was going to be a multi-chapter fic but that obviously didn't and won't happen so here: have it reimagined as a one-shot. You might be able to tell where it would have expanded into a larger story, but I tried to condense it. If anything that is here is eerily similar to something else I've written, it's because I've probably taken it from this draft lol. Also TBH I'm trying to not be as explicit in my sex scenes because I just feel more comfortable writing that way. Which seems like the opposite of a goal: for years, I've been trying to become better at writing super explicit scenes and now I'm trying to reel it in and make it (hopefully) match the rest of my prose. IDK. Happy Halloween!

brief summary: A one-shot about being stalked by your coworker who is also the serial killer terrorizing the town. warnings: slightly dubious consent due to threat of death, stalking, horror themes, knife play, PIV sex, some dirty talk | word count: 4025

danny 'jed olsen' johnson masterpost | read on ao3

You smell him before you see him. Stale cigarette smoke, coffee, and the unspecific musk of his cologne. On anyone else, you’d hate it. But with him, it’s become an almost comforting scent, indicative of one of your favorite people’s presence. When he rounds the corner and comes into your view, you can’t help the tiny smile that crosses your face.

“Hi Jed!” You chirp as he comes to a stop in front of your desk, placing his coffee on the corner of your desk to free his hands as he rummages in his side satchel bag. He gives you a smile in return, pulling out a thin file folder and flipping it open. 

“Here are those photos you wanted me to get,” He hands over a small stack of pictures, all developed and ready to go. Last week, you asked him to take the pictures on a whim, thinking you might just have to go down yourself with your crappy hand-me-down camera and snap a picture for the article you’re working on. But, to your surprise, he agreed quickly. 

The article isn’t anything special- in fact it’s quite the opposite. A filler piece for the middle section of the paper that no one really read. Despite this, you couldn’t bring yourself to bullshit the article, and still put forth an unnecessary amount of effort into the piece. No one would read it now, but perhaps it could be added to your portfolio for when you finally left this town. 

The photos are good- which isn’t a surprise considering who took them. Everything Jed did seemed to turn out well, even when he didn’t try. You wonder what he looks like doing something he’s actually passionate about.

“I didn’t think you’d have these ready so soon!” You say, flipping through the four pictures he handed over. You’d have to choose one- you’re lucky they’re even letting you include a picture in the meaningless article. “I mean, aren’t you busy with Ghostface?” 

He gives a small exhale, like he’s laughing at his own inside joke. “A little bit.” He pauses. “Maybe I wanted a break to go take some pictures of the duck pond in the park. Riveting stuff you’re writing about.”

“Excuse me, but the purported existence of an otter in the duck pond is very important news. Would be front-page worthy if there wasn’t someone else taking up the headlines.” You laugh before stopping for a moment, thinking about what you just said. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. People are dead and I’m making jokes about an otter.” 

“Don’t worry about it, everyone copes in different ways.” He smiles down at you. “Especially when you have no idea if you’re next.” 

“That’s morbid, but fair.” You say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You don’t notice how his eyes flick to follow the movement. “Anyways, thanks again for the pictures. I will have to find a way to repay you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiles again, different this time. This is the smile that makes your stomach swoop and your heart skip a beat. Your face heats and you stop thinking for a second, but you press on.

“No, please-” 

“I wouldn’t want to put you out like that. Times are hard.” 

“I- okay.” You sit back, looking at him. He nods and starts to leave, but the part in you that insisted on somehow repaying him took over and you were speaking up once more.

“Jed!” He turns and looks back, eyebrows raised. “Um, at least let me take you out for coffee? Just as a thanks, not repayment.” He thinks about it for a moment, your heart racing as you wait with bated breath for his answer. If he didn’t say yes, you’d never be able to look at him again. You might have to leave town immediately.

“Sure, but let’s make it a date instead.” He gives you a tiny smile and a wink that you barely register, before turning and walking away. Giddy, you sit back in your chair, trying not to hide your face in your hands. Instead you focus on the pictures, flipping through them to distract yourself from the newfound excitement in your veins.

____

Despite the fact that there was a masked stalker-murderer prowling the streets of your town, you felt no fear walking home. Maybe it’s a remnant of your teenage “nothing can hurt me” years. Maybe it’s just your stupidity rearing its ugly head at the worst time. 

Or maybe you just like the thrill of it all.

You had listened to the warnings- check behind you when you walk, keep an eye out for anything abnormal, lock your windows, lock your doors, don’t hang out places alone. However, you followed them a little haphazardly. You didn’t engage in any behaviors that could be misconstrued as inviting danger into your life, but you also didn’t necessarily allow the paranoia to get to your head.

If you did, you might have died from sheer terror and helplessness. Or perhaps you would’ve been more careful, and would’ve definitely noticed that you had already unknowingly disregarded the warnings.

Someone was following you.

And they had been following you for a while.

____

You wake up suddenly. It’s like that sometimes- not gently, or gradually. You’re just... awake. Brain racing to catch up with your surroundings, you sit up. No clock around, but you’d hazard a guess that it’s somewhere around 3AM. Running a hand through your hair, you sigh, the dream you’d been having already disappearing from your memory. Plopping back onto your pillow, you close your eyes and wait for sleep to come back to you.

It’s funny how the air conditioning can sound like someone breathing, deep and slow. You vaguely register that something isn’t right here, but sleep takes over before you can linger on that thought. 

__

The best coffee shop in town is a small, cluttered shop off of the main road. It’s tucked away between a barbershop and a vintage store, far enough away from the main street that any tourists wouldn’t come by it. (Not that there were many of those now that a serial killer prowled the streets at night.)

“You okay?”

You look up from where you’d been staring into your coffee, even though it was probably too late in the day to be drinking it, the sky already darkening with the approaching evening. But your body was thick with exhaustion for reasons you weren’t quite sure and you needed to finish another pointless article when you went home. Jed had his own coffee, so at least you weren’t alone in your desire for evening caffeination. 

“Yeah, I’m just… trying to not psych myself out about everything going on. The news says it's good to be careful but I know I’d just end up taking it too far and becoming paranoid.” 

“No one knows how to deal with this.” He says, simply. You only nod in agreement and take a sip from the coffee. 

A breaking news report on the TV in the corner of the room catches your eye. GHOSTFACE STRIKES AGAIN screams the caption at the bottom of the screen. You silently nudge Jed and direct his attention towards it. For a moment, it looks like the echo of a smile crosses his face, but it’s gone before you can truly absorb it. His face is stony, and he looks back at you. 

“Are you gonna write about that?” You ask. 

“Tomorrow.” 

“What number is this?”

“Six.” He answers without hesitation. You force yourself to take a deep breath to try and calm the beating of your heart. Every time the news breaks, it feels like the first time. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to hearing about another brutal murder, and maybe that’s a good thing. It means you aren’t desensitized to it yet. You only realize that Jed is watching you carefully when he asks, again: “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Why are you so worried about me? You could be next too.”

“I think I can handle it if it comes to that.” He took a sip from his coffee to hide his smile. If you found this odd, you didn’t remark on it. “At least let me walk you home tonight.” 

You stared at him, unsure why you were suddenly uneasy, why an alarm was going off somewhere in the back of your head. Then you decided that it was stupid. You knew Jed. He took pictures of the duck pond for you. Hardly anything to be frightened by. 

“That would be nice, thanks.” 

___

After a week of waking up in the middle of the night, you were certain there was something else going on that your body was trying to tell you. When your eyes open, once again barely past two A.M., you sit up in your bed instead of trying to go back to sleep right away like you normally do. The shadows in your room seemed deeper tonight, your curtains blocking out most of the light from the street. 

You stare into the corner, hoping that the shape manifesting in the darkness was just your eyes playing tricks on you and you could go back to sleep. But you knew better. Slowly, your eyes adjust to the low light and you’re able to make out the dark figure standing in the shadows. 

“...Go away.” 

Slowly, with the creak of leather, the figure shook its head. You take a careful breath, trying not to let your fear show. But it must be palpable in the air, there's no way it wasn’t. 

“What do you want?” 

The headlights of a car driving by shined into your room for a brief second, illuminating the figure and the mask he wore like a bolt of lightning struck down outside. It only confirmed what you had been afraid of since you’d woken to see a dark shadow in your corner, as his mask was barely visible in the dark room. 

But it seems that Ghostface has, indeed, marked you as his next victim. 

You move, bolting out of bed. He must want to give chase because he lets you fling your door open and run down the hall, his steady footsteps following you. But he catches up to you quickly, his body slamming into yours and pressing you against the wall, his arms wrapping around your front. Before you can begin to struggle, the thin edge of a blade is pressed against your throat, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You can only respond with a choked cry.  

The hard length of his body presses against your back, a firm barrier between you and your freedom. He adjusts slightly, allowing you to feel the other hard length pressing against you, though you can only barely feel it through the layers of his outfit. But you know it’s there. 

You exhale shakily, and you don’t know if it's from fear or your own arousal. (Or both). 

His chest hits your back as he breathes, standing still with you as your mind tries to catch up with everything that has happened in the past few seconds.

“Let me go.” You whisper. His arms flex around you, squeezing slightly. “Please.”

To your surprise, his grip loosens. 

“Call the cops and I’ll skin you alive.” He hisses in your ear, his voice rough from the modulator he’s using. 

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing frozen in your hallway, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why wasn’t your blood splattered on the walls, why did he let you go?

Despite his warning, you did consider calling the cops. But really, what would they do? Ghostface was gone. There was no evidence aside from the thin line of red on your throat where he’d pressed the knife, and even that was fading quickly.

Instead, you return to your room, curling under the covers and staring at the wall until the room brightens with the dawn. 

___

You had no idea if Ghostface continued to watch you. You were certain he was. You’d come home to things in obviously different positions. It was like he was taunting you, begging you to do something about it.

You simply put the objects back where they belonged and continued about your day.  

___

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?” Jed asks, a few dates later when you’re sitting on your couch with him and perched on the edge of the cushion, your muscles tense like you were about to take off running, and he seems so understanding in that moment that you almost blurt out what has been happening for the past two weeks. But fear takes a hold of you, and instead you simply shake your head. 

“No, no. There’s nothing.”

___

The second time you actually see Ghostface, you’re barely prepared for it. You knew, deep down, that he’d be back at some point and yet you were still surprised when you arrived home to an open window, your sheer curtains fluttering in the hot wind as the humidity from outside filled the room. 

You drop your bag, staring at the open window like it was a rabid animal that was going to attack. Then, slowly, you turn your head to the corner, where you can feel his eyes on you. 

Even though you can���t see his eyes through the mask, you can feel the moment you make eye contact with him. 

Ghostface starts walking towards you and you don’t know why you don’t move. The door is right behind you and yet you stand there, watching as he approaches you with slow and measured steps as the streetlight from outside glints off the knife he holds loosely in his hand. You swallow thickly. 

Then, when he’s only a step away and after you’ve had ample time to turn around and run away, he grabs the side of your head, his gloved hand threading through your hair. Finally, your brain catches up to your situation and you struggle against his hold. You vaguely register him shushing you from behind the mask but your heart is racing too fast in your ears to really pick up on it. 

As a response to your thrashing, he places the flat edge of the knife against your cheek, a silent threat that stills your movement. You stare at him, stuck between his knife and his hand. (You should’ve run, why didn’t you run?)

He clicks his tongue, the noise distorted by the voice modulator in his mask as he shakes his head.

“Be good for me, won’t you?”  

Something shifts-- maybe it’s the wind from the open window or maybe he leans in a fraction closer but you suddenly catch a whiff of his scent. He must’ve been covering it up with a heavier cologne in his previous visits, because you would have easily recognized this from the first visit. Stale cigarette smoke, coffee, and an unidentifiable musk of his (usual) cologne.

It’s like being dunked in ice cold water after a warm day in the sun. You stare up at Ghostface, your brain quickly piecing together all the things you hadn’t consciously picked up on. The coincidences, the hints, the tiny behaviors that reminded you, always, of someone else. 

You pull yourself out of his grip, and you don’t know if he expected you because you’re able to make it halfway across the room on shaky legs before he grabs you again. Your legs buckle beneath you at the force of his body against yours and he follows you to the floor, roughly turning you over so you’re laying on your back with him perched above you. 

Heart racing, you reach up and yank his mask off, too quick for him to react. You blink at him, confirming what you’d just figured out. What you’d known, really, this entire time.

“Jed.” 

For a second, his face is blank. Then, he starts to laugh, pressing his weight down on your body when you start to struggle again. 

“I was wondering when you’d figure it out. Was hoping you wouldn’t, really, but.” He shrugged. “Does it make you feel better, or worse, to know that you weren’t actually cheating on me?”

“I never did anything with Ghostf- you.”

“But I know you well enough to know that you wanted to. I felt how you pressed back against me that night when you first noticed me in your room.” He leans down, getting in your face. His eyes are so cold, not at all the eyes of the Jed Olsen you knew. Was that even his name, or was that a lie too? “Did you want Ghostface to hold you down and fuck you? Was Jed not cutting it out for you? You needed the big bad serial killer, didn’t you?” 

He places his gloved hand over your throat, noting how your breath catches. “Of course you did.” His hand moves down, laying over your left breast. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to actually touch you. It’s only then you notice the rhythm he’s keeping with his other hand, the one that’s still resting on the side of his leg. He’s feeling your heartbeat, though his eyes are locked onto yours. 

“I didn’t. I don’t.” 

“You say that, but-” He peers closer at your eyes. “Your eyes are telling me something else.” He leans back and smugly offers his explanation. “You know that eyes dilate when you’re sexually aroused.”

“I-” You swallow, falling silent. What can you say? Any denial would be a lie. He continues to look down on you, face passive. 

“I don’t want to kill you.” He interrupts your silence. Then he’s quiet. Thoughtful, almost. A glimmer of the Jed you knew coming through in his hesitation. “Not yet, at least.”

“Oh-”

“But I can’t exactly let you go on knowing who I am.”

“...I won’t tell anyone.” He raises an eyebrow, looking like he might burst into laughter again. “Promise.”

What power did you have to promise something when you were the one under him, the memory of the edge of his knife still cold on your cheek? 

“Who would you tell?” He said, causing you to furrow your brow. “You think that Jed Olsen is my real name? I’ve thought through everything before you or anyone else could even try to.”

“But-”

“Why would I let you go, when your death will be so…” he leaned down again, his hips rolling slightly against yours. It’s achingly difficult not to press up against it. “...delicious?”

“I don’t want to die.” 

“None of you do.” He tutted. His hand that had been laying on your breast moves to the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling the fabric up to expose your stomach. You shivered at the feeling of leather on your skin, goosebumps trailing after his fingers as he slid his hand back towards your breasts. 

“Front clasping bra.” He says under his breath, raising his eyebrows at you. “Were you expecting company?”

“No.” You glance down. You could offer an explanation like oh, it’s almost laundry day or I just like this bra, but you stay silent. Watching as he unclasps it.  

Jed- though that isn’t his name, is it?- removes his gloves, tossing them somewhere in your living room. You start to turn your head to see where they landed but he grabs your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him again. 

“Stay still.” 

It’s then that you notice his knife, back in his hand, and watch, with bated breath, as he drags the tip over the skin between your breasts, not hard enough to even sting. Down, under where your skin creases, back up around the right breast until he lays the blade flat against you. Your chest is rising and falling quickly with your breath, though you try to control it for fear of being nicked by the knife. 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

He hums, tracing the point of the blade around your nipple and watching as it hardens. 

“Tell you what-” He moves the knife to the other breast. “-we can postpone your death.”

“And what do you want instead?” You ask, as if it wasn’t obvious from the way he was dragging his blade across your exposed chest or the obvious erection pressing against you when he rolled his hips. 

“I think you know.” He raised his eyebrows. Was there a choice? And even if you did have a choice where the option wasn’t death, would you choose any differently? 

He pinches your nipple, prompting a shaky acceptance from you. “Fine.” You barely bite back a please before he slides down your body, his hands running down your chest to the hem of your pants. The knife returns to cut off the button (unnecessarily) and he roughly pulls your pants down your legs, his nails scratching your skin. 

He slots himself between your legs, now with only the thin fabric of your underwear and his clothes separating him from you. Even that doesn’t last long, as he takes the side of your underwear and rips through it with the knife before doing the same to the other side, ripping the fabric away from your body. 

Leaning back, he starts to fiddle with the many belts and buckles around his waist. You watch, your legs falling apart slightly. His eyes drop to your core, his tongue darting out to lick his lip at the sight of your wet cunt. 

“For someone who seemed so averse to this, you’re pretty wet.” He comments. Before you can respond, he’s pushing into you, having pulled his cock from the complicated trappings of his outfit. 

You groan at the intrusion, the slight pinch of pain before you adjust as he continues to push into you. He gives you barely a moment to breathe before he pulls out and begins thrusting back into you. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts as he fills you, his cock thick in your cunt. You can only whimper in response, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. 

He pulls your leg up, placing it over his shoulder as he continues to fuck into you, the new angle allowing him to hit deeper inside of you. You curse, throwing your head back. You’re certain that you’ll have a rash on your back and ass from the carpet rubbing against your skin but the bursts of pleasure from his cock and his fingers are enough to distract you from that for the moment. 

“Come on, cum on my cock-” He grunts, his hips rutting down against you, his fingers pressing harder against your clit as he practically bullied your body into orgasming for him. Your back arched, hands flying to pull him down to you. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his cloak, scratching against the leather as he urges you on with whispered praise and degradation. 

With a final thrust of his hips, he finishes inside of you, low curses hissed through his teeth. 

You lay, chest heaving as he pulls out, wincing at the sudden feeling of emptiness. The sweat that covers your skin begins to cool. 

“Remember what I said last time about calling the cops.” 

You don’t respond, only clipping your bra back together and pulling your shirt back down over your chest. After all, what could the police do at this point? There were very few signs of a struggle in your apartment. And, as you found out the next day, Jed had gone out after and killed someone else. At best, the police wouldn’t believe that it had actually been Ghostface in your apartment. At worst, they’d think you were in on it. 

And, when you went into work the next day to find a dark polaroid picture of you, asleep, from a few weeks ago- before you’d even asked Jed to take those pictures of the duck pond- with a red heart scrawled at the bottom, you began to think that maybe the worst assumption wasn’t that far off anymore. 

[yourlocaldcbitxh]

Gotham Headcannons: If you work for the GCPD (cop or other not specified)

~~

He cares

A lot

But tries to play it off like he doesn’t and that he completely trusts you

(He doesn’t)

The type of guy to try and weave his way into your conversations and try a figure out information

Goes on your laptop and phone so don’t leave those out if you have confidential info

Will accuse you of spying like 2 times a week with his whole dramatic hand wavy thingy

Give him little tidbits of information that are not important and he will trust you more

He lives for the office drama

Especially if Gordon is involved

All in all why would you do this to yourself

4/10 being generous

Pre-Riddler

Leaves you riddles and cupcakes on your desk because he gets into work before you

Will stop by once or twice a day to say hi and chat

Lunch together is a mandatory and it’s great

You usually eat down in his office as the other employees tease him for being able to find a partner

Simply stroke his ego a bit and he’ll be fine

Will totally ramble about his work and let you do the same if you want

Great talker and listener

9/10 cause he’s a little awkward but it’s ok

Post-Riddler

Manipulation is a word that comes to mind

He will, without fail, attempt to get you to spill information about how the GCPD is doing on catching him

You usually tell him cause it’s not confidential

That’s a gateway to more questions though so be careful

Your relationship will be a lot better if you knew him pre-riddler but he still loves you even if he didn’t

When he’s in his “Penguins bitch” phase he so saunters into the office and leans against your desk

Be warned though other officers hate you for dating him

4/10 in general he’s good but why are you dating a cop killer?

A true neutral

Doesn’t give a shit to be honest

He’s an assassin not a spy so he won’t pry for info except when it comes for him (wants to know about Alvarez)

You indulge him with the gossip and he eats it all up

Sassy queen will protect your name if anyone makes a comment about you being a cop

He may not like the system but you’ve showed him that even cops have a good side

He finds it ironic

No one knows you’re dating obviously because that’s a line neither of you will cross

Especially due to his line of work

All in all a pretty normal relationship 8/10

He is so happy to have someone who is a cop like him

That doesn’t stop him from being worried as shit about you

Totally that guy who’s like “oh a really dangerous case? I’ll take it” and then proceeds to double check your work without asking

Talk some sense into him please

His hero complex needs to be brought down a notch

You are capable and he knows that he just worries

After all like everyone he ever dated turned somewhat insane

So

Watch out for that

Harvey teases you guys and does that “if you hurt my brother I’ll kill you” stuff

Don’t be scared of him he’s fine

ANYWAY

Don’t bring up penguin

Ever

He will become a whiny bitch and no one wants that

All in like 6/10 cause he’s a workaholic and a mansplainer

He thinks it hot

You and a gun put together makes him feel things

But he totally puts on that “I only date dainty women so fuck off” the first time so smack some sense into him as well

Unlike Jim trusts you more with his job than himself

Will ask you to double check his cases if he feels a little off about it

He worries though

He hasn’t had great relationship success because of his personality so if you like brash Irish men this is your guy

You actually help him stop drinking it’s wonderful

He still does on a hard case but not as much as he used to

7/10 he’s great if you’re into him

Little Miss Barbie has a little temper Tantrum but that’s ok

You can’t blame her, her ex made her go insane and he was a cop

Ensure her that you’re nothing like him and maybe feed her a little info and yall are fine again

The type of person to call you at work and ask how you’re doing and if you can get out early so you guys can hang out

You usually say yes because dumping cases in Gordon is so fun

Plus you think he likes it so it’s no biggy

Tell Barbara you make his life a living hell and she will marry you right then and there

Don’t go to her club during her business meetings though that’s a mess no one wants to

All in all like a 6/10 cause of her mood swings but you can deal with that

Unhappy little man

Will either use you for information or kill you

But

If you somehow manage to weasel your way into his heart with your loving personality

He begins not to give a shit

Or pretends

He care and he doesn’t like it

And may kill you at a moment notice

But for now you’re good

2/10 you’re probably dead or being used

Again literally nothing on him he hates cops and bombed the entire city

Death is the most likely outcome

Or manipulation for information

More like that Ecco will kill your first rather than Jeremiah

1/10 dead probably or close to it

[pickledpascal]

Killer Queen

Chapter One: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

Warnings: Slurs, blood and gore, violence, soldier boy is like barely in this because it's the first chappie and i wanted to flesh out amber more as a character

Word Count: 3.1k

Killer Queen Masterlist

Next Chapter |

It was peacetime. Or, at least, that's what most people thought it was. Supe's collateral damage was at an all-time low, partly due to the Department of Superhuman Affairs and Congresswoman Nueman and Hughie. 

Amber could not believe Hughie was working with the government and was technically Butcher's boss now. She had known the Boys for a while, helping them out on a few missions because she had a personal vendetta against Vought. Nothing too horrible, she was just naturally an anti-capitalist because of her parents. Vought had way too much power for any one company to hold. 

Especially since they had Homelander. Whoever came up with that name? Amber thought it was a bit funny. Homelander. She had a feeling he'd crumble if they'd ever met but he didn't get outside much.

There was a knock at her front door. Amber glanced up from her TV and set the remote down, answering it. "Well, hello." She leaned against the door frame.

None other than Billy Butcher stood in front of her. "Hello to you too, love." He hadn't changed in the time they hadn't seen each other. Still had that shit-eating grin on his face.

"Need something?" Amber left Butcher at the open doorway and sat back on her couch.

Butcher stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Where's the kid?" He glanced around the house, seeing no sign of Ryan. 

Amber and her roommate, Eden, were more than fit to take care of Ryan. Eden was a Supe and… well, Butcher didn't know exactly what Amber was but he knew for sure Compound V was not flowing through her veins. 

"Eden took him out." Amber could see Butcher take in a breath to start berating her about the dangers of Ryan being seen in public. "Don't worry, Butch. Eden's careful. They're probably at some random park where she knows there ain't any cameras nearby." She thought for a moment, pursing her lips. "Unless you count game cameras but, y'know."

Butcher shook his head and waved her off. "Yeah, I know. Look, mate, that's not why I'm here anyway." 

"Okay," Amber said carefully, crossing her legs on the couch. "Wanna explain?" 

"There's this weapon. Something that took down Soldier Boy. And me and the Boys have a means of finding it." Butcher explained. His hand twitched slightly at his side. Amber waited for the catch. "But, it's at a Russian base." And there it is. "And while we could get in there ourselves, would be nice having someone watch our backs." 

Amber sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. She could tell he wanted to use it on Homelander. For Ryan. For Becca. His perfect revenge. And, to be honest, Amber couldn't blame him. 

"What do you need me to do?" 

Getting to the Russian base sucked. She had to wear a janitor's jumpsuit and it itched in all the wrong places. She had to adjust the fabric on her crotch a few times. Amber leaned against their truck while Kimiko talked with her.

Your hair looks pretty, Kimiko signed with a smile. Amber's hair was thrown into a ponytail much like hers but, from the last time Kimiko had seen her, some pieces of deep blue framed her face.

Amber smiled softly at Kimiko. "Thank you." She talked as she signed before she heard a crackling of electricity. It must've been Butcher fucking up the power box. 

They all made their way inside the main lab area, Frenchie and Kimiko began looking through files while Marvin, Hughie, and Butcher just looked around for anything that could even resemble a weapon. Amber was more interested in the strange pod that stood in the middle of the room. She tried to take a look inside the small sliver of glass but it was way too frozen over for her to see anything. Her curiosity died. 

As Amber started to look through a desk, the alarm went off. The whole room, and possibly the entire building, was drenched in red light. "Shit." She ducked down as she heard the door get slammed open. 

All or nothing, huh? While the Boys had guns and Kimiko had her powers, their ammo was limited and even Kimiko didn't always like using her powers. Plus, they were outnumbered. As always. 

Amber grabbed a nearby man and punched him so hard that his helmet broke, she broke his arm for good measure. He screamed in pain. She stomped on the floor causing the ground to rumble as a perfectly shaped block all of a sudden lifted to send another man flying through the ceiling. Amber punched in the air, a fire emitting from her fist that caught a Russian on fire. She swept at his legs and stomped on his chest, wiping her boot on the ground afterward.

"Oi, cunts!" Butcher lazered someone behind her. Amber stood back, surprised. When did Butcher become a Supe? Either way, she was glad he got that guy for her.

Once the henchmen were all dead, Marvin and Butcher had a little lover's tiff about Compound V. Amber didn't really pay attention. But they hadn't found any Supe-killing weapon yet. Her eyes shifted back to that pod. She could feel the water pumping into it, freezing something inside. At first, she didn't really care but if it was what they were looking for….

"Woah, we don't know what's in that." Hughie reasoned as Amber stepped closer. 

Amber looked at him sharply, "Do you want to come up empty-handed?" Hughie didn't have a response to that. "Didn't think so." She held out her hands in front of the pod, feeling for any way she could open it without completely breaking it.

"I know, she's hot when she's angry." Frenchie whispered behind her, likely because Kimiko said something.

When Amber found no proper way to open it, she put her fingers in the edges of the door and completely pulled it off its hinges. She threw it to the side and stepped back. There was a hiss of steam, too great for her to even see through but it went away over time. Revealing a face. Who was very much alive.

"Soldier Boy." Butcher whispered beside her. He was shocked but it didn't show on his face. It showed on Marvin's face. 

Amber had heard of Soldier Boy before. Of course she had. But, like everyone else, she assumed he died in the '80s. Due to saving our country from nuclear holocaust? She wasn't so sure. But there he was, in the middle of a Russian lab very much alive.

Soldier Boy stumbled out of the chamber, breaking free from whatever bound him to it in the first place. Firstly, Amber noticed his large beard and then that he was completely naked. She looked away, covering her mouth with disgust. Until she noticed rubble was gravitating towards Soldier Boy. And his chest was starting to glow. 

Amber knew she'd be able to withstand whatever blast he made but what about the others? She opted to guard Marvin while Kimiko dove to protect Frenchie. Except Soldier Boy hit her right through a wall, causing a large piece of metal to wedge itself in Kimiko's leg. And she wasn't healing. 

Frenchie ran over to her, Soldier Boy was long forgotten. Who the fuck cared when the love of his life was in danger? Blood was seeping out of her and Kimiko had a hard time staying awake. They were able to get her into the truck, Marvin flashed a light in her eyes to try and keep her eyes open. 

"Hey, you have water right?" Amber asked Butcher, slapping his shoulder as he drove to the nearest safe house they had. 

Butcher nodded, throwing a water bottle in the back. She caught it with ease and broke the seal.

Amber waved her hand and the water flowed out and onto Kimiko's wound. "Frenchie, I'm gonna say three, two, one and I want you to take that out of her, okay?" Frenchie was frantic and Amber couldn't help but feel for him. He nodded, tears drying on his face as he gripped the metal piping. "Three. Two. One."

Frenchie ripped it out and Kimiko's head lulled as Amber got to work healing her as best as possible. She wasn't the best at water-healing but she'd been working on it. 

At the safe house, Frenchie set Kimiko in her own makeshift hospital room with gauze around her thigh. Amber and Marvin sat in the garage, watching some tapes they took from the lab. Tapes of Soldier Boy getting AK-47 rounds down his throat, scalpels to the eye, and all kinds of other shitty stuff. 

Amber pursed her lips. They had done some sort of nuclear testing on an already very powerful Supe. That wasn't good. Well, maybe it was for Butcher. Kimiko was normal now. As normal as she could be. 

"Did you really think this was a good idea?" Aang had a hand on his forehead. 

When did Amber slip into the Spirit Realm? She didn't do it intentionally. But, then of course, there were times Aang or Roku wanted to tell her how disappointed they were in her so they'd drag her into it.

Amber glanced around, her world was paused as Aang's spirit stood in front of her. "Soldier Boy is gonna be our weapon. We just gotta find him." She crossed her arms, staring back at Aang. 

When she was younger, she revered Aang. Avatars weren't taught in schools anymore and there were barely any relics of the time. Benders of any kind were thought to be killed off or simply non-existent anymore. Supes kind of replaced them. Until Amber came along and she had visions of a land that did not look like the one she was brought up in. She was young when she first met Aang, he was similar to a father figure and guided her through the stages of life and taught her how to be strong. 

Except Amber was naturally strong already. As far as she knew, her physical strength exceeded any other Avatar before her. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the Avatar running through her that knew she'd have to be stronger if she was going to exist in a world overrun by Vought. 

"He doesn't seem stable. You need to keep him under control." Aang advised, careful not to make his tone too pointed, or else Amber would happily make her way back into her body. 

"She's not an idiot, Aang." Korra chimed in. As Amber grew older, she realized she had a lot more in common with Korra than Aang. 

He let out a sharp breath. "She's still young. And has a lot to learn." 

Amber was twenty-five, a grown adult with a house. And while Aang was right to an extent, Amber had been fighting for her life nearly every day since she was born. It was hard to keep her bending hidden from Vought but she was careful and so were her parents. Real peace was never in the cards for her. 

Letting out a breath, Aang and Korra disappeared and she was back in real life. She opened her eyes with a hand on her shoulder. Marvin. "You alright? Your tattoos were doing that glowy thing again." 

Amber gave Marvin a polite smile and nodded, rubbing her hand up her arm where a few tattoos were. "I'm good. Had a little convo with my ancestors. Y'know, the usual." She stood up and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

She wanted to scream. Amber leaned over the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Aang had saved the world at twelve. Korra had saved the world multiple times over a year or two and what had Amber done? Nothing. She killed a few Supes, a lot more non-supes, and nothing life-changing happened because of it. She was the Avatar. The savior of the people. And what saving had she done? Kimiko was struggling to stay alive, her parents were dead, and everyone Amber had as a mentor nearly died as well. And they weren't saved by her hands.

Amber took in a shaky breath as she stared at herself. Her emotions were becoming too much. Her eyes started to glow blue. No. She shook her head and took a deep breath. Eden. She willed herself to think about that instead. Eden was still alive. Her only friend that wasn't connected to the Boys. Or, the only friend she had made outside the Boys. Eden had a thing going on with Hughie. And Starlight. Amber didn't question it. 

"Is she gonna have a meltdown?" Hughie asked in a whisper.

Butcher glared at him. "Shut the fuck up." He had a bit of a soft spot for Amber. They both had people they loved taken away from them, not to mention they felt the overwhelming need to do anything it took to get revenge on whoever took it away from them. 

Back in New York, a bunch of shit went sideways. Soldier Boy went nuclear in front of some random building but Marvin made the connection he was likely going to the Legend. 

—--- 

"Do you think this is even gonna work?" Amber crossed her arms. Butcher had just drugged Marvin and set him as gently as possible on the ground. 

Butcher cocked an eyebrow at her. "Doubting me now, love?" He asked with a small laugh. 

Amber heard footsteps on gravel, causing her to look in the direction they came from. Sure enough, Soldier Boy rounded the corner of a beat-up car in his suit. He'd trimmed his beard and hair. He looked a lot better than he did at the Russian base. Amber narrowed his eyes at him, ready to fight in case that's what he wanted.

"You two… you're from the lab." Soldier Boy's eyes studied the two of them. They stayed a little longer than necessary on Amber. She had a feeling as to why but he didn't voice it so neither would she. "Why are you here?"

Amber could ask the same question but she already knew the answer. "We want to come to an agreement. Of sorts." Butcher smiled wickedly. "You can call this…" He waved to the trailer behind him. "A gesture of good faith." 

Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. They were going to let him kill the Crimson Countess. He stepped closer, making his way inside and they made no move to stop him. But Avery could hear the conversation from outside. 

It was hard not to feel a little bit of sympathy for the man. The Crimson Countess called him Ben. He was captured, experimented on, shot full of nearly any chemical they had in the compound all because of her. But Amber also felt for her as well. Soldier Boy got all the glory and she assumed he had the ego as high as a mountain, knowing him to some extent would be hell. It sucked that Amber was going to be in that hell.

And then the trailer blew up. She thought she was gonna see it coming. She didn't. Amber was flown a good ten feet away and landed on her stomach. "Fuck me…" She groaned as she rolled onto her back. 

Hughie and Annie came running, only to see Amber on the ground and Butcher carrying Marvin. "What happened? Is he hurt?" Annie's eyes were wide at the sight.

"No need to worry about him. Just four or five milligrams of Rohypnol." Butcher shrugged.

Annie's eyes started to glow. "You fucking roofied him?" 

The trailer behind them was in shambles, smoke everywhere but Amber could hear someone coming out from the rubble. Soldier Boy with not even a scratch or hair out of place. Annie's eyes shifted to him, prepared to fight.

Hughie stepped in front of her while Amber did the same. She let them have whatever talk they were gonna have, glancing back at Soldier Boy. He didn't want to fight them. The Countess was the only thing he came for. Amber narrowed his eyes at him. 

She'd heard stories about him from the Legend seeing as he was the only one she knew that had ever met Soldier Boy before. Amber knew that whatever beta Compound V they gave him made him stop aging past forty, that he was a grade A Playboy, and was involved in quite a few cover-ups over the years. Whatever Soldier Boy was pumped full of in those early days of Vought, Amber thought Homelander needed it. She counted quite a few wrinkles on his face that Soldier Boy didn't have. 

Yeah, Amber had to admit the guy was attractive but she'd never say that to his face. While Soldier Boy seemed a little… emotionally stunted at the moment, she had a feeling that'd change and he'd go back to his ways the moment they got out of there. 

And she was right.

Amber nearly had to throw up while Butcher and Hughie tried talking to him. The man had only a robe on and was in the middle of trying to fuck someone. He hadn't even bothered to lock the door. 

"I think it would be a good idea if you stayed with Amber." Butcher suggested. 

Amber had checked out for most of the conversation until that. "Wait, the fuck?" She shook her head. "Butch, I'm not taking care of…" She waved in the general direction of Soldier Boy, still not wanting to look at him. "That." 

Ben wrapped his silk robe around his body and cocked an eyebrow at her. "What are you? Some kind of fag?" He stood from the bed, tilting his head. Hughie's eyes widened while Butcher just looked amused. "You're tall enough to be a tranny so I wouldn't be surprised." 

"Yeah? And I bet you'd just love having my cock in your mouth to shut you up." Amber countered with a glare, finally looking Soldier Boy in the eyes. Butcher let out a loud laugh, turning away from the two of them.

He had nothing to stay in response, staring at her with hard eyes. "You're a feisty one, I'll give you that." Ben tilted his head slightly. 

Butcher turned back and shook his head, motioning with his hand. "Whatever the fuck this is, you're gonna have to get along." He faced Amber, "I don't like it as much as you do, love, but we both know you're the safest person he," Butcher jutted his head in the direction of Soldier Boy. "Can be with." 

Amber's jaw clenched, looking from Butcher to Ben. She had a feeling Eden wouldn't like him living with them but, hopefully, it wouldn't be for too long. "Fine." She stepped closer to Ben, fists at her sides. "You get out of line, you're fucked." 

"I plan on it." Ben smirked.

----

taglist open here !!

[queen-diamond-serenity]

Most people in the Red Dead Community like to think they know who Dutch really is and have that man all figured out.

But in all honesty I just feel like most really don't which is why I try my best to avoid having conversations and even dealing with people who are against Dutch or just come up with these ridiculous claims about him. And when it comes to us Dutch apologist no one is making excuses for his wrongdoing we know he's done wrong but y'all like to nitpick and over analyze and over exaggerate every little thing about this character to the point where it makes you look ridiculous.

A lot of you think that everything about him is fake and he was manipulating all of this from the beginning for the past 20 years y'all think this is who he really was when it doesn't logically add up or make any kind of sense. I feel like this character is judged way too harshly. You all act like he's the only one with faults when the truth is he isn't. The same people that want to harshly judge Dutch are the same people who try to give Micah the benefit of the doubt even said that Dutch is worse than him if that is even possible I don't think I take people serious who say shit like that. How could you?

Do y'all even pay attention to the details of Micah or do you have your head so far up the faults of Dutch ass to the point where you can't even see that Micah's own brother wants nothing to do with him and he actually said if he ever crossed paths with him again that he would kill him he told his brother that he has no reason to contact him or write him again or be in his presence for any reason. The fact that his own brother wants nothing to do with him should let you know something. On top of that he wrote some type of note at Camp if you read it how he takes joy and backstabbing unsuspecting people that trusts him. Micah has absolutely not one ounce of redeeming qualities and he shows to be a true sociopath. He's also a racist and a child killer. Even one of his buddies I think it was Joe or cleat that left aside because he killed a kid. Dutch show that he went crazy and just lost his Humanity because of all his faults. Dutch could have Redemption but the thing about Dutch is after everything he did to the people that he actually loved and cared about that you think was so fake and he was playing games with him from the beginning he actually feels like he doesn't deserve Redemption for what he did. So who we see in RDR1 is a man who's punishing himself and punishing everything around him that he blames for how things went wrong. You also like to accuse him of being motivated by greed. And if that was the case he would have shot both Micah and John up at that snowy mountain and took the Blackwater money and went about his business if he had no real heart in him. Even in RDR1 he had plenty of opportunities to kill John and truly never did nothing was stopping him from shooting John when he was mad at the top of the mountain in the first game. He threw his gun into his own life so his son wouldn't have to live with with being the one to end his life.

For the most part I ignore y'all until I decide to engage for a bit and then pull back and just leave you alone for months at a time. You know since this game came out this is the first time I've been vocal. The fact that it took me 5 years to start speaking my mind speaks of volumes when it comes to addressing the things that I see in this community especially as far as Dutch is concerned.

If y'all really sat back and examine some of the shit you write concerning his character you'd actually see why it's worth criticizing. And y'all have nerve to speak out against Dutch apologist as if you have real argument to stand on when you and all honesty really don't. Not from what I'm analyzing.

Like I don't care if people who don't like Dutch apologists wants to block all of us and all honesty I do my best to stay out of your space anyway.

I wrote this from being tickled coming across some comment on YouTube the homefront of toxic opinions concerning Dutch lol. One fan stating that Dutch is way worse than Micah. Do you think I as a black woman with deam Dutch worse than Micah?

Who's a blatant racist?

For anyone to sit up here and say that Dutch was a fraud from the beginning you have to prove to me that he was pretending to not be a racist. Which is utterly insane given the time period he was living in. This was during the time when whites only and coloreds only signs was put on water fountains and bathrooms. You mean to tell me during a time period like this a Caucasian man decided to pretend to not be racist just in case he bumped into a couple of people of color that he would later on letting to his gang? If you're going to drive the point home that Dutch was a fraud from the beginning then you have to show and prove to me that he was a fraud with everything else that means including pretending to not be racist as a means of manipulation what evidence do you have that that's even there? You see when you take it from a woman of colors perspective concern is Dutch character that opens up a can of worms that most of you can't even touch. You see I can look at this situation from angles that most people don't even think of looking at it from. So y'all thought I cracked the surface with this shit but to be honest I haven't gone as deep as I really wanted to go. This is something that has been sitting with me for a long time. Dutch was an outlaw I expect him to be what an outlaw is. Dutch is the Wild Wild West. And modern day societies like Saint Denis took the Wild Wild West from him and that's like taking a fish out of water for dutch. He didn't want things to change. But you can't fight a war against progress and it drove him insane. Dutch has his faults but let's stop trying to act like other things that came into play wasn't a contributing factor. Y'all sit there and unfairly judge him with the situation even with Angelo Bronte Leviticus Cornwall that brings me back to being a woman of color. Y'all give him shit about killing people like Angela Bronte Leviticus Cornwall and Catherine braithwaite. And using that as a means to drive home your point that he was always a fraud and manipulative and all these things. Do you think I as a black woman would give a rat's ass about Dutch killing people like them? People who did not like black people? The only issue I had is how he may have executed it and then I had a problem with how he killed the innocent mother that was out of pocket. But you can't use these people he killed as a means to drive a point home when I'm looking at it from the perspective that I can't help but look at it from. You cannot judge Dutch on the standards of today's standards because he is a character that is being portrayed from a time period from over a hundred years ago so I have no choice but to look at it from the angle I'm looking at it from. When you start to examine the situation like this you begin to realize how ridiculous most of you sound which is why I try not to engage in conversations which are regarding him. Now I do plan on coming and explaining other characters but until then I'm going to continue to put my focus on dutch. Being that that's where everybody's focus is on with being the biggest ones y'all like to criticize.

Y'all don't criticize Arthur Who obviously has faults and you don't criticize John who also obviously have faults. Y'all put John and Arthur especially Arthur on a pedestal because given the situation not realizing that any given chance that if you were in front of their faces they robbed and kill you if it satisfied their need at that given time. Probably even Dutch. But I digress.

And unlike Dutch haters who like to push Dutch apologist away the irony is I don't push Micah apologist away because I have a good argument against them LOL I don't tell them that they aren't allowed in my space because I'm not that sensitive and I'm not that much of a bitch who's in her feelings in that regard. I welcome all people from whatever fan base they're coming from among Red Dead Redemption family. Because I know how to carry a good debate.

Like I keep saying a third game needs to be installed and it needs to be centered around Dutch being the protagonist. And I know a lot of you don't want that because it will debunk a lot of the dumbass arguments you've had against him all these years. That's why y'all hoping it's anybody but him we get to play on that controller.

Rather you agree with this post or not rather you share it or not whether you hurt or not I'm okay with that. Because in all honesty I do this for my own pleasure. But to those who have supported me some subjects on my page more than others I greatly appreciate it.

I get it I know I come off a bit strong at times and a little aggressive with my Approach but when you're dealing with ignorance like this sometimes you got to add a little fire to the mix. I'm just passionate about the subjects I take on and speak about. A lot of people like to take that for being angry and nasty and mean no I'm just passionate about the subjects I take interest in. So people will take it the wrong way and look at it as mean and angry and aggressive. But what do you expect from people who are poor Judgment of character. So I don't take that personal.

I may come off as like I'm trying to cause drama but in truth I'm really not. I can't help it if my approaches have fire to it. That's just my personality my personality is very strongly expressive. It's been like this since I was a little girl I've always been like this very loud in my personality very creative with my words very outspoken.

It's been awhile since I went on a rant and I just needed to get this out of my chest. Y'all don't realize I've been holding a lot of this shit in your for several years now. So let me have my space to vent.

[rainbowsky]

Hi RB! I’m sure you must have come across a melon rumour about yizhan potentially attending the same event 👀. It’s unconfirmed and any one of them can change plans last min and choose not to attend so not getting my hopes up BUT still there’s a little bit of excitement hopefully it’s not a vcr type thing 😭 anyways I wanted to ask ‘if’ they both do attend the event do you think they will still act like strangers and avoid each other? What sort of interaction do you expect from them and what seems sensible in your opinion?

Hi Anon! 😊

Yes, there are many rumors that Tencent and Weibo night are coming up, and that both GG and DD will be attending. Those are pretty safe melons to write, considering those events usually happen this time of year, and GG and DD always attend.

Fake, fan fiction, CPN.

It's impossible to know what's going to happen. There are still a lot of covid lockdowns in China, so it's possible that if the events do happen they might not be the typical galas we'd all most like to see. It's also possible that - due to the covid situation - quarantine or lockdowns in their regions might prevent some artists from attending who would otherwise normally be there.

Plus GG is in ADLAD this winter, so that will be a factor as well. He might not be able to risk being caught up in a covid lockdown, for the sake of the theater production that needs him to be available.

If GG and DD do both attend it's unlikely the structure of the events would give much opportunity for them to interact publicly. They would mostly be onstage at different times, they'd be hitting the red carpet at different times, etc.

IF they both attend and IF there is an opportunity for an interaction, it's possible they'll interact in some way, even just a nod or something, but that's a very thin likelihood. Like I said, the structure of the events is such that they're unlikely to cross paths in front of the cameras (although they'd be able to spend time together backstage).

It's impossible to predict what will happen. They might interact, they might not. One thing we can be sure of: they'll do what's best for them. I think as fans we need to respect that and understand that if they aren't interacting publicly it's because it's in their best interests to not be seen interacting.

An important reminder to fans: How GG and DD behave toward each other in front of the cameras has absolutely nothing to do with their relationship behind the cameras. They will do what they can to maintain the image they need to project. That's entirely separate from how they feel about each other or how close they really are.

I know a lot of antis and toxic solos make a big deal about the fact that GG and DD haven't interacted publicly in a long time. Just block and ignore them.

It's disingenuous for them to claim that the lack of public interaction is a sign they dislike each other or aren't together. That's utter BS. Top stars in that industry go to great lengths to hide their relationships and connections. The industry trades on fantasies of romantic availability, and any hint of a relationship can be a career killer. It's idiotic for toxics to pretend GG and DD have any choice but to be private about any connection they share.

If anything, their lack of interaction aligns with what we'd expect to see if they really are a couple.

To be clear: the fact they don't interact publicly is not 'proof' of anything, nor is it a candy, but it's definitely not inconsistent with the BXG belief of BJYXSZD.

And that's all before we even talk about the ongoing fan wars between the three fandoms - GG solos, DD solos and turtles. That adds an element of risk to anything GG and DD do, and I'm sure fan behavior always comes into consideration when deciding how best to approach practically every aspect of their public life.

Fans fight like cats and dogs - especially XFX and MTJJ - and with the 'Clear and Bright' internet rules, fan wars come with serious consequences to the artists. If GG and DD and their management teams deem it too risky due to fan wars, they'll not interact.

So solos trying to rub it in our faces that GG and DD aren't interacting publicly are just being ridiculous. Don't take the bait.

TL;DR - I do think it's likely they'll both be at both of those events. I can't guess whether they'll have any opportunity to interact publicly, or whether they will do so given the chance. Whether they interact publicly or not has absolutely no bearing on how they really feel about each other, and isn't 'evidence' of anything except the type of image they want to project. Ignore antis and toxics who try to rub it in your face or make it seem important. It's really not.

More on GG and DD interacting publicly here.

[cyberpunkplaylist]

Tell Him a Vengeful Ghost is Coming...

So this morning I'm feeling that my playthrough 2.0 of Cyberpunk 2077 is more than a bit bloodthirsty. I delete a lot of gangers on sight with this Feral StreetKid character I'm playing. 6th Streeters, Scavengers, Tyger Claws, Maelstrom. Anyone who shoots at me (OR MY CAR) first. I'll stalk em and quietly put a throwing knife into em. Then while looting their bodies, if they're still laying there twitching and only MOSTLY dead, they get a bullet to the head. And I feel a BIT bad about some of em. Occasionally, I'll feel like I'm crossing the line from videogame protagonist to virtual serial killer whose timing belt has snapped in a fairly significant way. I've happened on Scavengers just watching TV and having a barbeque on a grill. And I drill em anyway. I mean, Scavengers are organleggers and butchers, so I don't feel too bad about messing up their relaxing fun day. Especially after seeing their victims piled up by a dumpster in an alley nearby. But looking at a cute ganger girlie kinda twitching on the ground cos I wirelessly stared a short circuit daemon into their wetware? Yeah, I feel a twinge of guilt for a moment. Now that guilt's not as bad as Star Wars Galaxies 20 years ago when I was given a mission to go kill some lunatics outside of Corel City on Corellia. At first I'm like, "Hey, that's not a problem." I was a gunslinger. I tooled right out there with my blasters cos hey, that's just biz. But I get there and I stopped cold.

Those guys didn't seem like lunatics. They were just swimming in the river. Milling about on the riverside. And I couldn't do it. I abandoned that mission. Cos I'm not an asshole. I'd feel terrible about going down there and busting their shit for breathing on a nice day by the water. Arasaka corpos in Cyberpunk 2077 however… I went to a police bounty posting and found some Arasaka mercs and a work team by some dump site. They'd waxed a whole group of pinks and for whatever reasons Corpos have. I zeroed all of em but one. The guy who looked like the squad leader I didn't do immediately. But Arasaka did my partner and has caused me no end of grief in game in a pretty personal way. "Now… There's a reason I didn't kill you, chummer. If you live, I want you to tell them. Tell them I'm coming. All these dead gangers your people have no doubt been monitoring while I cut a path through the city? I pretty much kill them on sight. But that's just cos they're butchers and rapists, human traffickers and not averse to shooting at me. But that's just biz. I'm not some gonk vigilante. I'm a professional. It's not personal.

Arasaka and all your little soldiers though?

I'm pissed with you.

And you're all going to see the extent of that. See this dumpster here? All of your dead team-mates are in there. I put them in there after putting a bullet through each one's left eye. They'll be pretty ripe soon. So listen carefully. Remember this part. This concerns you.

While their corpses are voiding themselves all around you in the stinking dark, I want you to remember my message if they find you in time. If they care enough about your worthless replace-able life to come and find you. If their actuarial tables dictate that you're worth a recovery op. Remember this.

Tell Yorinobu Arasaka a vengeful ghost is coming. Tell him that nothing will save him from its wrath. And in whatever hell he might believe in, I will be his chiefest tormentor. Tell him that what I will do to him will make his strangling his father to death seem the sweetest of kindnesses. Tell him that.

And if you die in this dumpster choking on your own horrified vomit with my message on your lips, I'm sure he can have his techs rip this memory from your rotting brainware. Waste not, want not and all that.

Now…

In you go."

So like... I don't believe myself to be a violent or vengeful person. Each person in the world contains universes. And the thought of taking away all the days they've filled their lives with is horrific to me. (with some exceptions.) But sometimes, my imagination can be a frightful thing.

[savage-rhi]

Part 5 of ada meeting Leon’s daughter I just wanted to also thank you for how grateful I’m am of you for writing this story❤️👍 keep up the good work

Thank you so much for reading these and for the compliments hon! Enjoy the next bit!

Here’s the link to the others 1, 2, 3 , 4

"I wish you would've called me first," Leon sighed. His arms remained crossed while his gaze lingered on the stairs, having told his daughter moments ago to go to her room. He furrowed his brows, feeling some regret with his actions.

"I know I should've been forward about pulling her out of school for the day," Ada shook her head and approached Leon. She laid a hand upon his shoulder, giving a squeeze. It was enough to pull his attention away.

"I was in town and I thought Jade could use a break given everything going on. I didn't know I was supposed to notify the front office about picking her up from school. The fault in this case lies with me, not her. She wasn't skipping class on a whim."

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt Ada's hand retreat away. He closed his eyes and nodded. Rationally, he knew the situation wasn't Ada's fault either, but as a parent, Leon could still feel the tide of fear sinking in the pit of his stomach.

"I was scared out of my mind," Leon murmured. He leaned his back and head against the wall and swallowed. "When I got the call she was missing, and couldn't get a hold of you, I--"

"I understand," Ada interrupted gently. She did feel a twinge of guilt for lying to Leon about Jade skipping out of class, but she was committed to the part for the latter's sake. A promise was a promise after all.

"If there's anyway I can make amends, let me know."

Leon furrowed his brows, and looked toward his feet. "No, you really don't understand."

"Leon--"

"Ada," There was a firmness to his tone that Ada had only experienced a handful of times when they used to be in a relationship. It was enough to make Ada take a step back.

"Losing Kiera hasn't been easy for me. Even with how unhappy our relationship was and the divorce, I still loved her. If I were to lose my kid, especially while her mother's killer is out there, I don't know what I'd do. I know I seem like an overbearing dad, but--she's all I have left. Please don't leave me in the dark again with Jade. That's all I ask of you."

The pain in his words sent goosebumps down Ada's arms. Even if she had all the excuses in the world, there was no way she could've protested him. Not with how raw his emotions were in this moment. All she could do was nod in agreement.

"I won't overstep again," Ada said. She crossed her arms, gesturing with her chin toward the stairs. "You might want to talk with her. Let her know where you were coming from."

"I plan on it," Leon sighed while rubbing the back of his head. "I think she needs time to cool off though."

"I can tell you're beating yourself up."

"I'm that obvious?" Leon said with an amused huff. He shook his head. "I was a real asshole. I shouldn't have yelled at her like that."

"It's as you said," Ada shrugged. "You're protective of her. I wouldn't expect anything less from a father who loves his kid very much."

Ada was surprised to see the sincere smile that danced across Leon's lips. She watched him move away from the wall, and traveled into the kitchen. Raising a brow, she followed behind.

Leon began to comb through the fridge, looking for something to eat. Alas he sighed, deciding to give up on the chase. He turned his head in Ada's direction.

"About making amends," He mused, walking up to the kitchen counter and grabbing his keys. "Let's go out for dinner. We can bring something back for Jade."

Ada's eyes widened before she went neutral, giving a shake with her head. "I don't know if that's a good idea. What if Jade tries to sneak out?"

"C'mon," Leon gestured with his head to the door. "I need to get out of here, and I know you do too. There's a place not far from here, has the best take out."

"The best?" Ada raised a brow in suspicion, her voice playful.

"Would I lie to you?" Leon laughed.

Ada sighed, beside herself for a moment. She thought about her earlier conversation with Jade in the park. How the young teenager felt about seeing her dad and another woman together. Conflict stirred within Ada. She didn't want to get too deep. Not with everything going on. She couldn't allow herself to. Nevertheless, she was hungry and Leon's offer was starting to sound more appeasing with each passing second.

"No funny business," Ada forewarned.

Leon shot his hands up in surrender, the keys jangled in his right hand from the motion. "Cross my heart. I promise it'll be quick. Besides, I'm curious about what you uncovered today from Kiera's case files."

Ada furrowed her brows, recalling the research she had done earlier that morning. Though she hadn't found all the connections to Kiera's killer, there was other personal affairs that Kiera had done that had come fourth through Ada's digging.

"You might need to sit down for it."

"That bad, huh?"

Ada was surprised at how Leon was nonchalant. As if he couldn't be bothered. She wondered if he was already aware of most of it. He went to the door, and opened it up. Gesturing with his right hand.

"After you."

Ada smiled, and shook her head at him. Going through the door and walking to Leon's car, Ada couldn't help but feel uneasy. Not because of Leon, but what she was getting herself involved with further. Especially when it came to the sins of a dead woman.

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[mageofspacemultiverse]

The Comedian - The Superego

“And then, if I were to go, ‘it’s just another doomsday device!’, would that be crossing the line—?”

He was milling. Back and forth, shuffling his shoes against the underfoot shag…again. Drifting.

“Adobo…?” A crimson red crescent bounced impertinently against an LED screen. “Mooshu…?” They would be eating dinner in her office tonight, it had been decided, but getting there was half the battle.

Trajes’ bottom lip pursed, itching at a spot behind his ear where the elastic of his performance mask burrowed into the skin. His hair remained stoic in its over-prepared masse despite the motion. “Why do they call it that anyways—? Mooshu…if I wanted to ridicule moo-beasts I wouldn’t need to name a dish after them—! Just get me a forklift, a plunger, and two trolls with too much free time on their hands, ahh—?”

She pursed her lips gently, chuckling under her breath. The young man’s small grin emerged further. “I’m not one to know that. It’s rated not too poorly, and less venomous than some other foods you’ve tried eating before.”

“Good point…— Hmm, oh, what about wontons—? Have you ever sung a wonton a swan song—?”

“Never. Perhaps on my next park visit.”

The boy unfolded himself onto the lavender suave lounge just next to him, kicking his feet as she silently made the decisions for him, as always. A hand went to the lavender agenda set on the wooden side table beside her, unclasping a black string from around the button that held it together.

“How did it fare, though?” Her face-paint contorted slightly before she put her head down, checking the notes of their most recent appointment. “We agreed you would try to write some parody of a memory that was quite fond to you.”

“Oh, yaaas, well, y’see—! I brought a few friends to it, including one of my relatives that you directed me to—!” Hands went to knees, sandpapering the bony bumps. Trajes tended to do this when he got excited, but she could already tell he was deflecting. “I might’ve made some friends—! A bit of a dull night for the rest of the audience though—. There was a blood-pusher stoppage in the middle of my monologue on the Battle of the Gnashing Grasses—. Total mood killer, but I pushed through—!” An expectant blink and a slow pause was enough for him to hum and reconsider for another moment, before he added once again: “Well, it was, well, I had a bit involving the first time I discovered hair glitter—?”

She’d written most in short-hand, ineligible to those who didn’t know the style. Her bum shoulder made the scrawl especially peculiar. “And, how did Ashter react? You’ve said before you were interested in connecting with him on a deeper level.”

“Well, he was…confused, and uncomfortable, but he came—!” His tone bounced with uncertain optimism.

“Do you think based on his reaction he wants to pursue your connection as a mutual friendship?”

“Aaheh, I don’t really know—.” Trajes ran a hand bashfully through his hair apologetically, staring towards her with a small smile. “He doesn’t outright hate me—? He has a lot of friends and doesn’t need me, but it’s like you said: ‘You have to control your impulses, young man, or you’re going to get into huge trouble—!’ Sorry, I might be paraphrasing—.”

Trajes Faurux was impulsive; she’d wrote an article in the Alternian Alternative Medical Stratagem seven solar cycles ago to that end. Giving him patience had taken a few sweeps of grueling focus. A fun pastime in her retirement, but seeing progress, seeing the pupa break, was a reward in and of itself.

“Good, good. Keep viewing the pros instead of focusing on the cons. The only way you can have the confidence to build a relationship is if you have confidence in your own abilities.” Her high heel of one leg pumped open air, and her pen waved betwixt two fingers.

“You’ve…gosh, you’ve helped me so much Superego, y’know—? Like…—” Trajes laughed with another sweep through his hair, hugging around himself. “I know you’ve sacrificed…so…so much for me, and… snf—“ He wiped away the forming tears with the edge of his sleeve. “—I have…I’m making friends, and having success, and…snf…and one day, I really am going to pay you back, I promise—!”

She sat back and looked to him again, lips soft and forlorn, but fully formal. “My role in your life, Trajes, is as an anchor, not a trader. While your therapy has the chance to be helpful for patients similar to you in the future, do not split your attention with that worry. I’m already quite well off. Mead?”

Trajes’ mouth squished together, puckering, before he nodded queerly. Something was on his mind, but as she poured him a paper mug of the liquor, he stayed silent about it. She’d known him long enough to get a sense of his body language too: shoulders tight, legs tensed.

“And yes, that includes what we mentioned before…I’m not your lusus.”

“You’d ought to be, though.— You might as well be—.”

“I ought to decide what I ought to be, dear. If I were 30 sweeps younger-“

“I’m sure there’re other coddling laughsassins around, right…—?”

“Sure, for the right price.” The Superego’s eyelids narrowed and she smirked. “But I did not insist for your datasets in the drone inventory to be deactivated out of a need to coddle you. I recognized it was necessary, therapeutically. I have made you self-reliant for a reason.”

He nodded absently, taking a small sip of his mead politely, the reminder of how much effort he was sitting on his think-pan. It was honey and metal on his tongue. “I’ve got two more gigs lined up—. Zaldes would’ve liked one of the locations, actually—.”

“Hmm? Is it near his grave-site?”

“…yeah—. Umm…yeah, there’s a rebellion re-enactment going on in the woods where—.” He didn’t need to fill in the rest, she knew, and as Trajes trailed off she scribbled more. “………might visit him before—. Figure it’ll settle my nerves —! What do you think—?”

The Superego shook her head. “That symbolism is not mine to interpret. What do YOU think?”

“I think…he’d appreciate it- oh!”

Ugh. The doorbell. Just when they were possibly getting somewhere again.

“Oh, Supergo, I think our stuff is here—! It was wontons and mooshu, right—?”

“And lobster soup for myself. Wait there Trajes, I’ll take care of this.” She stood up, all eight foot tall, leaning her weight onto the cane she grabbed from behind the chair. In younger years she would’ve ruffled Trajes’ hair on her way, but weaning him from the small affections was a strategy to make him independent. As she strode to the door though, the last sentence she’d written in dark orchid was the same as it had been before.

Still suppressing.

[unknownarmageddon]

i had another dream about kross, but it was loosely based on that apocalypse au? but there were zombies too? i guess it’s cuz i fell asleep reading about it, and i was thinkin about that one movie, I Am Legend

anyway, it was just about cross doin his thing, surviving, and killer was like

in the far background, picking at the stuff cross left behind or whatever, and he called himself the Shadow Scavenger

anyways, it was also mixed in a bit with the official music video of Rare America’s “Love Is All I Bring”

and i just remember one bit with cross eating some old canned tomatoes and it like, hard cut to a different angle, and killer was sitting there, looking at cross through a dirty glass bottle (a classic green bottle)

and i remember him saying “Nice mouth” or something mildly sexual and cross just

lunged for one of the logs in his campfire and hurled it at killer, who had a metal bat and he just reared back and hit the log with the bat and it made a really cool shot

of like killer breaking this burning log into bits, sending embers and glowing bits of log and fire everywhere around him, and it just looked really cool

and killer then shrieked and started stomping at the floor to put the mini fires out and was like “dude what the FUCK”

im not sure what happened after that, there was another brief moment later on amidst my other dreams where i remembered killer getting himself in a real tight spot, and cross comes in to save the day (think grunkle stan in the scaryoke episode of gravity falls)

and killer watches cross beat the fuck out of this group of five to six zombies and cross like, smashes the hilt of his machete into a zombies head

(it was actually a katana in my dream because i vaguely remember somethin about cross being like ‘omg the anime’s were training me’ and he had a collection of stuff and a fair amount of weapons based on demon slayer or other animes lmao)

anyways, cross smashed the zombie’s head, kicked it really hard when it fell, then slashed his way through the zombies and grabbed killer by the gun straps and hurled him outta there and i don’t remember anything else cackles

that’s my latest kross dream :]

HOLY SHIT??? Dude that is so rad what in the hell,,,

Especially obsessed with the Killer smashing the burning log scene I’m extremely tempted to draw that with the apocalyptic Kross AU boys at some point that is wild I love it

[snkts]

In the morning, Mikoto’s ankle hurt so bad she almost couldn’t get out of bed. The pain killers had worn off in the night and the swelling had stiffened the joint. It didn’t parallel to her how she could jump off buildings and yet a single fall into a creek hurt her this extensively. But she had dealt with worse and a bit of pain wasn’t an excuse. So, she prepared for training.

She knew they were doing power practice outside today, so she dressed accordingly in shorts and hoodie, tying her hair back with an elastic. Mikoto wrapped her ankle tight in bandages, then slid two compression sock over that, and finally laced her boots as tight as she could physically could. The end result being that she could, painfully, stand and even walk. (It didn’t even look lumpy). Mikoto mustered for training in the back yard with the other students, trying her best to join in the chatter and conversation.

When Logan joined them, she did her best to look attentive to instructions and keep off her right leg.

The mission had gone well, to put it simply. Sure, he’d gotten scuffed up a bit, but that was part of the job. (Part of the rush.) Aside from a few bumps and scrapes, a minor dislocation, nobody else had gotten seriously hurt. They’d done well. They’d covered their tracks. They’d made it home. 

And when they got home, he was hungry. Hungry for something greasy and cheap, not the nice stuff Lombardi made. Yeah, yeah, call him crazy, he just wanted a damn burger. A burger, and some good company. (He missed her. It had been a while since they just sat down and talked.) He’d knocked on her door and put out the invite - especially since he’d heard she skipped dinner - and she said no. 

Oh. 

Well, okay. Was she feeling alright? She said she was. He heard she fell in the river. He’d teased her about it, and at least that had gotten a normal reaction. Maybe she’d just had an off day? Whatever. He’d just go on his own, then. No big deal. And that’s what he’d done, grabbed his keys and his helmet and changed into something more civvie-friendly and headed out. Brought the usual order home as take-out and ate in his room. He told himself the quiet was nice.

At least he’d gotten to smoke with it. 

He’d gotten up at his usual time the next morning - that is, just before dawn. He’d gone through the usual routine and headed out to the makeshift gym that had taken over one of the old guest garages, and had noted that he didn’t see her out for her run. That was very weird. Mikoto never missed her run. Something was definitely up with her. He could wait for her to come to him and talk about it on her own. And maybe that’s what he would’ve done, if he didn’t catch notice of her at training. But he did catch her, because he was helping run the damn lesson. It was the little things. The way her weight was uneven when she moved. The catch in her breath when she shifted too much. The palour of her skin. 

She was hurt. 

She was hurt, and she tried to push through training anyway. She was hurt and she didn't tell him. She was hurt. 

“Hey, Beast. Cover for me for a sec, would ya’?” He says quietly, angling his head to talk to Hank without ever taking his eyes off the class. The nod of agreement is all he needs. He strides through the ranks of students and taps her shoulder twice as he passes, a silent demand to come off to the side with him. Once they're a sufficient distance from the class (only a few paces; the uneven gait bothered him) he turns and faces her, arms crossed.

“What are you doing, Skippy?”

[kinetic-elaboration]

October 3: AHS 5x09 She Wants Revenge

The best thing about this episode was how incredibly campy it was, and all the actresses just scenery chewing and going all out in the best way. Angela Bassett is always particularly fun in this way because she just really digs the knife in and seems like she’s having fun going to 11. There wasn’t much Kathy Bates but I really, really enjoyed her little monologue before she killed the porn stars. “Donovan is going to be so proud of his new mother.” Just something about how calm she was when saying it and little inflections in her voice, it just really did me in.

And I do think I underestimated Lady Gaga when she was cast in this role. She’d done no acting at the time so it really seemed like stunt casting but I like her a lot as the Countess. As the season goes on, she becomes more compelling to me, and I thin the character is a good balance of attractive and scary. Certain momets she just…really gets to me because she reminds me of someone and it’s a little eerie.

Liz fits into this category even though she’s not played by a woman. I know she had like 2 scenes but they were so good! “Because she’s a bitch…with no soul.” “I’ve witnessed a lot.”

I’m not really keen on the vampire kids story and especially not the vampire kids with measles story… I don’t really get the point. Unless it really ties in with everything else later it just seems like this random thing they started and didn’t really know what to do with. It eats up a lot of time for not really being connected to any other story or, in my opinion, particularly compelling on its own. I feel like it should be, but it’s like… I think it’s that it’s weirdly sized. It’s long enough to eat in considerable time (especially if you include the like 3 episodes of measles-stuff pre-vampire) but not long enough to compete in any way with the million other stories (missing for several episodes at a time). And except for Alex, no main characters even know these kids let alone interact with them. So it just feels like a waste: a story that can’t stand alone, sucking time away from other story lines.

Anyway, awful long rant for like two minutes of the episode. I was just trying to fiure out why it wasn’t gelling for me because I feel like it SHOULD work.

The double-triple-quadruple crossing bit with Donovan, Ramona, and the Countess reminded me of that Community episode that’s just like 23 minutes of double-crosses. I can’t help it. Every time there’s so much as a triple cross in a piece of media, that’s the first thing I think of. It was a decent enough story line but I’m not invested quite enough to keep up properly. (I’m really here just for the camp, as I said.)

I didn’t like Ramona’s back story so much mostly because I just thought it was way too sad. Like it wasn’t poorly done but I just can’t handle stuff like that so I mostly tuned out for it.

I’m very glad there was no Detective Serial Killer today (I’m sure he’ll be back), fairly minimal March and fairly minimal Valentino. He’s not the worst but he doesn’t compel me. I don’t see the Countess’s interest in him so it’s hard for me to follow this whole ‘her one true love’ thing because why? What’s the appeal?

Getting actually kinda close to the end… I’ve seen almost everything I remember so there should be some surprises left.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 223

The Executioner’s Song

“The Executioner’s Song”

Plot Description: Cain’s return leaves Sam, Dean, and Castiel scrambling. But when Crowley agrees to help them, he finds himself in an awkward position

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: as someone not currently on death row, I’m pretty sure I’m safe.

Omg. You can SO tell that Timothy was also in the midst of playing King Richard on Galavant during this time

Cain when we first meet him/Cain now/King Richard

I didn’t expect to have one of my hobbies validated by Dean Winchester today AS I’m both cross stitching AND watching spn, but I also wouldn’t have imagined he’d be a Taylor Swift fan…and that happened too. Anyway, I’m glad he was on the correct side of the whole true crime phenomenon “bass fishing, needle point, that’s a hobby. Collecting serial killer stats is an illness”

Oooooooo Dean recognizes Cain, and Sam can see the effect that has on Dean

It’s nice to see Cas back, even if he’s torturing and killing demons

The SHAAAAAAAAADE, Rowena. The way she’s completely undermining Crowley. I love her more every day

Oh shit, son. That massive grave site of Cain’s victims Cas is standing in the middle of. Holy shit, dude. “This is a massacre” “yes, and soon it’ll be a genocide.” He’s looking to LITERALLY decimate the human race by getting rid of every single one of his descendants

Rowena makes me just A LITTLE BIT regret chopping my hair and letting the color begin to grow out

Ooooo Dean’s gonna try to kill Cain. This is getting goooooood

Godddddddddddddddd it’s so rare that Dean admits he’s scared, ESPECIALLY for himself. He’s fine with going down swinging, but he didn’t think it would be so soon

Oh this poor kid they’re using as bait for Cain

Cas’s powers don’t work AT ALL against Cain??

The boys didn’t see how bad Castiel got the first time he started losing stolen grace

The worried looks everyone is giving Dean. I KNOW those four make it past this episode but I’m still at the edge of my seat (metaphorically. I’m actually laying in bed)

I’m enjoying this standoff between Dean and Cain just a little too much

Yeah, babes, you think you can summon the blade to you using the force when CAIN is there trying to do the same? Nah…

If there’s one thing about a Timothy Omundson character I’ve invested in, it’s that he’s going to have a very specific blade that belongs only to him

Cain literally kicking Dean around and basically going “you are GOING to feel the Cain Instinct, like they talk about on tumblr”

When at first you tried to disarm Cain, I didn’t think you meant like THAT

And now Dean begging Cain to know that this can be stopped. Cain’s so unrepentant, I love it

Oh, what a beautiful gesture, instead of giving the blade back to Crowley, Dean hands it to Cas

And with two betrayals in one day by his former bestie, Crowley’s not going to take this lightly…

Here’s the thing. Rowena’s manipulation of Crowley up til now has been VERY obvious…but now? I truly believe her when she says that he’s squandering his kingly powers, that he’s the Winchesters’ bitch…because there’s probably SOME truth in her feelings behind what she’s saying and Crowley is DEFINITELY feeling this way

Here’s the other thing…Dean’s now the primary holder, possibly the ONLY holder of the Mark of Cain. It might as well be the Mark of Dean, now. Sam knows he’s in trouble

[maroonghoul]

Horror Movies I just watched: July 2023

Independence Day I know, this doesn't count on paper. But a 90s big budget pastiche of War of the Worlds or Earth vs the Flying Saucers is still a pastiche of the type of movie that fit right in with a classic monster movie marathon. Besides, for anyone who says this isn't like a horror movie at all, I have two words for you; "Release me..."

Anyways, yeah there's not even anything I can say about this that hasn't already been said. Right around when this movie came out and was then syndicated on TV every 4th of July, My 7 year old mind thought it was the most intense movie ever. Nowadays, it feels optimistic to a fault, at least when it comes to humanity's capability and willingness to be our best selves and actually work together. It's become more hard to believe then any of the actual plot holes. (though good luck creating a virus that can infect computers more advanced then ours today even) Now it kinda holds up today for different reasons. Will Smith becoming a megastar from this movie remains entirely justified. Classic Goldblum performance. Melodrama that actually works for the stakes we're playing with. It's become comfort food. With a side of mass genocide and some cultural stereotypes. (And yet I've still seen worse in films like this).

I haven't seen the sequel and from what I've heard, I'm not missing much.

Nanny(2022) This movie, at different points, felt like a cross between His House, Jacob's Ladder, and even The Orphanage. If I can't speak for anything else in this movie, feeling it drew inspirations from multiple different films make it solid in my book.

I will add, while it could've gone the Get Out route as we could've expected (and it so easily could've) of making the white employers the source of the supernatural horror, it was refreshing that it went against that. Sure, the terrible reveal at the end is still pretty much their fault by delaying paying Aisha so many times, it is something caused by mundane means, at least as far as we know. White people are terrifying enough in a realistic setting, with the horrid status imbalance with the characters (and in general). Giving them a ghost or demon or something to foist upon people when it's not needed can be a bit too complimentary.

The Black Phone I originally wasn't going to watch this because Ethan Hawke's serial killer villain came off too much "gay coded" to me, especially uncomfortable when you take into account all his victims are young boys. I did read an article almost a year ago from someone who identified as lgbtqia+ (I don't remember as what though, seriously I can't find it again so I can't credit it. I am so sorry!), who had similar reservations but then saw it eventually only to realize this choice was based much more on the character being a stage magician and is not sexually motivated in his killings at all. But you could make the argument that it was that easy to mistake it for gay slander at all is a strike against the filmmakers. Please don't be this obtuse next time when it comes to marketing your movie.

Even that put aside, I'm sad to say I didn't get much from this. Want to see The Silence of the Lambs where instead of Clarice and Hannibal, it's a foul mouth little girl talking to Jesus about how she sees the dead zone? Okay, that isn't fair because Gwen is honestly the most entertaining character. Plus it's less glorifying the police department. But I couldn't bring myself to care about Finn because I felt his circumstances throughout felt, oddly enough, too clean. Not to mention, how his scenes imprisoned by the Grabber compared to Katherine in Lambs. Even when you don't know how ready Buffalo Bill is to kill her, you feel urgency just from how miserable she looked and acted in those scenes. Not to mention, a well is way more claustrophobic and scary then a basement that's frankly bigger then my own bedroom.

I've heard this described as, despite the R rating, to be more of a kids gateway horror film when it comes to this subject matter. And yeah, strangely enough that actually would make a lot of sense. I'm just used to the more graphic stuff it seems.

Haunted Mansion Good ole' goofy haunted house movie for the whole family. Sounds like a joke, but it's true and I mean it as a compliment. I know some people would want this to be more intense, considering that the ride is arguably the darkest product ever created by the Disney company. But remember, guys? It's Disney! I'm surprised Constance was allowed in at all. Though I did miss the Ghost Host's hanging body. Bonus points though, for the theme of grief making it hard to keep on living so while you need to grow from it, it's natural if you don't want to move on from your pain yet. Sometimes living, or haunting, in a haunted mansion for a while could be where you need yourself to be.

There are really only two problems. First, the Morbius-shaped elephant in the room. Though given how much CGI he's under the whole time (aside from a few photographs, we never see his actual face), he honestly could've been played by anyone. Hell, get an old character actor known for horror in his place instead. Sure, it's less "star power" (if you could call it that), but you probably could spare some expense in making him spooky and wouldn't have scared off some people rightfully turned off from seeing the a hole anyway.

Speaking of more or less people seeing this, that's the other problem. Others on here have pointed it out and I will too. Why was this being in July?! I don't even need to tell this is going to flop, just from looking at Barbie's numbers, plus the Ninja Turtles. If any movie released this year was made for October, it's this one, not the Exorcist sequel. Even if they didn't have faith in it, they're more likely to get the most amount of money back for it in a time people are willing to watch something spooky in theaters, especially if they have kids who can't stomach Saw X or the Exorcist: Believer.

But I think some of us know why they did it. A lot of these studios, including Disney, are willing to jump the gun to release a movie to streaming once it's clear it's not doing well in theaters. The excuse they'll probably use is that they'll release it to Disney+ just in time so you can play it in the background when the kids come back from trick-or-treating. And granted, it is a film just fine for playing for that purpose.

But no! It's likely the actual reason is to screw the filmmakers, particularly the writers and actors, out of money they would get from this because they're striking right now. So yeah, I want to end this month's post by saying I support both strikes; I think the guild's are entirely in their rights with their demands and I hope they get everything. No one, no matter what their chosen profession or industry, deserves to make less of what is needed to make a living, just so some billionaire who's only contribution to the storytelling process is to move money, can have a yacht. Don't tell me you can't get the metrics on how many people watch the content in your streaming service. Or that it's ethical to use AI to replace a human performance you could've gotten anyway if you actually accommodate for other human beings.

[mercy-burning]

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh,  Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

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