#why are you being a weirdo bennie

[emptyjunior]

Gotta say, Benedict believing he was in a classic period drama plot where he storms in and his woman is kissing another and he's playing the stark Bridgerton man going 'how could you😔' only for both of them to turn around and go "No we both Want you" is Extremely funny.

Benedict to them in a classic soap opera fashion: I see you have betrayed me-

The Guy: what are you doing, come make out

Benedict:

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XII: Too Far to Touch

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev. | read bee's diary

songs: i forgive no one by citizen, dark blue by one step closer, this is why by paramore, blackout by turnstile

chapter tags: awkward situations, weirdo behavior from bee and Eddie, per usual. swearing, adult language, etc | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI each chapter will have its own content/trigger warnings

summary: really kind of a nothing burger chapter but only bc I plan to inflict pain shortly :p

a/n: lots of dialogue please lmk if u notice any mistakes bc sometimes my brain just GOES. also... I am so sorry for the long wait, i rly hope it was worth it! 

disclaimer: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. THIS WORK IS BEING REPOSTED TO MY NEW AO3! Feel free to check it out! Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. I am satiated by reblogs and comments, so please! Interact with my work! It motivates me to write more, and it helps to know someone out there is reading.

taglist (open!): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r

--

Even for a Monday, Benny’s is packed to the brim with hungry customers. The diner is decorated for Halloween, black and orange streamers lining the grimy windows, plastic jack o’lanterns flickering on the sills. Steve and Robin have already claimed their usual booth in the far corner, crammed into one side next to each other to leave you the space across from them. 

“Alright, spill!” Robin demands before your butt even sinks into the vinyl of the seat. She slides your iced coffee toward you, already fixed the way you like it. 

“Eager, are we? Relax, Rob, we’ll get to it.” You sip your drink as you skim over the menu, a pointless task when you order the same thing every time. 

“Oh, come on, Bee! You have to understand why this is such a big deal!” You glance from her to Steve, who’s been awfully quiet as he sips his steaming cup of coffee next to her. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, huge deal.” He nods, tone unconvincing. Robin rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to you, her face betraying her excitement.

“Can I at least get some sustenance first?” You bite back a laugh as Dory approaches to take your order. Dory’s an older woman, and she’s been at Benny’s for as long as you can remember. 

“Hi, darlin’, what can I get for ya?” She snaps her gum, pen poised to take your order. You ramble your own off quickly, and your friends follow suit. “Comin’ right up.”

“Okay, sustenance is being obtained, now it’s your turn. What went down yesterday?”

You can’t hold them off any longer. “Rob, what is your fixation with this? It was fine, normal! We grabbed coffee, went back to his apartment. Smoked a little, caught up, y’know? Nothing worth writing home about.” You pick at your cuticles, suddenly very aware of the way your friends are staring at you. “What do you want me to say? We had a dramatic argument that ended in make up sex? It was nowhere near that dramatic.” 

“Did you want to have sex with him?”

You choke on your sip of coffee. “What?”

Steve looks at you like his question is worthy of a real response. “Well, with the underlying tension between the two of you, it wouldn’t really be much of a surprise if you did feel compelled to sleep with him.”

“Steve. You sound deranged.” 

He shrugs. “Crazier things have been said.”

“Not by you, and never so casually! Whatever, I don't need your guys’ shit.” You shove another bite of your breakfast into your mouth, ending the conversation. 

Robin scoffs at your comment. “Hey, I didn’t say anything!”

–

“So, when’s the Halloween bash, Stevie?” You ask as the three of you enter the parking lot. “And is there a theme this year? I have to start collecting my costume.” 

Steve shakes his head, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “No theme, I originally wasn’t even gonna throw a party this year.” 

You gasp dramatically, feigning offence. “How dare you say such a thing! This party is the one normal thing I have left in my life.” You pout at your friend, earning a giggle from Robin.

“Which is exactly why I’m still throwing one. Well, that and because I’m holding out hope that Nancy will bring her pretty college friends.” 

“Never change, Steven.” Robin pats his shoulder, shaking her head. “Anyway, I already know what I’m gonna be.” She crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing between you and Steve. “Aren’t you gonna ask me what my costume is?”

“You’re just gonna say ‘It’s a surprise!’ anyway.” Steve accuses.

“It’s a sur– Oh. Shut up!”

You and Steve burst into laughter at Robin’s frustration. Finally, you’re able to speak again. “Well, I still have to figure my costume out. Something that’s relevant enough for people to get it, but still obscure enough that every single frat guy in the room won’t suddenly think he’s allowed to talk to me.” 

“You always have the best costumes, I’m sure you'll think of something.” Robin climbs into Steve’s passenger seat, and you wave as they pull away before getting into your own car. You crank your music, a habit your mother has tried getting you to break since you woke her up with your music coming home at 3am, though you’ve refused to budge. Your car time is your personal time, completely free of judgment from others. Today, you’ve chosen to shuffle your angsty playlist, setting your volume to max as the opening riffs to Citizen floods through the speakers. It’s a short drive, made shorter when you cut through the side streets that are usually less congested during a work day, but you don’t really feel like going back home just yet. Chris is not the person you feel like talking to after yesterday, expecting him to be insufferable with his “told you so”s after telling him about how harmless Eddie is. Maybe you’ll lie just to watch him squirm, you haven’t decided yet. 

Instead, you take yourself to the record store, a treat you haven’t let yourself have in a long enough time. You used to come with Eddie every Friday in high school to check out the new releases and avoid your studies together, but since you’d stopped talking the place has been a sore spot for you. 

The bell chimes as you step inside, where nothing has changed in the past six years except maybe the records on display. Today, the walls are lined with releases from the past few years, including a variant of Paramore’s This Is Why that you don’t have yet. Tim, the owner of the shop, waves at you from where he sits behind the counter, fiddling with his relic of an acoustic guitar. “Mornin’, Bee! Been awhile.” He smiles at you, revealing his yellowed teeth and pink gums.

“Morning, Timmy. Yeah, I know, it’s been way too long. Got anything good in lately?” 

Tim taps his chin with his wrinkly finger before making an “Aha!” sound. “Just got a couple of these in, you heard of ‘em?” He pulls out a record you recognize, but have yet to listen to because you couldn’t find a physical copy, called All You Embrace by a band called One Step Closer. 

“No way, where did you get these?” You hold the record, admiring the packaging, reading the tracklist. 

“They played a show at the Hideout a couple months ago, they sold me a few at a bulk price so I could sell them here. Nice dudes.” Tim nods thoughtfully.

“That’s sick. How much?”

“For you, darlin, consider it a thanks for visiting an old man.”

“Tim, you don’t have–”

He holds his finger up to stop you. “Here, if you wanna do something for me in return, get Munson to buy something or get him outta here, he’s been here since we opened.” He nods his head to the far corner of the store, where you only just now see Eddie picking through the metal records, a massive pair of headphones on his head. 

“Oh, Eddie and I aren’t…” You can’t exactly say you’re not friends anymore, but Tim probably doesn’t care.

Or, you think doesn’t until he’s leaning over the counter. “Don’t tell me you two broke up. I guess that would explain why you’re never in here anymore, I just thought you’d been in New York this whole time. Eddie hasn’t been in much either.”

“And yet, somehow, we’re both here today.” You mumble, mostly to yourself, but Tim hears you.

“Love works in funny ways sometimes.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the geezer. “Tim, Eddie and I were never a couple. You know that, right?”

“Sure, not a couple in the traditional sense, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t once a duo to be messed with! I used to love entertaining you two with my guitars, you were the only ones that seemed to care about what I had to say.”

It softens you, the kindness in this old man’s voice. Adults were never fans of you and Eddie, and it warms your heart to know there was one looking forward to seeing you. “Alright, because you’ve been so nice to me today, I’ll see that Munson buys something.” You leave the record with Tim and approach the corner Eddie is still in, flipping through the Used section as if on the hunt for a specific, rare record that probably doesn’t exist.

You tap his shoulder gently, then with more vigor when he doesn’t turn around. Finally, growing frustrated, you snatch one of the speakers from his ear. “Munson!”

He jumps, spinning himself around as if to swing at you, but immediately lowers his guard when he sees your face. “Jesus Christ, Bee, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Glad I could finally garner your attention. Tim sent me to make you leave. He’s tired of seeing your mug when he looks up from the register.” You press your lips into a thin line to keep from laughing.

Eddie’s wearing a tattered Pixies shirt, and his hair is tied back in a low ponytail. In his hands, he’s holding Chappell Roan’s record along with one you don’t recognize. “Aw, you liked the show that much, huh?” You ask, sliding the album from his grip. “There are a few on here I don’t think she played. You’ll love Naked in Manhattan.” 

Eddie snatches the record back from you. “Don’t judge, I’m a man of vast taste.”

“Who’s judging? I was sent over here by the boss man, okay? I don't care what you spend your money on.” Eddie sends a wave to Tim, who chuckles in response. “What’re you getting, anything?” 

“Tim’s got a record up there for me, I wasn’t planning on getting anything but he got a couple from a band in Wilkes-Barre that I really like. And he has a This Is Why variant I don’t have yet.” 

“Red one?”

You pause. “Yeah, how’d you know?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Saw it when I walked in, debated on picking it up for you but I wasn’t sure if you had it already.”

“Well, you still can pick it up for me, now that you know!” You give him a wide smile, and he snorts. 

“Not a chance.”

You shrug. “Worth a shot. Anyway, quit loitering, Tim’s gonna threaten to ban you again.”

Eddie follows you to the front, placing his records on the counter for Tim to scan. “Long time, Munson. How’s the world treating you?”

You could swear he glances at you before answering, “Better, lately, believe it or not. How’re you doin’, Timmy?”

“Same old. Anything else for you guys today?”

“Yeah, actually, could I get that–” Eddie cuts you off, “I’ll take the red This Is Why variant, please.”

“What if that's what the lady wanted?” Tim scolds him, and you giggle.

“Which is why I’m getting it for her, Timothy.” Eddie crosses his arms as if offended by the assumption. 

“Ah, right, the rare record for your Not-Girlfriend. Bet you they’re her favorite, too.” Tim winks at you. “You young people don’t make any sense to me.” He plucks the record off the top shelf and hands it to you. Eddie pays for it, along with his own, and Tim slides it to you with your other album. “Have a good day, kids.” 

“You too, Tim! Thanks again!” You exclaim as you and Eddie leave the store, Eddie holding the door open for you. 

“You didn’t have to do that, y’know.” You say once you’ve exited. “I have my own money.”

“Pft, whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not pumped that you didn’t spend your own money on it.”

“While I can’t exactly argue, I still don’t see why you did that.”

“Does everything have to have a reason with you?” You can sense you’re irritating him.

“Yes, obviously.”

“What a miserable way to live. Anyway, where to?”

“Where to what?” You open your passenger door, placing the records on your seat.

“Well, you dragged me out of there. I was planning on hanging out for at least another hour, so now you have an hour of my time.”

“Oh, yippee!” You quip, earning the smallest smile from Eddie. “I dunno, I was just gonna go home and play these.”

“I have a better idea.” Eddie has a mischievous look on his face, like he’s got a secret you’re not allowed to know yet.

“Do tell?”

“Nah, it’s better if it’s a surprise. C’mon. I’ll drive.” You are left with no choice but to abandon your car in the lot and follow Eddie to his van. 

–

Eddie drives like he’s not afraid to die. In the ten minutes you’ve been on the road, you’ve counted ten different car horns, and caught several people shouting out their windows, middle fingers angrily shaking in the air. Through it all, Eddie is screaming along to his music, headbanging as his lead foot rests on the gas pedal.

“You are gonna get us killed!” You shriek at some point, your knuckles turning white as you grip the overhead handle.

“Oh, relax! This is nothing, you should see me on the highway.” You can only assume his glove compartment is overstuffed with unpaid speeding tickets. 

“Where are we even going?” You don’t recognize the route he’s taking, twisting and turning down woodsy back roads that are growing scarily narrow as they progress.

“I told you, it’s a surprise!” Eddie cuts the wheel, taking a sharp right back onto a main road, earning a long, angry honk from the SUV behind him. “Besides, if you knew where we were going, you wouldn’t have come.”

“That is so not reassuring.” You grumble, finally looking at him. His cheeks are red, probably because even though it’s forty degrees he’s driving with the window open as he puffs on a cigarette. He has one hand on the wheel, the other out the window as he whips down the street, hair flying in every direction with the wind. “What are you staring at?” His question makes you realize you had, in fact, been staring at him.

“What? Nothing. I’m… nothing.” Real smooth.

“Right. Okay, we’re here!” He turns into a parking lot on an otherwise deserted street, empty save for an old, white van that’s likely seen better days, parked in front of a small, shed-like building with a sign that reads “Vintage” in red, faded paint. “I need some stuff for Steve’s party.”

Oh, come on. “You’re going to that?”

“‘Course I am, how else am I gonna pay rent if not with the money from the rich kids that attend his parties? C’mon. Maybe we can find you something for your costume.” Before you can move, Eddie shoves his van door open and runs around to your side, yanking the door open for you. It gives you pause, but you choose to ignore the way your stomach flips at the gesture. Eddie leads the way inside, where the bell rings as he opens the door. From the counter, an old lady with hair so silver it’s almost blue, looks up from her crossword to greet you.

“Hello, darlings! Anything I can help you find?”

“Not just yet, Murial. Thank you!” Eddie speaks to the woman like an old friend, and you cock your eyebrow at him. “What? Where did you think I got all my classic band shirts from?”

“In all honesty, I don’t think about you that deeply.” You thought he’d gotten them on eBay, but you’re not about to tell him that. 

“Ouch, that one stung.” He chuckles, and you groan at him. “Okay, let me give you the tour. Over here, we have the dusty old knick knacks that are for sure haunted.” Eddie gestures to the metal shelves crowded with porcelain and plaster figurines, some cute while others frighten you to your core. A particular piece catches your eye; a figure of a pierrot clown, painted to look anguished, pouting despite its playful makeup. You pick the doll up, turning it in your hands until you find the price tag, a tiny yellow sticker that reads $5. You decide to carry it with you, just in case.

“Oh, and I’m the freak?” Eddie nods to the clown. “That thing is gonna bring demons into your apartment.”

“Not if I’m nice to him!” The paint on the figure is chipping in places, but you think it adds character. “His name will be Gustav.” You decide firmly, holding him up to Eddie’s face. “Say hello.”

“Will you get it out of my face if I do?” You nod. “Okay, fine. Hello, Gustav.” He says, disdained. “Now, get that thing away from me.” 

Sighing, you lower your clown statue, and Eddie rolls his eyes at you. There’s a moment of comfortable silence, and you can’t decide if it’s awkward or not. Eddie’s eyes scan over the shelves of dusty knick knacks and candles, but yours are stuck on the way his hands keep clenching into fists and back again. “You alright?” You ask as his eyes seem to fixate on a wooden sign with some witty saying on it. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. You okay?” He moves his stare onto you, causing your chest to tighten. 

“Y- yeah, I’m good. Gonna go look at the clothes.” You turn on your heel, practically galloping away from him. You’re about half a yard away when you hear his heavy boots following you. 

–

“Okay, what about this?” You step out of the dressing room, which is really just a closet with a paper sign taped to it. You’re wearing an obnoxiously bright pair of hot pants, and a glittery tank top.

“No. You look like my mom in high school.” Eddie shakes his head, causing stray curls to fall into his face. You catch yourself staring before it’s been too long.

“Your mom was a beautiful woman, I’m flattered. Okay, fine. I have one more, then it’s back to the drawing board.” You close the door again, and examine your final costume choice; a low cut, sage green dress with dramatic bell sleeves and a flowy skirt. You also somehow managed to find a corset that matches perfectly, a shade of light brown that reminds you of your morning coffee. You step into the dress, careful not to trip on the fabric as you hike it over your thighs, hips, and chest. You slide your arms into the sleeves and feel the soft, light fabric engulf you. Immediately, you love it. In the mirror, the garment hugs your body perfectly, clinging to your curves and fanning out around your feet. You’d wear this every day, if it were practical. “Hey, Ed? Can I get some help?” He doesn’t answer. “Eddie?”

“Sorry, yeah. Can I open the door?”

“Yeah, I’m decent.” Your back is still to the door, but you catch his eye in the mirror as the door opens, and watch as his eyes scan from your face and down your figure, then quickly back up to meet your eyes. “Whoa.”

You scoff. “Can you zip me up?” Silence. “Hello? Earth to Munson?”

“Huh?”

You turn to face him, having to look up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, why?”

“You’re being weird.”

“Am I?” 

“Oh my god. Please just zip me.”

“Okay, sure.” You turn back around. It feels like forever, his calloused fingertips brushing your spine as he slowly pulls the metal zipper up your back. “Tada.” His voice cracks, and he attempts to cover it by clearing his throat. You turn back to face him, and he won't look at you. 

“How do I look?” You challenge, stepping back to give him a better view. 

He looks at the top of your head when he answers, “Great.” with no enthusiasm.

“You didn’t even look.” You huff, crossing your arms. Where did his attitude come from? 

Eddie takes the quickest look at the dress and nods curtly. “There, I looked. Great, like I said.”

You’re fed up. “Why are you being so fucking weird all of a sudden?”

“I’m not being weird! Bee. Really. The dress looks great.” Before you can argue, he steam rolls you. “You should get it. We should get going, though. I have a shift.”

You don’t argue, just nod as he leaves the dressing room, the door clicking behind him as it closes, leaving you confused and close to tears in a pretty dress. 

–

[rigginsstreet]

@runraerun made some wheels for @harringrovekinktober prompts (here in case anyone wants to play around and write something even after october) and my 3 prompts were rimming, ghost hunting, and bennys burgers which made me laugh so i decided to write something aaand here it is happy halloween 🖤

-

"this is such a bad idea."

"quit your bitching."

billy's hunched over the padlock blocking entry into the now desolate diner, trying to pick his way in with a bobby pin he stole from max's side of the bathroom.

"it's weird, billy!" harrington's whining behind him. "a guy died here, have some fucking respect."

"aha!" billy shouts as he gets the lock open, pulls out the chains holding the door closed and kicks it open before turning around to face steve. "and that's why we're going to see if all the rumors are true. so stop being a pansy ass and come in. wanna see if there's still any brains left over."

the rumors, of course, are that the place has been haunted for the past 40 years ever since the Benny of Benny's Burgers was found by the counter with his head blown off. and billy, being billy, has been itching to get out here ever since steve made the mistake of mentioning this to him as part of the town lore when he was trying to impress the hot new guy a few weeks ago... (it worked, of course, because steve got himself a new semi-boyfriend out of it, it's just that said boyfriend is kind of a psycho maniac, turns out.)

"you're a sick weirdo freak," steve deadpans, slightly disgusted.

billy just grins at him, tongue between his teeth. "that's what makes the sex so good."

billy steps in without further notice, and there's a split second where steve thinks about ditching his ass and just going to tina's party or something. find himself a nice normal somebody to hook up with instead.

he follows billy inside.

the place smells like old grease and mothballs. can't see shit inside until billy clicks on a flashlight and they're treated to a view of fallen bits of ceiling, cobwebs, and old graffiti.

"cute," billy says as he walks up to a wall with a satanic goat head painted on.

"okay! we came, we saw, no ghosts, let's go." steve is not freaked out, he just doesn't want to stay in this place any longer than he has to. he also doesn't want to risk tetanus.

the front door slams shut then, and billy starts cackling like some evil witch when steve jumps from the noise, because it's loud, not because he's scared.

"god, you really are a pussy," billy's still laughing, and steve wants to deck him in the nose.

"ok, you know what? fuck you. i'm leaving."

steve's had enough. he's not putting up with this the rest of the night. he's got better places to be, better company to keep. except.

billy's grabbing him by the waist as he tries to make his exit. pulls him til his back is flush against billy's chest, and billy's got his arms wrapped around him tight, faces pressed cheek to cheek in an oddly intimate pose for someone like billy hargrove who, in steve's short time of knowing him, hasn't really done much of intimate at all.

"hey, hey, i'm sorry, alright? i'll protect you from the big bad monsters..."

steve rolls his eyes because of course billy can't help himself from being a prick about it, but like.

the embrace does feel nice. maybe steve's a sucker. but he's fine with that fact as billy's turning him in his arms and suddenly they're face to face.

"only monster i need protection from is you."

"aw, baby, now how can you say i'm the bad guy when i treat you so good..."

billy takes steve's chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding their mouths together at a tortuously slow pace that leaves steve's knees feeling like jello when their lips finally touch.

steve kind of forgets where they are after that. for as annoying as billy is, he's frustratingly a really fucking good kisser.

so steve lets himself get lost in it. has his hands fisted in the denim of billy's jacket and walks them back until billy hits the old diner counter with a grunt. makes billy kiss back harder, biting at steve's lips like he's some rabid animal. it's how it always goes with them.

"thought we were s'pposed to be ghost hunting?" steve asks between kisses. not that he really gives a shit. this is much better than disturbing restless spirits.

"got something else for you to hunt."

steve groans at the horrible joke, but then billy's whispering all husky against his mouth "want you to fuck me," and then steve's groaning for a whole different reason.

steve kind of wants to object, because this is not the place he wants to be doing this. but the thing is... billy hasn't actually let steve fuck him yet. all their hook ups have been the other way around and like, that's been all fine and great, but steve's kind of been itching to have his go at billy. and if this is his opportunity being handed to him on a silver platter, then, well...

"god, yes."

he's maybe a little more enthusiastic than necessary when he goes to undo billy's jeans. would be embarrassed about it under other circumstances, but he's a man possessed. maybe it's all the jitters from earlier. fuck if he knows.

but before he can pull billy's jeans down billy's stopping him with a hand to his chest, all calm and slow like the biggest cocktease in the world. for a second steve thinks he's been played, that billy's gonna start laughing in his face and tell him as if. but he doesn't.

"first thing's first, cowboy."

he tugs on steve's shirt, forcing him down to his knees as billy turns around, back to him. ass to him, really, once steve's in the desired position. and it takes steve a second to process it, what billy's wanting. but then billy's bending forward and planting his forearms onto an old vinyl cushion of the counter stools, and he's giving his ass a little wiggle right in steve's face and... yeah, okay. he gets the message. fuck.

he's done this before, just not with billy.

well, not to billy. billy's usually the one doing it to him, and he's fucking good at that, too. so. no pressure or anything.

"c'mon, harrington, i wanna wake the dead."

"ew, don't talk about that right now."

billy laughs while steve shakes off his disgust. refocuses on billy's ass in front of him and how he needs to remove the current barriers between them.

billy's ass is kind of glorious up close. not that steve would tell billy that, like the guy needs an ego boost. but seeing it stripped bare right in front of him he can better admire how taut it is, how golden it is, somehow, just like the rest of billy (an imagine springs to mind of billy sunbathing naked and it's got steve all kinds of things.)

there's a light dusting of hair that steve can see and feel as his hands make slow, methodical work of massaging him, getting him nice and relaxed before steve spreads him open and goes to work.

the tiny gasp billy let's out does wonders for steve's own ego. spurred on by all of billy's pleased noises he really sinks his teeth in - so to speak.

"fuck, harrington," billy breathes. "and everyone says i've got the wicked tongue..." he's cut off by a moan, and steve can't help but smirk to himself.

"they don't call me king for nothing," steve quips before going back in and fucking his tongue into billy's hole, relishing in the whimpers billy's letting out.

if only everyone at school could see big bad billy hargrove now, reduced to a whimpering mess all because of steve harrington. it sends a little jolt straight to his dick, he can't lie.

"wanna fuck you so bad..." steve breathes, brain going foggy as he bites into the meat of billy's ass.

"no one's stopping you." billy's trying to sound like his usually cocksure self, but the effect is hindered somewhat by the desperate rasp of his voice.

steve's all set to get on with it, getting ready to pull himself up to his feet when there's a loud crash coming from the kitchen.

"the hell was that?" he asks.

billy looks up, almost like he, too, was spooked, but of course he won't just say that.

"probably just an animal or something. get back to fucking me."

"i haven't started," steve mutters, back on his feet.

he's halfway to zipping down his fly when there's another crash, except this time it's from a rock, he assumes, hurling right past them til is cracks on the wall behind them.

"that's not a fucking animal, billy!" and, okay, maybe steve's kind of losing himself a little here, but, like, can he be blamed?

even billy's shot up, staring into the kitchen with wide eyes. "it's gotta be the wind or something... it's fine."

billy tries to tug steve closer to him to get on with the show, but it's in that moment a piece of the ceiling comes hailing down next to them, and steve's had enough.

"nope! no way! im out of here!"

even billy seems to have finally gotten his sense and is pulling his pants up, running out of the place right behind steve.

"homophobic ass ghost," he's mumbling to himself as they reach the door, and another rock flies by and cracks the glass.

"don't antagonize it, billy!" steve grabs billys arm and hauls him outside. "sorry mr. benny, sir! won't happen again!"

billy flips the diner the bird as they're running away, and steve will swear on his life he actually heard the bellowing sound of a man's voice yelling at them. nothing distinct, just... unsettling howling of sorts.

steve doesn't want to think about it.

only when the diner is out of view do they finally stop running.

steve's heart feels like it's about to leap out of his chest as he glares at billy. his lungs are gonna explode. "next time you want someone to fuck you, try taking them somewhere normal like a motel 6. asshole."

billy, despite his own look of fear, starts laughing. "you gotta admit this makes for a better story, though."

steve just shakes his head, still trying to catch his breath. "asshole."

[akilahia]

Fucking thank you everytime someone ignores how Ted’s whole character is about his relationship with women an angel loses its wings. He won’t shut up about girls and thats ok hes a creep hes a weirdo </3

OF COURSE.

When I got into IHNMAIMS I found his relationship with women to be so interesting. It’s one of his biggest driving factors in regard to his relationship with others. It’s why out of all of the survivors, his dynamic with Ellen is the most significant and highlighted one. Like though he’s a fucked up creepozoid, he is a straight fucked up creepozoid 💗

Idc if people jokingly ship him with the guys or whatever, but when it starts to infringe over people’s genuine interpretation of a pretty complex character, as well as the story itself, that’s when I have to say wait a minute.

Also I lowkey(highkey) think when people start seriously applying these headcanons to the actual story/game/etc it heavily undermines his relationship with Ellen. Obviously Ellen’s characterization and story can be far more divorced from Ted than Ted's characterization and story can be from Ellen. Like Ellen has a lot of stuff that impacts her relationship with every survivor as Well as what AM has done to her and her own individual trauma from her past. Ted’s is naturally going to stand out the most out of the four other guys because his perspective highlights her in every adaptation. Ted’s psychodrama is literally based all around ‘saving’ and ‘loving’ her. Not only that, most of the characters within his psychodrama are literally there with the intention to tempt him from these feelings in various ways.

(Personal gain isn’t really the right word but idk how else to phrase it.)

1/3 of the characters try to seduce him(counting the witch in seduce even though she was immediately like ‘PRANKED YOU!’ Or whatever). Then like the Devil, Surgat, and the Witch try to get Ted to override this 'love' for some kind of personal gain. Ted has to give up this 'love' for the benefit of Ellen, rather than for himself or others, which is pretty significant. Like he got to where he is today from his relationship with older rich women. His way of life had been centered around becoming what is needed of him as long as it results in personal gain. Like he’s developed a billion complexes over it.

Once again no harm intended towards people just having a fun time, but it’s just so annoying when these jokes end up becoming all people see about his character and the other characters. It’s important to keep jokes and headcanons separate from the actual content of IHNMAIMS(perhaps it is too late for this though 💔). Though the writing for IHNMAIMS is spotty at times I feel that Ted's is pretty heavily leveled and quite complex. If they wanted him to be bisexual or gay they would make that pretty clear. Like his world view stems a lot from misogyny while also being a male victim of grooming. You genuinely can't divorce this guy from his straightness I am so sorry(It is sooooo fucked up that I have to write something arguing that a character is straight, but unfortunately I have to for Ted. That is Sir Straight .)

If people genuinely want to analyze a gay character, one whose sexuality is a central factor in how he was tortured by AM, then pleasseeee look into Benny. I know it may sound kind of hypocritical of me to write all about Ted here then say people should write about Benny, but in this case I am saying straight ted and gay benny, not the other way around. It also so crazy that they erased Benny being gay in like everything after the short story. Like sure the changes are maybe acceptable, but short story Benny is FAR more engaging and impactful.

Sorry for getting off topic and making this so long, anon thank you so much for your ask, it genuinely got me really excited and gave me an excuse to think critically about my favorite game/short story in regards to the public perception of its characters.

Also I really have to highlight that this was definitely all sparked by my awesome moot freakenomenon!!!!!(idk if I should @ or not since we haven't ever chatted) but seriously!!!!! If you want even better IHNMAIMS takes check out his account, he summarizes this all even more concisely than I ever could.

[variousqueerthings]

MY CASE FOR AUTISTIC MEG!

have been enabled by @syrupmap so i will say the headcanons that basically can be summed up as "she did all the opposite things to fraser to compensate":

lots of people find her abrasive and she's not not abrasive, but i think she also doesn't want to be (all the time). there are a couple of clues -- in all the queens horses she's perturbed that she can't simply tell the mounties to be relaxed, because she is... the opposite of relaxing. in that same episode she also expresses her dissatisfaction with not being seen as a woman rather than someone who is simply a cold, angry superior

but also sometimes she's not really saying abrasive things, she's just saying them in a way that seems aggressive because of her tone of voice. she's simply a flat-voiced person

on that note she does (i think) a lot of scripting and panics when things go off-script. the confines of her job and the role fraser occupies within it allows the two of them to act within these scripts (which they both enjoy). when fraser asks her out on a date and in aforementioned scene where she wants to be seen as someone who has a heart, she blusters/says the wrong words/can't make decisions

she's also bad -- in similar-but-opposite-ways -- at boundaries, although she overcompensates by setting them reaaaally far back, vs fraser who doesn't have many at all (and this overlaps heavily with the sexual harassment she's faced and her experiences as a woman also playing into her keeping people at arms' length + her distrust of fraser)

i also think she's overcompensating femininity to make up for the flatness and bluntness of her speech mannerisms, but i will go more into that as i see her more in s3 with her cute new haircut. but yeah, i don't think that presentation is necessarily her so much as it is her trying to find ways to soften herself

she's also hinted at being quite similar to fraser in terms of her mountie-ness. her gender -- similar to his -- kind of is mountie. she's more comfortable in that role, she's just not allowed to be that as often as he is. it's got that autiegender swag to it, is what im saying, where it's like "yeah im a woman, but not like you think and mainly im a Mountie but i keep getting shoved into this Woman role that i just don't seem to be performing adequately/instinctively comfortable with. they're laughing me off the stage (or trying to make me into something im not)" but until fraser comes along and sees all of her, she's kind of trapped into not being allowed all her dimensions (Mountie and woman and weirdo who talks in a flat voice and isn't good at social niceties)

i think at the end it's this seeing that works for me. i read fraser as autistic and understanding how much she keeps inside of her that's judged by others, because he's the same. and i like to read it as why he's so patient with her as well -- there's an element of what ray calls his compulsive need to see the good in everyone, but i think that's ray projecting victoria more than what is actually going on in the back (to be fair, he doesn't get to see that, he only sees her when she's being mean to fraser to begin with and his priority is protect his boy benny)

the main thing is that he actually is quite good at reading people a lot of the time and i like to imagine he sees more of her traits than she realises. not right away, i'd say, but pretty early on

[sammwitch]

Purgatory isssss Vietnam and i will not be convinced otherwise!

in this essay i won't because i'm not american and am not equipped to root through the various generational traumas the vietnam war inflicted on america and how that impacted American Masculinity but like,,,,, it's there! it's super there. idk if this comparison is super obvious if you are american but i'm going to explain myself anyway

(before i start, i will be talking about the idealised and fetishised idea of the vietnam war, not the actual realities of the actual real conflict. this post is about how the spn writers are weirdo american men, not geopolitics)

eye mean,,, obviously the racism that runs through all of spn- there are creatures living alongside us who look like us and talk like us but are actually Dangerous Monsters Who Must Die- but keyed up to 11 because this is a land of monsters/non-humans/them-not-us

and as a part of that, we never see any child monsters in purgatory despite child monsters existing and also dying. because this is the Ideal vietnam which is only a wild battleground and not a place people, families and non-combatants live. only populated by savage non-americans who are hell bent on killing 'Our Boys'

benny fits into this too. being Other but also an ally. not someone whp can be entirely trusted at first and definitely in it for the personal gains that Fighting For the USofA could bring him, but through their shared experiences bonding. y'know, he's one of the good ones! like the (north? i think?) vietnamese allies america had on the ground

even washing all the colour out of the scenes until it's almost black and white??? like the footage that was broadcast to americans of the war?? i'm connecting the dots

purgatory not as something you beat but something you endure and then escape?? literally it is an idealised vietnam war were you don't have to confront that america super didn't win because the victory and horrors came in getting out

the way post-purgatory dean is treated like a Movie Veteran with his new brotherhood forged in blood and his thousand yard stare and his sullen drinking (all portrayed by jensen ackles who mustn't look any worse than slightly dishevelled or muddy in any shot) and that whole 'it was purer there' bullshit that i have definitely seen in other media portraying vietnam vets. they really gave him glam war trauma and it feels uncomfortable. it feels fetishy

not going to go further than "i think american men who didn't go to vietnam for whatever reason (including age! the lack of a big existential war to go fight in has really done a number on the self-perceptions of generations of american men) have a real chip on their shoulder about it and a resulting pretty gross mythification of the vietnam war because of it. maybe it's because they felt isolated from the Manly Men they idolised irl because of that lack of trauma?" when theorising WHY they did this because, again, not american.

TLDR later season dean winchester really was the writer's fetish doll to be The Most Masculine American Man and it's weeeeeeiiird!

[companion-showdown-dot-org]

best entrance is doing well for the next tournament (it was winning when i started but not anymore) so i've tried to summarise everyone's that I can. i've attempted to do their first scene on the show. i wasn't able to do everyone, and some of them are probably not quite right as I mostly did it off memory so suggestions welcome

Ian and Barbara - flirting, then talking about their one weirdo student who lives in a junkyard

Susan - being that one weirdo student who lives in a junkyard

Vicki - waiting for rescue

Steven - being the lone captive of a bunch of chumblies is perhaps not great for the mind

Katarina

Sara

Dodo - im just going to have a look in this police box, oh its bigger on the inside, yeah that seems normal

Polly - evil computer's inventor's secretary, invites dodo to a club

Ben - sad and drunk, beats the shit out of someone being threatening to a woman he just met

Jamie

Victoria

Zoe - Jamie's babysitter

Brig - why are all these people running around the london underground

Benton - generic unit soldier

Liz - brigadier, aliens aren't real

Mike - generic unit soldier

Jo - unfortunately your new assistant is too endearing for you to hate

Sarah - stealing your aunt's identity is good investigative journalism

Harry - newly regenerated 4's babysitter

Leela - banished for herasy

K9 - just a robot dog

Romana I - one of the most poerful beings in the universe says the doctor needs a friend

Romana II - is regeneration supposed to be difficult

Adric - no adric you can't join our group of rebel outsiders, you're too much of a nerd

Nyssa - your dad's getting married and you're getting your step-mother's job

Tegan - just so excited to start her new job as an air stewardess

Turlough - steal the brigadier's car, crash the brigadier's car

Kamelion - king john

Peri - this holiday is boring, im going on a different one and nobody can stop me

Mel - already travelling with the doctor, also making him exercise

Ace - begging to join in on the adventure

Grace - opera performance interupted by emergency heart surgery

Lee - gang shoot out interuppted by the TARDIS

Charley - crossdressing so she can work aboard a doomed airship

C'rizz

Evelyn - stop disturbing my lecture on my favourite historical figure with that incessant beeping

Lucie

Liv

Helen

Hex

Benny

Chris

Fitz

Compassion

Anji

Sam

Alison - fed up bartender in mysterious town

Iris

Izzy

Frobisher

Rose - montage of her normal life

Mickey - i get that your workplace just exploded but i really want to go to the pub

Adam - look at all my weird trinkets

Jack - clearly not from the 1940s, but more importantly, bisexual

Martha - family drama phone call

Donna - just materialises on the tardis

Wilf - no amount of danger could get me to leave london

River - wait she knows the doctor

Amy - praying to santa

Rory - nutty nurse thinks coma patients are faking it

Kate - if i don't let the soldiers storm someones house every once in a while they get sad

Clara - its the one from contemporary earth whos sticking around

Handles - the doctor has a pet cyberhead now

Bill - meet this woman the doctor's taken an interest in

Nardole - river's sidekick

Yaz - resolving parking disputes is so boring

Ryan and Graham - ryan can'r ride a bike, but he is going to learn

Dan - this man gives tours of museums he doesn't work for

Ruby - so ruby, give us your backstory

[abraxo-official]

New Vegas thoguhnts (so far)

- I don't know why Doc Michell is giving me a psych evaluation but I trust him

- sunny smiles is just *chefs kiss*. A lesvian and her dog should be the tutorial standard

- poison damage is so, so much worse. Can the air stop killing me.

- the hate people give victor….. Tbh half of goodsprings would have a field day if they found out about synths

- the karma system is giving me LIFE. I want to be judged this harshly in all games tbh

- low poly bisexuality my beloved

- once again, going for a melee build because guns scare me

- how was I able to clear prim with just a machete and the 29 NCR guys across the street just….couldn't???

- I cannot take vulpes seriously. What type of accent is that???? How does he sound and look like a middle schooler while simultaneously being 40???? He is a mystery not made for us mortals to comprehend

- accidentally got jumpscared by Boone’s voice. I can now understand why y'all are attracted to that man

- couldn't figure out how to negotiate with the khans so I just resorted to murder

- why is victor so obviously following me. And why are my only voice options rude to him? Let me be nice to the man that rescued me????

- Veronica!!! My baby!!

- Roni how are you killing person ome with a single punch. Are you ok.

- I do not know how to play caravan.

- I have learned that I also do not know how to play blackjack

- Mr. House making you pay the literal eqivilent of a down payment on a house just to enter new Vegas is so in character that I'm not even mad

- Fisto quest: acquired

- No one told me that the followers are just?? Right in the middle of freeside??? I was so sure they were out in the desert randomly?

- The kings hate my autistic rizz and lack of personal space

- NCR money is so funny to me. Equivalent of when the US just started to try and print more money to save the economy during the thirties. Go girl give us nothing lmao

- yeah ok securitrons are hot I get it now

- the voice acting is truly just. Wow. Makes or breaks that character. Perfect. The amount of psychic damage I get is enough to kill a man. No notes

- slightly unrelated but there is a really old style Coca-Cola truck parked outside the restaurant I live next to and its giving such nuka cola vibes I can't even

- found the little bitch lady that sold me a room and also boones wife. I’ve never hated an old video game lady more than her.

- again, why does access to Vegas cost as much as a house in diamond city????

- what in the goddamn?

- why are the Benny sex dioloauge options like that. It doesn’t matter who’s playing this they would not fucking say that

- Six writing in her pip-boy: Dear Diary, I smothered a man in his sleep today

- Dear diary, I also met a autistic robot who wants me to continue the work of the the guy I just fucked to death

- VULPES JUMPSCARE!!!!

- why does he wear a hat like that?? It’s supposed to go on your head, not ominously hover above it??

- oh yay the NCR wants me too

- Mr house does not sound like how I expected him to

- oh fuck the police have missiles now

- Mr house giving me a whole ass mention and then telling me I can fill it up with my little gay friends is the most in character shit I’ve ever seen. Get this man a pride flag.

- Roni I love you but why did you just imply that victor was also created to be a sexbot for Mr house?????

- I fucking hate the feinds

- why are the gun runners charging me egg prices for a ripper??

- I. Have been searching. For 3 days. To find fisto. The map keeps leading me into random corners of freeside. What.

- I’m so great at hiring prostitutes

- ima take so many pictures for the autism sign man

- followers of the apocalypse save me followers of the apocalypse

opinions on factions so far:

- Mr house is a selfish little weirdo

- Caesar >:(

- NCR seems like their trying to help but are really fucking confused about everything

- yes man???? I need more yes man???

- brotherhood are ok. Just there. Chilling.

- followers are the best. If I wasn’t playing as a woman I’d marry you arcade

- the kings are exactly as you would expect. Such silly goofy guys.

- powder gangers >:(

- great khans seem cool. Got to have the drug dealers on your side.

- theres too much drama between caravan companies. It’s giving the Industrial Revolution. To me.

[psicadetterra]

what do you like about chloe and bobby as individual characters or as a dynamic? (im extremely predictable lol)

Oooh, this will be fun. I know you wrote "or" but wound up thinking about Bobby, Chloe, and Bobby AND Chloe because I love thinking/talking about the campers (Did you know? Haha.) I apologize for the impending wall of text.

Bobby is such an unusual character. He has a very grotesque appearance, but that is why I like him. If he looked or acted any other way, I would not like him as much.

I like that beneath all of the grime and malice, he has a heart. He treats Chloe, one of the stranger campers, with kindness. I feel like this speaks volumes. He's not even that good to his "friend" Benny (shoving him, hitting him, ditching him.)

He has a shocking amount of depth. His Campster, his reaction to the GPC button, his fuckin' EYES. He's fascinating. He's like a bacteria to me and I want to study him.

He's also just plain funny. I love the moment after Milka scares them and Raz says, "Don’t make me go get my fish friend again." Bobby replies, "Pfff! I ain’t afraid of no Lungfish. Come on and get me, stupid Lungfish. Oooh! Look at me! I can breathe! Big deal! So can I!"

I just love it, "OOoooh look at meeeee! I can breeEEEAAathe! BIG DEAL! So can I!" If I could animate…

Let's talk about Chloe now. 💫

I love how her design works. She claims to be an alien. She LOOKS alien, but when you see every other character, maybe not… I used to find her lack of mouth vexing, but then I realized that this opens up other avenues with drawing her expressively (although I love her default blank stare lol.)

Her character even seems to be a play on being "alienated" (That's how I interpret it sometimes.) I can't imagine her peers at school are welcoming of her, whether it be due to her psychic abilities or claims of being an alien. At camp she's just a weirdo among weirdos. (Side note but I wonder how she lives at home and goes to school. "Chloe take your helmet off in the building.")

She's kind of a "loner" but it's by choice. She's well-liked at camp (weirdo among weirdos). She just does her own thing. I like that. She knows who she is and she owns it. It's a little difficult for me to express my thoughts about this aspect of her. I hope I'm making sense.

And she's just plain cute. She and Hello Kitty graduated from the same school of having no mouth and wearing a hairbow (and I drew Sanrio-style Chloe once.) She's so liiiiiittle. I just wanna pick her up and hold her like a stuffed animal lol.

Now let's talk about a bit of Bobby AND Chloe.

I don't ship them as kids, but I do like the idea of them being together as adults. I think Bobby is just feeling infatuation since Chloe is genuinely nice to him. Nothing "genuine" if that makes sense. Chloe does not return the feelings because she's too busy with space stuff (and also she's seven.)

Their friendship is very interesting to me. I don't know how well I can describe it without veering directly into headcanon territory (I have a lot of guidelines for myself on how Bobby should be interacting with Chloe in a given situation lol.)

Chloe wants Bobby to behave and he WANTS to behave better for Chloe, but old habits die hard. Disappointing Chloe must feel like hell for him.

I don't think it's all serious for them all the time. I think they can get into some mischief together (but Chloe won't let him go TOO far.)

[waynes-multiverse]

Professor Dean, here I come!!! 🤓🎓😍

You finally got to see a play on Broadway, an excellent production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Yes!!! Midsummer Night’s Dream is my favorite! Good choice 😁

Also, those descriptions of New York in the beginning drew me right in. The weed and piss got me, especially as someone living in a big city. It’s everywhere 🤣

A man saved you by grabbing hold of your arm and waist before you fell, bunching the fabric of your coat beneath his hand. You gasped when you stared up at a familiar face. A sharp jawline covered with stubble, just neat enough to be respectable; dark brows shaded over green eyes, trained on you; bowed lips pursed with confusion.

Gah, I love that she fell right into his arms! It’s always my favorite meeting for two characters 😝💕

You’d told him about it a month ago, after his lecture on fairy lore.

*snorts* God, what I wouldn’t give to hear Dean’s lecture on fairies 😂 (It’s my favorite comedic episode of SPN lol)

“Oh, incredible. That was the best Bottom I’ve ever seen.”

You’d heard some of the girls in your class whispering about it after class one day—a full-on engagement that fell apart two years ago.

Oh? Interesting. Wonder what happened there… 😏 And of course all the girls in class are talking about him. If he’d been my professor, I either would’ve been a straight A student and listened to every word that left his lips or I would’ve failed because I would’ve stared at him and daydreamed too hard to pay attention

That was another thing. He didn’t really talk like any professor you’d met in your life.

Man after my heart lmao

And I love how you characterized this AU Dean here because the professor profession is not easy to pull off for him if you’re leaning toward fancy university (I’ve always wanted to write a community college prof AU for him lol), but you still kept his essence alive in this one with the way he dresses more casually at school and speaks, and you can still see the “professor” part as well. Bravo, friend!! 👏

“I don’t want to be her, I just think she did so well at showing that vulnerability,” you explained. “There’s nothing worse than being in love with someone who doesn’t even see you, you know?”

He tilted his head, his amusement fading as he listened. You felt emboldened to continue your thought.

Is it just me or did he think of himself there because he’s already crushing on reader? 👀 (I mean obviously he is – he went to a Shakespeare play because she told him about it. That’s love lol)

You offered a polite thank you and went to take it back, but he held it out of reach at the last second, giving you a teasing smile.

“How about I put my number in first, so you can call me when you get home,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

How about I put a dent in your face and call the cops for harassment and stealing my fucking phone???? God, I hate people 🤬

But of course Brady’s an ass 😅

This was why you kind of hated the subway.

Same, girl. Too many weirdos and rude people 🙈

“Hmm. Is it like beginning stages, or...?”

Omfg, I snorted so loudly. I told you that story, right? 🤣🤣

But I love that Dean tried to let her handle it on her own before stepping in when the guy couldn’t take a fucking hint. Also bonus points for bringing her home too because I worried Brady would follow her and try something 😒

It was one of your many quirks, but only now did he realize how much he’d actually noticed about you.

Uh-huh… Only now you’re realizing this, Professor? 😝

He bounced a tennis ball against the wall, as was his habit. (Mostly because it bothered Benny, who had the office next to his.)

Typical 😂😂😂

“Well, there’s the famous Lysander line, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” you said, “but that’s not even my favorite. That’s boring. That’s every rom-com ever, from Harry Met Sally to While You Were Sleeping, all the way to He’s Just Not that Into You, and Crazy, Stupid Love.”

This English major is geeking out throughout this entire exchange and nodding along 🤓 (Although I was surprised you’re calling rom-coms boring, my hopelessly romantic Alex 😜)

“Right? And what did he do? He dumped me the week before prom because he knew Ruby Summers would put out.”

Any relation to Buffy? What high school did she go to? Would explain all her interest in mythology 😂

Your mind seemed to be a hamster wheel on steroids, but he kind of liked that too.

Died at this description 🤣 Oh, he’s smitten, alright

In his mind’s eye, he could imagine them popping the buttons of his dress shirt, carving shaky lines of heat and pleasure across his skin.

Fuck. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to rid himself of that image, his jaw ticking in response. But another one just replaced it when his gaze met yours, half-lidded and shocked, but…contemplating.

Uh-oh. Professor Dean is wading into dangerous waters now… 😏

But no. Fucking no. He dismissed that thought as soon as it came. He was almost ten years older than you.

N’aww, but ten years isn’t so bad. Women are more mature anyways. I bet she’s even more mature than him lol

As in, forbidden fruit.

What did they all have in common? There was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was, is the price worth how good it tastes?

Omfg, I’m rolling my on the floor 🤣🤣🤣

And I always love Dean’s lack of self-awareness when he goes all “she doesn’t see me that way.” Like dude, have you never looked in a mirror or heard an audio recording of your voice?! 😆💚

Man, I can’t fucking wait for this little miniseries!!! 🤩 (I’d take a full one too, y’know? ^^) And please, gimme all the lit nerd references 🙏🤓🎓📚

10 'Til Midnight

Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester x Student!Reader

Summary: A chance encounter outside of the classroom shifts the way you see your professor. Forever.

AN: Here’s a one-shot for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! This also fulfills a request for one of my lovely Patreon members, @redhoodieone, who wanted to see AU Professor!Dean with a plus-sized student!reader. The reader is a graduate student (mid-20s) and Dean is in his 30s in this, so not really a wide age gap, but we’re still flirting with a gray area here lol.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: graduate student!reader, plus-sized!reader, Shakespeare geekery, mythology and other nerdy classic lit. references, AU Brady sighting, sexual tension, mutual pining(?)

The ash cloud of exhaust rose up from the sidewalk steam grates. It infiltrated your nose as you hurried down a few well-worn concrete steps and into the bowels of the subway, a transition into deeper darkness.

To you, that acrid, mini plume of pollution was the smell of New York City; old cigarette buds and weed hash, fresh tequeños and hot dogs wafting from the open door of the bodega on the corner, mixed with a whiff of piss.

This was the city of broke creatives clinging to their fragile dreams with both hands, usually while the natives rolled their eyes. You were one of those shiny happy people with a dream and the battle-tested will to make it happen, especially tonight. You finally got to see a play on Broadway, an excellent production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

You replayed your favorite scenes in your mind like 1940s movie reel, except it was live in technicolor. An unconscious smile spread across your lips, but you had to hurry. Your train was about to leave in…

You checked the time on your phone—ten minutes to midnight—and compared it to the digital sign up ahead. Your eyes widened.

Shit! One minute?!

You had no choice but to try and run in your heels. That had you skidding to the open doors as they began to close, but you just managed to slip inside, albeit literally slipping with a yelp.

A man saved you by grabbing hold of your arm and waist before you fell, bunching the fabric of your coat beneath his hand. You gasped when you stared up at a familiar face. A sharp jawline covered with stubble, just neat enough to be respectable; dark brows shaded over green eyes, trained on you; bowed lips pursed with confusion.

“Professor?” you said, breathless and shocked.

He was just as baffled, but he finished helping you up as your name fell from his lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded and thanked him for the save, still catching your breath.

“Here, sit down,” he said, gesturing to a couple of empty seats on the subway. You joined him in sitting, though you ignored the stare of the guy standing closest to you who was holding onto a rail. He wore jeans and dirty hipster Vans, a brown bomber jacket and a gray beanie. The stench of weed and cheap cologne clung to him.

And his gaze followed you until you sat down. Slightly unsettled, you were subtle in the way you angled yourself toward the man beside you.

Professor Dean Winchester.

He really was the last person you expected to see on your way home tonight. You still couldn’t believe you ran right into him!

But then, you noticed the playbill sticking out of his coat pocket (his coat looked more expensive, a dark charcoal gray with a high collar, and it suited him).

“Oh, you…you saw the play too?” you said in excitement, showing him your own playbill that you fished out of your purse. You’d told him about it a month ago, after his lecture on fairy lore. You thought he might enjoy a play that was all about the convergence between the fairy realm and the human realm.

He’d admitted that he’d never seen a Shakespeare play live, but he said he’d look into it. You didn’t think he was actually taking you seriously though.

“Uh, yeah, I did. I’ve never been a big Shakespeare guy, truth be told, but you hooked me,” he said. When he smiled, it made the corner of his eyes crinkle a little.

You couldn’t help but smile too every time you noticed that…even though it made your cheeks warm in a blush. He really had no business being this handsome. And the suit? All crisp and black, paired with a classic, off-white dress shirt and a black pinstripe tie.

Clearly he’d dressed for the occasion of going to the theater, because usually he was one of the chillest professors you knew. He showed up to class in jeans, boots, plain henleys and jackets, though never without his watch, a classic leather time piece with a silver watch face and bold black numbers. It was so vintage, you’d asked about it once when you met with him to talk about one of your essays on Native American burial practices. He’d told you that the watch belonged to his father, who passed away a few years ago now.

“So what’d you think?” you asked. “Weren’t the sets beautiful? It was so ominous and creepy in the ‘forest,’ and ethereal too, like the fairy realm part of it.”

He nodded, smiling slightly wider at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, was a good production. The actors were top-notch.”

“Oh, incredible. That was the best Bottom I’ve ever seen.” You paused, realizing what you said, and a nervous giggle tumbled out of your mouth. “Well, the character. Not the ass—donkey—whatever. You know what I mean.”

The man laughed, rich and deep and washing over you pleasantly, even though you half covered your face in embarrassment.

“Can’t argue with you there. The ass was hilarious,” he smirked.

Another giggle, and you flipped through the playbill again to distract yourself from looking at his ruggedly chiseled face. Why, oh why did he have to be so fucking attractive? And somehow he was still single. You’d heard some of the girls in your class whispering about it after class one day—a full-on engagement that fell apart two years ago.

“But really, the actors who played the couples in the love quadrangle were awesome,” you said. “Helena was my favorite.”

He raised his dark brows. “Really? The girl who gets shit on the most in the play?”

That was another thing. He didn’t really talk like any professor you’d met in your life. You let out a snort.

“I don’t want to be her, I just think she did so well at showing that vulnerability,” you explained. “There’s nothing worse than being in love with someone who doesn’t even see you, you know?”

He tilted his head, his amusement fading as he listened. You felt emboldened to continue your thought.

“In her mind, she’s probably thinking, ‘Well, even if he’s yelling at me, at least he’s acknowledging I exist,’” you said, “which is incredibly sad and isn’t giving Shakespeare many brownie points for feminism, but it’s a reality that some women go through.”

After a moment, he seemed to see your point with a nod of his head.

“That’s fair,” he said, arching a brow. “Though I gotta hope you don’t let any guy talk to you like that.”

You shook your head with a smile, but before you could answer him, your phone slipped off your lap and tumbled to the dirty subway floor. You twisted away so you could reach down and grab it, but you caught that whiff of cheap cologne again. Gray beanie guy let go of the rail and bent down to scoop up your phone before you could. You offered a polite thank you and went to take it back, but he held it out of reach at the last second, giving you a teasing smile.

“How about I put my number in first, so you can call me when you get home,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

That oh-so-gracious offer was followed by a glance down your dress. You sat up straighter, adjusting the collar of your coat back over your neckline with a weary huff.

“Ah, you know what, I’m good with just my phone…please.”

This was why you kind of hated the subway. You didn’t know when you were going to have to interact with a creep trying to steal your phone, shoot his shot, or look down your dress as a consolation prize.

You held out your hand expectantly, but still, “Brady” didn’t take the hint.

“Aw, what, you have a boyfriend or something?” he asked.

“Oh my God. Are you fucking serious?” You sighed and decided a white lie was best here. “Yes, I have a boyfriend. Now give me my phone, please.”

“Hmm. Is it like beginning stages, or...?”

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, maybe we can grab a bite to eat, theeen you know. If things are going well, we could take things back to your place,” he said, his brows popping with sleazy suggestion. He still held the phone away from your grasping hand in frustration.

“Hey,” a deep voice cut in. 

You hesitated, glancing back at Professor Winchester. He glared up at Brady with a stony look that you’d never seen on him before.

“Give her the damn phone,” said the professor. His tone boded no argument.

Still, Brady pushed his luck.

“What, you her boyfriend or something?”

The professor didn’t bother to answer the question, but he stood from his seat, his long coat draped down all six feet and change of him, broad shoulders and calm confidence. He stared down at the lankier, scruffier pothead. Then he held out his hand.

Brady shifted back on his heels, seeming to realize that he didn’t want this version of Midnight on the Orient Express—the kind that ended up on the 6 o’clock news the next morning. With a roll of his eyes, Brady dropped the phone into your professor’s hand, complete with a dickish quirk of his lips. Professor Winchester gestured at him to fuck off.

“Walk away,” he said.

To your astonishment, the Brady just tossed him a “fuck you, bro,” and went to the other end of the car. You stood up too, just as the subway pulled to a stop. Professor Winchester handed you the phone.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Is this your stop?” he asked, still glancing back with a suspicious eye at the asshole still glaring at your backs.

You nodded, biting your lip.

“Okay, come on,” the professor said. He laid a guiding hand on the small of your back and joined you in stepping out of the subway car. To your relief, Brady stayed on the train.

“Thank you,” you said again. “Really, you didn’t have to miss your exit for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, with a shake of his head. His frown was still in place just thinking of that fucking loser. “I’ll have better peace of mind knowing you got home safe.”  

Once you told him that your apartment was another few blocks away, he knew he was going to be walking you home. You told him you weren’t that new to the city, but in his mind, it still wasn’t a safe neighborhood for a young woman to be walking around by herself at this time of night.

He had no other motive than that, however…

He’d been pleasantly surprised to see you tonight. You were a flash of scarlet that tumbled into his arms, the scent of your floral perfume teasing his nose before he caught sight of that little dress clinging to your curvy form, ending just a couple inches above the knee. But you drew your wool coat closer to your body, hiding the tantalizing flash of red from view.

It was for the best, he thought, as he cleared his throat and tried to find something else to focus his eyes on while you two walked together. He couldn’t help but land on your face again, on your pretty painted lips.

A deep, full-bodied red.

It was a familiar shade. You’d worn it before, while chewing the end of a pen absently in concentration during one of his lectures on the difference between skinwalkers and shapeshifters—those long, pointed nails tapping a quiet rhythm against the plastic. It was one of your many quirks, but only now did he realize how much he’d actually noticed about you. If nothing else, he always knew he had your attention.

He also knew you were getting a master’s degree in English, and you were taking his class as an elective. You’d actually sought him out before the semester started to make sure you got a spot in his class.

“Sorry, sir, I know it’s early. I’ve just been trying since last year to get into this class, and I really wanted the chance to take it before I graduate this year.”

He’d shifted in his swivel chair with his jean-clad legs casually crossed. He bounced a tennis ball against the wall, as was his habit. (Mostly because it bothered Benny, who had the office next to his.)

The repetitive bounce really helped him to think sometimes; it was basically his version of a fidget spinner.

“You like mythology that much, huh?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yeah!” you said, as your eyes lit up. “I find it so fascinating how every culture in the world has their own stories that have still survived for thousands of years. Some of them even overlap. Like, maybe it’s technically a different creature, but they have the same name, just in another language. Or it’s the same creature, different backstory. It’s like any novel I’ve ever read��similar tropes, but the style, the packaging. That’s what becomes new and creative.”

Amusement tugged at Dean’s lips.

“Same candy, different wrapper, right?” he offered. His reward was your bright smile.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He’d approved your request without a second thought. Unlike 95% of the students who came and went through his classes, you weren’t just smart. You cared. You had a passion for this stuff…and it mirrored his own.

“So, uh, you liked that play, huh?” he asked. Wanted to rub his hand over his face right after. Smooth, Winchester.

But it succeeded in brightening your eyes again.

“Oh yeah. People tend to think of it as one of Shakespeare’s sillier plays, but it drops some interesting ideas about love, for example.” All while you spoke, you spun vivid gestures with your hands.

Dean’s remained in his coat pockets, but watching you made his smile deepen. He liked when you got like this, so animated and alive with your thoughts. It threatened to draw him out of his somewhat jaded shell.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asked. Not because he really wanted to talk about what some sixteenth-century ye olde-y English douche thought about love, but because he wanted to hear you explain it.

You didn’t disappoint.

“Well, there’s the famous Lysander line, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” you said, “but that’s not even my favorite. That’s boring. That’s every rom-com ever, from Harry Met Sally to While You Were Sleeping, all the way to He’s Just Not that Into You, and Crazy, Stupid Love.”

Dean had to interject. “You watch a lot of chick-flicks, don’t you?”

Your lips puckered, but the amusement in your eyes answered his question.

“Like I said, I think Helena is the most underrated tragic figure in the whole story. Yeah, she’s pretty much a doormat, following Demetrius around even though he claims he’s in love with her best friend. Even though he curses at her, threatens to kill her if she keeps annoying him, following him around like an abused puppy. We can agree, he’s like, the biggest asshole in existence, right?” you said.

“Oh, very much agree. You want some coffee?” Dean asked, pointing to a guy selling warm pretzels and drinks from his vendor cart on the side of the road. It had stopped snowing a few days ago, but the February air was still sharp and bitterly cold at this time of night. If only it were midsummer.

“Uh, you know what, I could go for some tea. Thank you,” you said. But you didn’t let that derail you from your thoughts on Shakespearean love. You were still waxing literary analysis while you dug into your purse to find your wallet, but by the time you got it out, Dean had already paid for both drinks and a large soft-baked pretzel.

Your brows furrowed. “Oh! I meant to pay for my part—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, take half,” Dean said, and he shot you a smile while handing over your hot tea and half of his pretzel. He got your eyes to light up for a different reason as you took the treat. You thanked him with a sweeter smile.

Then you took a bite, and you kept talking.

“But then she says, ‘Love can transpose to form and dignity.’ It can make us act like idiots, right? I mean, back in high school I wrote my boyfriend’s essays for a whole year because I didn’t want him to fail English, and let’s face it, he could barely spell his own last name.”

“Yikes,” Dean chuckled. Sounded like a GED and a gas station job in that guy’s future.

“Right? And what did he do? He dumped me the week before prom because he knew Ruby Summers would put out.” You rolled your eyes, accepting Dean’s sympathies with a gracious nod and a dismissive hand wave. Still, he hoped all you’d given to that guy was your time.

"Well, the guy you're seeing now better be treating you right," he said.

You blinked, your brows furrowing a bit in confusion, until realization dawned on you.

"Oh, I don't have a boyfriend," you said with a small chuckle. "That's just what I tell pushy weirdos on subways."

Dean was tripped up for a second, but he eventually quirked a smile.

“So anyway, my favorite bar of the whole play is what Helena says in Act 1,” you said. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

In that moment, Dean’s eyes were a little too captivated.

But you broke the spell.

You glanced ahead to continue along the crosswalk with him, taking another warm, soft bite of pretzel.

“And that’s why Cupid’s always painted like a blind baby…or something like that,” you said. You laughed a little, and you seemed to realize just how long you’d been yapping his ear off. You came to a stop at what he assumed was your apartment building, but you suddenly got quiet. Embarrassed.

“Sorry, once I open my mouth on this stuff, I can’t really stop unless someone stops me and tells me I’m literally killing them with words that don’t make sense.”

“You’re making a whole lotta sense to me,” Dean replied. And he realized that he meant it. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. I like that.”

Your mind seemed to be a hamster wheel on steroids, but he kind of liked that too.

“Well, did you like the play?” you asked, smiling in embarrassment. “Sorry, can’t remember if I even asked you that yet.”

He laughed softly. Even if you had, he didn’t mind answering again.

“I like it more now, hearing you talk about it,” he said. But maybe that was too honest. He padded it with something more appropriate, as your instructor. “It makes sense, since you’re an English major, but your passion always comes through in your essays. I’m really glad you decided to take my class this semester.”

You demured further at the praise. “Oh, thank you. It really is my favorite class so far this year, but…that’s because you’re the one teaching it. You're really good at telling stories. You make them simple and easy to understand, even when we're talking about hell hounds and old ghost stories, or the uh, Oedipus complex, or something.”

Dean smiled in amusement, but it was his turn to be touched, even if it surprised him too. You were just so honest and free enough to speak your mind. It was refreshing.

“Well, thank you. Glad to hear at least one person’s getting something out of it,” he said, his smile warming for once.

You smiled too, looking at him through your lashes. “All right well, thanks again for walking me home. I’ll, um…see you on Monday-ayy!”

You stepped up onto the first stair leading up to your apartment and caught an icy patch with your red-bottomed heels. A gasp fell from your lips as your arms spun out to catch yourself on anything that could keep you from falling, and that happened to be Dean—specifically his coat, and then his biceps when he moved in fast to keep you upright.

He ended up gathering you into his arms while you clung to his coat. Your red nails bit into the dark fabric. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine them popping the buttons of his dress shirt, carving shaky lines of heat and pleasure across his skin.

Fuck. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to rid himself of that image, his jaw ticking in response. But another one just replaced it when his gaze met yours, half-lidded and shocked, but…contemplating.

Hot breaths mingled in between, puffing visibly on the cold air.

“God, I’m sorry!” you breathed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat past the slight roughness in his voice. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um…Take Two,” you said, laughing weakly.

You aimed to let him go and continue on up the stairs by yourself, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from trying to help you. He held your elbow at least, with a hovering hand by your waist in case you slipped again. When you finally made it to the door, you paused and turned to look at him over your shoulder. Again, that look in your eyes said you were debating something in your mind.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded. “Yeah, I just, um…you know what? Never mind. Uh, good night!”

Dean nodded, giving you a casual salute. He didn’t leave until you got in the building safely, but for his entire long walk home, your face wouldn’t leave his mind. That look of internal conflict, like you’d been weighing some kind of pros and cons. He had to wonder…

Had you been about to invite him up to your apartment?

But no. Fucking no. He dismissed that thought as soon as it came. He was almost ten years older than you.

Didn’t stop Catherine Zeta-Jones from hooking up with Michael Douglas. She’s barely pushing fifty while he’s halfway into Senior Depends.

Second problem. Career ending and reputation ruining and his own clock punch at the local 7/11—kind of a problem.

You were a student.

Grad student, came a whisper from the back of his mind.

In Greek mythology, the golden apples of Hesperides in Hera’s garden were guarded by a dragon. The Norse gods also believed in their own version of immortal golden apples, harvested by the goddess Idunn. Sounded a bit like Eden, right? As in, the Judeo-Christian Garden.

As in, forbidden fruit.

What did they all have in common? There was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was, is the price worth how good it tastes?

Remembering the feeling of your soft curves under his hands, Dean had a feeling it would be more than fucking worth it.

But he shook the thought from his head, his fingertips digging into the soft insides of his coat pockets.

He was your professor. That was where those thoughts should end.

You didn’t even see him that way…did you?

You shucked your heels off as soon as you got inside your apartment. You heaved a deep sigh and shed your purse, your coat, your earrings and necklace, which you set down on the nightstand in your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed and fell back onto the creaky mattress.

Your hands came to rest lightly over your stomach, a safe place, while you thought back to how Professor Winchester held you so tight. Secure. Gentlemanly.

How he looked at you, his green-eyed gaze falling to your lips, like he was contemplating the best way to close that distance, bowing his head those last few inches and…

You forcibly shook your head. He was your goddamn teacher.

It didn’t matter that he was probably the youngest faculty member on campus, and you were a twenty-five-year-old graduate student. Whether or not the man was “age appropriate,” he was still your professor. You couldn’t think about him like that.

And he absolutely didn’t look at you like that…

Did he?

AN: Sorry again for all the nerdy lit. tidbits, but I had fun. 😂 I'm thinking about expanding this into an actual little series, so let me know what you think! ❤️

⋆˙⟡ Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new chapter. ❤️

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories; send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester One-Shots List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom

[switchbackhyperloop]

Fuckability of Thanksgiving Sides, on a scale of 0-10 with 0 being Least Fuckable and 10 being Most Fuckable

Green Bean Cassarole: 1. Ew. No. Why the fuck would you do that to the noble green bean? Gloppy, sloppy, bad, and outdated. Fucks like a varsity football linebacker, leaves a wet spot, then rolls over and falls asleep after coming.

Salad: 2. Uh, I guess? Boring, but not impolite. Maybe a little judgemental. Makes you put down a towel first.

Sweet potato Cassarole: 3. Kinda the same as green bean casserole, but at least they're not an asshole. Very sweet, tries very hard to please, doesn't necessarily succeed, but they will cuddle after.

Corn on the cob: 4. Not bad, kinda edgy, but it's a LOT of work. You gotta really pour on the decadence (butter, salt, cotija, pegging) if you wanna feel like it was worth it.

Stuffing: 5. Ugh, I dunno. Like, I feel like they'd be good? Everyone SAYS they're good? But they're just so... dry. And such a try hard. Always just too much. So many people can't be wrong? Am I just not getting them at their best?

Bread: 6. Aw, who doesn't love bread? Your best friend with bennies. Warm, comfortable, always good. Not surprising, but always a good time.

Roasted Brussel Sprouts: 7. Listen, LISTEN. You may think they're a dud from their old boiled days, but they've had a MAJOR glow up. They're that person who improved MONUMENTALLY after they finally came out of the closet. They're hotter, more confident, funnier, and friendlier. And they're GOOD FOR YOU.

Cranberry Sauce: 8. The best kind of freak. They're a total weirdo, but so likeable. Personally, I don't even like Cranberry sauce, but even I know they fuck.

Pumpkin Pie: 9. Yeah, they're a dessert, not a side, but who gives shit? It's Pumpkin pie! Universally beloved. Hot, fun, sweet, and never clingy, but always welcome in the mix. Pumpkin pie will treat you right.

Mashed potatoes: 10. Step on me, mommy.

[fnvbennygecko]

should i write benny and clover having a conversation abt them being like what do i do about the brotherhood of steel.... yes man's telling me to go kill them.... and they're both drinking i think and benny's like well what options do you have... and also like i trust yes man. just. in general like if he's telling you to go do something like that it's probably the best option. anyways they start getting upset and being like surely i can do something else surely i dont have to kill them and eventually they start crying and it's like o_o... bc clover's never cried in front of benny before and this is after the sierra madre too like they didnt even really cry then either. so benny is like wtf.... do i do.... and this is actually probably when clover finally opens up about what happened at the sierra madre and why it affected them so much and what they have to do with the brotherhood. also i dont think benny rlly gives a shit abt them being born into the brotherhood he doesnt have that much of an opinion on them besides the fact that he thinks they're fucking weirdos and jackasses and shouldnt be hoarding technology bc why??? they wanna do the same dumb as fuck shit as before the bombs fell? stupid.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Random-Ass Benny Miller Relationship HCs

And yes, they all involve him being a hot dumb himbo bc I have brainrot and @sofietargaryen is an enabler.

- Benny tries to high-five after sex. He want’s another one after you sigh and actually give one to him. This could go on for minutes, he’ll just keep pointing out “cool things” you did that made his highlight reel

- One day he’d randomly put a gold star sticker on your shirt and when you’d ask what it was for he’d say "for sucking my soul out through my cock last night bc damn, that was— HEY DON'T HIT ME WHERE ARE YOU GOING?! PUT YOUR STICKER BACK ON, BABE C’MON!"

- Benny would proudly announce that the reason you were both late was because y'all were boning and Frankie would be like "THIS IS YOUR GOD-DAUGHTER'S BAPTISM WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU"

- "THIS IS THE LORD'S HOUSE WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS"

- (Santi would just be like "no that's a valid excuse boning takes the time it takes")

- Benny would ask for sex coupons (redeem for 10 minutes of letting my hit it from the back, etc) for his birthday and try to redeem them at the most inappropriate times

- "I'm not letting you motorboat me right now" 

"but BABE" 

"WE ARE AT WILL’S REHEARSAL DINNER. YOUR PARENTS ARE RIGHT THERE"

- He’d want to hang out with you while you pee. Good luck trying to close/lock the door to keep him out bc boy will see this as a lock picking challenge and end up ruining your bobby-pins

-Weirdo would try to lace his toes with yours and get so confused/offended when you kick his foot away.

-He’ll try to sext you while you’re in the same room as him.

-He’ll also sext you when you’re mad but he’ll try and appeal to your kinks to make you forgive him.

- “Can we leave, I’m bored.”

“We are on a commercial air flight.”

“So ‘no’, then?”

- You’ll have to become an award winning actor when you both are at a party and he texts you ‘u up?’ or ‘what r u wearing?’ or ‘damn without me?’ like BOY I SWEAR TO GOD I’M TRYING TO TALK TO MY BOSS

-”Are you mad at me?”

“No, what are you talking about?”

“You’re being quiet—”

“WE ARE AT THE MOVIES BENJAMIN TF”

[princeapollyon]

YEYSESYESYES MY TIME TO SHINE!!

TRIGGER WARNINGS:‼️

mentions of heavy fictional drug use, cannibalism, and general moral depravity.

alrighty so. one of, if not THE most integral part of my courier six’s story stems from the consequences of his head wound.

first off, i took what was implied by doc mitchell’s remark if you pick low charisma, “Huh. Must be some frontal lobe damage,” and just ran with it.

it makes sense that, when Benny shot you in the FRONT of the head where you could still see him, that some permanent damage could have occurred. for Dagger, (my oc!) this means frontal lobe damage, which affects his decision-making skills, primarily between determining right from wrong and other morality-based decisions, causes complete impulsivity in most cases, and has caused his empathy gene to logg-off, permanently.

frontal lobe damage can also affect specifically autobiographical memory, which makes sense for the game, since the courier’s action can post-accident be completely different in character than from before the injury. for my courier, this manifests in some pretty serious permanent amnesia, where he’s not able to remember anything from before the accident except the accident itself, and vague feelings of familiarity when he travels to places he likely had traveled to before all of this (implied by being able to speak the Dead Horse’s language in Honest Hearts),

also, Dagger can vaguely understand that he’s changed completely since getting shot in the head, at least emotionally. he senses some type of loss, recognizing that he’s physically limited now from his brain injury, although he doesn’t feel much other than slight annoyance over this fact.

effectively, this wound has given him “aquired sociopathy,” so while he knows that he’s changed, he doesn’t have the emotional depth to mourn it, especially since he’s now fully convinced of his superiority to other people and things only really go up for him after the initial run-in with Benny.

BUT ALSO!! THERE’S MORE! :D

not only did the gunshot wounds cause a complete lack of empathy/moral understanding and emotional regression to that of an impulsive 13-year-old, but they are also the source of frequent, excruciatingly painful migraines, which explains his affinity for/addiction to drugs.

in-game, i would deliberately leave my head untreated if it became crippled from combat, because the boughts of swimming vision and high pitched ringing seemed realistic to my courier’s injury. my thinking is, if getting popped on the head in-combat could cause it, why wouldn’t lasting effects of TWO LITERAL GUNSHOT WOUNDS cause permanently the same effects?? mostly, i just thought it added more flavor, and when i make characters, i like what they do to make sense. i knew that i wanted my courier to be a drug fiend and a cannibal, and the cause if the first made most sense to me if he was to experience chronic pain and have a heightened thrill-seeking temperment, and the latter if he had a completely distorted sense of morality. all of this criteria is fulfilled and explained by severe frontal lobe damage; he uses drugs to cope with extreme chronic migraines, and justifies eating corpses with the thought process of “this is survival and they’re already dead” mixed with seeing it as triumphant superiority, where if someone were to die at his hands, then they’re basically no better than livestock, thus he can and should eat them. what a weirdo lol

anyway, that about sums up and accounts for pretty much all the decisions Dagger has made in-game, and which ending i plan to get with him. he sees others merely as tools for his self-betterment, using then how he sees fit and saying whatever he needs to to manipulate them to get the job done. he respects marginally those who have displayed exceptional martial prowess, but still is always looking at people through the lens of “what can this guy do for me” rather than “i want to ally myself with these people and their cause.”

i also think that if you play through the Old World Blues DLC, that the doctors there (if you get the goid ending) can repair your brain better than doc mitchell, so some of these negative effects may be somewhat alleviated. in particular, since your head no longer gets crippled, i’ve interpreted this as the migraines no longer being a thing (but it doesn’t matter since at that point Dagger’s already an addict, so his drug problem still stands lol). perhaps he’s a little more nuanced in the decision-making department too, but i doubt that even the best doctor can repair literal holes in your brain completely lol

YAY OKAY THAT’S ALL!! sorry for the rant i just love my courier so much and have thought n researched SO MUCH about this, so i had to say my piece >:3

Currently very interested in Courier OCs who have actual in-story consequences from the brain injury. I wish everyone a very please tell me about your Couriers.

[dolce-tenebra-toscana]

La Squadra and how they manage to survive the summer because...you guessed it, they are too poor and Diavolo won't give them a break lol 🤣🤣

Risotto ✂️: steal all the fans in the lair

He's the boss so he has all the rights to gather the fans around him. Being so pale also is a curse for him cause he doesn't tan...he becomes la Pimpa's cousin ( la pimpa is a red and white dog from a children's book if you don't know)

No matter how much sunscreen he puts on, the sun will burn him either way...so he prefers to stay inside sorrounded by his lil army of windy electronic slaves.

No one dares to say anything to him, a mad risotto means ouchies for the others.

Prosciutto 🍖: Circolo Arci lifestyle

This sicilian hottie ( benny stop simping for Gucci's sake!!) Has way too much class to let the summer's heat wave reduce him to an ameba!

So in all his years of experience he found the perfect place to hide during the warmest days: the local Circolo Arci's bar! He will go there around 13 pm and stay till 19:30, where he'll either watch tv or play cards with the senior citizens who also came to seek refuge from the heat wave.

Call him old, but at least he can enjoy the air conditioning system as much as he wants, even if that means loose at Briscola every single time.

Formaggio 🧀: I'm not an alcoholic, i'm a sommelier

Formaggio, being the king of drinks, will make cold cocktails for everyone...but especially for himself.

Using Little Feet he'll also shrink so he can lay on the ice cubes and enjoy the freshness till he can, even swimming in a cold glass of Gin Lemon!! Illuso one time found him using a lemon slice as a floatie.

After a long, tiring, hot day there's nothing better than the cheese man famous Negroni Sbagliato; but watch out for the ice...he may have layed there commando previously, just ask for the ones in the freezer, just in case..

Melone 🍈: decency? What's that?

You guessed it, this tuscan weirdo will literally walk around his apartment totally naked with the windows open; he won't absolutely care about the screams of the neighbours or that someone might call the police, IS TOO HOT TO BOTHER!!

If he lived closer to tuscany he would have escaped to Follonica a loooong time ago, but since he has to stay nearby ( and honestly he hates Napoli's beach ) for the missions he just cosplay as Adam inside his own house.

He has to put stickers notes on the fridge to remember to get dressed before gljng out tho, one time he forgot and his neighbour screamed so loud she cracked a window...

Illuso 🔎: local swimming pool diva

Sun hat? Check! Versace swimsuit? Check! Will to ruin everybody elses fun time? C H E C K~

Illuso is the person you DON'T wanna have to deal with at your local swimming pool area: he is loud, snarky, will make children cry, be a karen to the staff...JUST CAUSE HE IS BORED!!

You'll see him coming looking like an italian Barbie malibu, and once he decides he wants your spot in the pool, he'll make everything in his power to make you leave...

Luckily summer only last 3 months...

Ghiaccio 🧊: the lucky b*tch

His stand it's his blessing during the summer, White Album automatically regulates his body temperature so he is never too hot or too cold! The lucky b*stard smirks and walk around the lair not breaking a sweat!!

He will wear only a pair of light sweatpants, chug a beer and snicker " Why so bothered? Is not THAT hot ahahahah!!"

Either that or he'll go train early in the morning like gym bro he is, some say he'll even whistle while doing push ups.

Ghiaccio doesn't like summer, but he likes seeing people miserable soooo...it is what it is

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 || 𝐛𝐞𝐧 + 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜!𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐬

SUMMARY: The thing about Klaus Hargeeves and the titles he had was that, for all the bad and bloodied ones he’d accumulated over his weirdly-long-but-should-have-been-shorter lifetime– nothing hurt more than becoming a stranger. PAIRINGS: Klaus x Reader (Platonic), Sparrow!Reader x Sparrow!Ben (Romance), Past!Reader x Umbrella!Ben (Romance), Klaus x Reader x Ben TAGS/WARNINGS: angst ; romance

Klaus Hargeeves had accumulated more than his fair share of titles over the course of his weirdly-long-but-should-have-been-shorter lifetime.

Before the first Apocalypse, he’d been Klaus: Number Four. The Séance. Family fuck-up and resident weirdo.

When he’d ended up smack-dab in the middle of the Vietnam war, the list only grew from there: Private Hargreeves. Soldier. Murderer.

The titles were no less bloody than his first few, and maybe if he’d saved Dave the additions might’ve been an easier pill to swallow.

But Klaus lost Dave anyway and though he wasn’t into the swallowing business nowadays (of pills, that is), the dog tags he wore beneath his torn shirt were a bitter reminder that death and misery would follow him always.

Even after leaving The Umbrella Academy. 

When he and his family failed to save the world the first time (which, according to a very snappish Five, was not technically the first time; very tensed up man-child, mind you)–Klaus, as always, did what he did best.

He accepted the cards he’d been dealt with, and he settled.

And for the most part, things were okay. Delightful, even.

Amongst his Cult, he’d been a Messiah. God. 

As if God wasn’t already fucked up for putting him through all the shit he’d been through, Klaus accepted the monicker with a grain of salt and revelled in the false sense of security it gave him.

So long as he was God, nothing would touch him or his people. 

Because, for all that Klaus was unlucky, for all that he was unfortunate when it came to too-bloody-titles and titles that were false in every way, somehow he’d ended up in 1960 with not only Ben, but with you, too. 

From 1960 to 1962, the years you shared together–you, consoling him first after an argument with Ben before astral projecting yourself between worlds to coax your boyfriend back; Ben, always disagreeing with anything to do with Destiny’s Children until you’d concede sweetly in turn; and him, teasing Ben mercilessly for making him a third-wheel but purposely making him more tangible so his love-struck brother could rest his head above your heart–reminded Klaus of the only good titles he had alongside his name. 

To the world (old and new), Klaus Hargreeves was known as many things.  Weird things. Bloody things. But to Ben, his Benirrino, Klaus was his brother. 

He could be overwhelming to a fault, he knew, but Ben–angry, bitter and emo Benny boy– loved him all the same. And Klaus would’ve died a happy bastard knowing he had at least one sibling with him 60 years in the past. 

With you, [N/N], Klaus didn’t quite know why you’d stuck with him after Ben had died in the original timeline. Until the epiphany came to him between nights you sought each other to grieve and days you went looking for a new high that he’d never had a best-friend before.

He might’ve been responsible for half the stress you were constantly under, but you had accepted him anyways and always in the ways that mattered and for that, Klaus would make do with a sappy Ben if it meant having you there with him, too.  

After two glorious years of just being Ben’s playful brother and [Y/N]’s chaotic best-friend, Klaus thought he could well and truly live if he only ever had to answer to these two titles.

And then, Five re-appeared.

The rest of his family, too. 

And suddenly, the world was back on a timer. 

Klaus had to be Number Four again. Had to be The Séance, the Soldier.

If they wanted an edge over the Temps Time Commission, he had to bring out the whole shabam and play into everything Daddy-dearest ever wanted of him in order to do anything and return to a timeline where he was all these shitty titles (some shameful, some not) and then some.  

And while he could’ve done it, could’ve accepted the bitter reality-check like the good little Solider that he was–it became a little harder for Klaus to just settle with the cards he’d been dealt with when Ben dies saving Viktor. 

It becomes even worse when, just as the two of you are almost out, almost back-in-your-original timeline, you decide to shield Allison during a barrage of gunfire. 

Klaus had seen you first amidst the chaos–eyes wide, hands trembling–and had cheered in a moment of drunken stupor before Five called your name.  Had called for you as though he couldn’t see you even though you were standing right there...

He barely manages to process what’s happened and the fact he’s lost his brother and best-friend all in one sweep (He sees Dave in the distance, and blood roars in his ears) before Viktor’s at his side, gently holding onto his hand with the echo of grief in his eyes as Five opens the briefcase. 

The last image he sees of 1962 is the small, sad, smile of your apparition as he falls forward in time and into a world that spits at everything he ever was. 

Because there, in 2019, is Ben. 

Alive. Breathing. Whole. 

“Dad, who are these assholes?” his brother’s voice echoes through the long room, Klaus’ stomach lurching as Ben considers them without a hint of recognition. 

His heart swells and the breaks again because with that question, his brother dies again.

“Come on Ben, play nice...” To the collective surprise and horror mounting amongst his family, your gentle voice cuts through the air as you step out from behind his brother to place a hand on his shoulder. 

Flushed and lively despite being dead only a few moments prior–he’s not the only one disoriented seeing you in front of them. 

“But he does have a point,” you continue onward, uncaring of the sharp breath Allison takes (your blood is still splattered on her face) or the way Diego’s eyes dart between you and Ben; side by side, even in another life.

“Who are you and why are you here?”