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rainylana · 1 year

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A prequel.

Eddie Munson x female reader

warnings: cocaine use, language, sibling lose, depression and grief, angst.

summary: this is short and considered a prequel to a potential series if you guys want it enough. so please let me know! if not, i’ll leave it as is!

Eddie remembered your screams. He remembered them everyday. That was why he couldn’t sleep now. It was raining slightly, a soft sprinkle that wasn’t strong enough to put out his cigarette. He sat on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, eyes tired and drained, dark circles under his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a decent nights sleep.

He was sleeping on the couch tonight, after a fight he’d had with you, but it wasn’t giving him much comfort. Nothing did, these days. The only real joy he got was when he visited his uncle. He loved you very much, but the spark was disappearing day by day. And maybe that wasn’t fair to say, he couldn’t begin to imagine what you were going through. He absolutely could not. Eddie was lonely, he missed you and what you once had, but his girl was nothing but a shell anymore. He missed you terribly.

It had been two months since your sister, Meredith had died, two months since that dreaded night that haunted everyone. It was like the world had stopped turning on its axis completely, like everyone had stopped breathing.

The friend group was trying it’s hardest to heal and move on from the tragedy of loosing their friend and the state that Max was in, but it was hard when they knew how much you were suffering. Eddie didn’t want to move on without you.

You weren’t doing well. You didn’t eat. All you did was sleep and drink. You were angry, a shell of who you once used to be, so vibrant and bright, now dull and hallow. You didn’t think it was fair that Max had lived and Meredith had died. Even though Max was only living by the machine, her body was still living, her heart still beat, even if her soul was lost somewhere. Max was still here and Meredith wasn’t, and that just wasn’t fair.

Eddie put his cigarette out on the wood railing, hurrying up when the rain started to fall harder. He shook his hair like a wet dog when he came inside, squinting his eyes in the darkness of his home. He went back to your shared bedroom, gently climbing back into bed and resting his arm above his head.

You were snuggled against the pillow, lips parted as you breath in deeply. You must of been having a peaceful sleep, he figured. You didn’t get much of it, as you were usually awakened by night terrors. He brought up his finger to swipe your lip gently, sighing in exhaustion.

“I don’t know how to help you, baby.” He whispered, practically mouthing the words as if you could hear him. He just didn’t know what to do. You were becoming grey, lifeless. Your hair was matted and your face was drained, skin pale and bruised in places.

A wave of ptsd came over him, hearing your screams and your sister’s lifeless body torn to shreds by the demobats. He swallowed harshly, blinking away tears so he wouldn’t wake you up. He missed Meredith so badly, everyone did. It practically killed him for you to go through this pain, killed him because he couldn’t understand it.

He didn’t know how to help.

•

“Where the hell have you been?” You snapped, pacing back and forth wildly. “I’ve been waiting for hours!”

“I know, I know!” He apologized quickly as he rushed inside. “I know, I’m sorry, baby, there was a hold up. The guy-”

“I don’t give a fuck! Just give me my shit!” You barked, stomping toward him and grabbing the bags he carried, turning the upright for the contents to spill on the floor. You rummaged through it till you found your ziplock bag of coke, rushing to the table to dump out a little. Eddie watched as you lined it with a credit card, catching his breath against the wall. You huffed out a breath of relief as you snorted the little white lines, wiping your nose after the second one. You shakily sat down, hands shaking from your intense withdrawal.

“What?” You locked eyes with him.

He shook his head, pushing himself off the wall as he bent down. “Nothin’.” He started picking up his stuff.

“Looks like you got something to say.” You challenged, pushing back your unbrushed hair.

Eddie signed, zipping up his backpack as he tossed it to the side. “Y/n, it’s nothing, honey.”

You glared at him before you decided to drop it. “How was your day?” You asked, starting to feel calmer.

“Was just fine.” He sat down across from you. “Another day at the office.”

You nodded, placing your hands on the table as you stared off into space. Eddie very much regretted letting you get into his stash, but he’d been so desperate for anything to help you. He didn’t realize what kind of hole you’d fall into. You were hooked and it was his fault. It had been a few days since he was able to get more, so you’d been extra worked up. You took anything he had, but cocaine was what really had it’s grasp on you. Being high was the only joy you could really fathom.

“Don’t you think you should watch what you’re doing?” He looked at you through his lashes, nodding down to the bag between you.

You knew what he was talking about, but you raised a brow. “Huh?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” He said. “Your becoming too dependent on this. Don’t you think it’s time you slow down?”

You looked at him in hypocrisy. “You’re the one who fucking gets me this shit, Eddie.” You scoffed, voice sore and hoarse from previous crying sessions. “I can’t stop. It helps me, you know that.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes. “But maybe you should consider stopping. You’re becoming..too…I don’t know, you just need to stop, y/n. We’re all worried about you.”

You shook your head, a lump building in your throat. “So, what are you saying? Not gonna give me what I want anymore? You’re just gonna let me suffer. You know I need it!” Your voice cracked with tears and he looked down guiltily.

“Angel, please,” He pleaded, fisting his hands on the table. “Please, you need to get some kind of help! Anything! Just not this. I’m sorry for getting you started, it was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it. I just wanted you to feel better, but I should of realized what it would do. But baby, it’s been two months since she died.” He begged you, shaking his head with every word, hoping to get through to you. He reached out to grab your hands.

“Please, open up to me.” He begged. “Please, tell me what I can do.”

The mention of your sisters passing made you shed a tear, pulling your hands away from Eddie’s. “Just get me what I need. That’s what you can do for me.” You got up and left him at that, disappearing into your room.

Eddie stared at the table, allowing his eyes to burn with tears as he choked on his breath.

•

The weight of your sobs was causing you pain, your chest was on fire and you felt like the contents of your stomach would come up any moment. You couldn’t breath. You tried again and again to get air into your lungs, but you couldn’t. This feeling, this ache of grief in your heart was the single worst thing you’d ever felt in your life. If it wasn’t for Eddie, you’d surely kill yourself.

Your eyes were wide and you knelt down to the wood steps below you, gripping your chest as you hyperventilated. You were so loud that the neighbors dog was staring at you, pulling back it’s ears in confusion. You cried and you wept with your broken heart, shaking and sobbing as it started to rain yet again, but you couldn’t move from your spot.

She was too young, too sweet and too innocent. She was only sixteen. She had her whole life ahead of her. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Eddie had dragged you away as the upside had caved in on itself. Her body was still there, a rotten, soulless corpse. You had no family, only Eddie, but you still felt alone.

You didn’t hear him burst outside in the pouring rain, grabbing your shoulders as he hurried to get you out of the weather. You sobbed as he wrapped his arms around your wet body, lifting you into his arms as he carried you inside.

He sat on the couch with you in his arms, holding you like a newborn baby. He rocked you, closing his eyes as he laid his head against yours, the weight of your heartache hitting him like knives to his heart. He didn’t shush you, didn’t tell you it would be okay or give you promises of false hope. He just held you. He’d done this time and time again, and holding you was the only thing he could truly do.

#lana’s shit post #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x fem!reader

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eddiedoll · 2 years

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have you ever seen a vampire? one would like to meet you.

vamp!eddie x gn!reader

summary: A year after the recent string of unexplained happenings in Hawkins, your friend dares you to go into the woods. She heard there was a vampire.

warnings: mentions of violence and blood, j*son c*rver is mentioned, the ground did open up but it's all good now, no y/n used

You must have been a fool. You may have a 4.0 GPA, and a full-ride scholarship to Cal Tech but there was no other explanation for what you were currently doing, other than the fact that you must be stupid.

---

You were part of a small clique, often known as the “nerds” in high school. All that meant is you loved to read and would willingly wear scratchy, wool sweater vests, even if it led to the odd prickly rash around the back of your neck.

Your friends often skipped out on the lunch hall, opting to find solace in the quiet, dusty room rather than the raucous events that spread from table to table in the sticky-floored hall. Head buried deep in your dog-eared copy of Bram Stoker’s “Dracula”, your attention is dragged away from the scene of Van Helsing placing blooms of garlic around young Lucy’s room by a friend sat opposite you.

“You know, on the topic of vampires, did you hear what happened to Jenny Waller?”

Everyone had heard about poor Jenny. Dragged into the woods one night, found half alive and half mauled.

“Didn't Chief Hopper say it was an animal attack? Like a bear or something? My dad spent the weekend putting bear traps out around the edge of our house.”

Ever since news of a bear attack spread around the neighbourhood, your parents had been on edge. Since your house backed onto the local woods, you had been banned from stepping foot into your backyard until it was deemed safe by the police.

Your friend leans closer in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “See, Chief says it was a bear, but Jenny is convinced whatever had attacked her walked on two legs and was sufficiently less hairy.”

“Sally, are you saying it was a vampire?” You scoffed at her insinuation, vampires didn’t exist of course.

“Well, with the amount of freaky shit happening in Hawkins at the moment I wouldn't be surprised. Do you remember when the earthquake hit? And the sky was all dark and there was red lightning? I’m telling you, it was a portal to hell and vampires could have definitely crawled up from it.”

“Ok, I am taking away your copy of The Abyss when I find it. Hell isn't here on Earth, I can assure you. Unless you count the god awful smell of the boys locker room. That could definitely be Hell’s lair.”

Sally glanced at your friend group, half of them still enthralled in their novels and the other half vaguely interested in the tête-à-tête between the two of you.

“Well, if you're so convinced vampires aren't real. I dare you to go into the woods after school. If it’s a bear you can easily lead it to a bear trap and if it’s a vampire… you can make some weapons to fight it off.”

You knew she wouldn't drop it. Last summer, she had dared you to ask Eddie Munson out after you’d spent all month complaining about how pretty he was. She nagged you every day until you finally caved and went to find the long-haired boy. Unfortunately, that was the same day all hell had broken loose.

Eddie had been accused of murdering poor Chrissy Cunningham and was never seen again, supposedly lost to the earthquake. You’d never believed he could do something so evil, no matter how much Jason Carver spouted that “devil worshipper” bullshit. Eddie was warm, and kind. All he wanted to do was play guitar and Dungeons and Dragons. That was not a boy capable of murder.

“My parents would kill me if they found out I even stepped foot into the backyard. They found me sitting on the back porch the other day and with the way they reacted you would have thought I’d been snorting cocaine in front of them or something.”

Sally flicked through her purse, pulling a crisp $50 bill from within. “You do it, this is all yours. You’ve been wanting that new book for weeks, right? Misery?”

She was right. You had been eyeing the new Stephen King for the last few weeks, knowing your parents would never agree to buy it for you. They hated your love for horror books, but something about the insight into things that people often deemed as “monsters” always piqued your interest. It’s the reason your copy of Dracula is so beat up. Pencil marks cover every available inch, your thoughts and observations sprawled out in graphite across the pages.

“Fine. You’re lucky my parents aren't home tonight. I’ll go out but if you don't hear from me by 9am tomorrow, I hope you feel guilty knowing I probably became bear food.”

Knuckles rapping against the table, Sally grins. “Forever the dramatic. But ok, I will personally come round at 9am to check you're still alive and kicking, And then this,” she waves the $50 bill in front of your face, “is yours.”

—--------------

Armed with a knife from the kitchen drawer, some pepper spray you’d been given during the murders last year, and a wooden stake you had fashioned from a broken chair leg in the garage, to appease Sally who had insisted on you carrying a weapon that was vampire related, all jumbled up into a backpack; you wait for the sun to set before you set out into the backyard.

Taking note of where the bear traps your dad had laid out were, you stepped across the boundary between your backyard and the deep woods.

You can't back out now. All you have to do is confirm it was a bear that got Jenny Waller and then you can go back to the comfort of your home.

The further into the woods you went, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stood. The dim stream of light your torch provided did nothing to offset the sprawling blackness surrounding you.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. This is so fucking dumb, Stephen King is not worth becoming bear kibble for.

The sound of a branch breaking echoes through the dark woods. The goosebumps on the back of your neck extend down to your arms, and you can almost feel your heart beating out of your chest.

Another twig snaps and you pray to whatever entity is above that if it is a bear, that it’s suddenly full and ready to hibernate despite the fact that it’s still the middle of June.

Swinging your torch back and forth into the looming darkness, the hairs on the back of your neck almost begin to vibrate, becoming increasingly aware that something, or someone, is watching you.

“Hello? Is someone there? If you’re a hunter, I’m human! I got lost in the woods…”

No response. At least no more twigs had snapped. That must be a good sign.

Just as that thought passes through your mind, a rustling from above grabs your attention. Shining your torch upwards, a silhouette appears between the branches of the tree above you. A human silhouette.

“Hello?”

“Why are you here?”

The man’s voice is gruff and tinged with annoyance. The goosebumps covering your arms tingle intensely, if this man is a vampire he’s definitely going to kill you.

“Hi. I said. I got lost in the woods.”

The silhouette shifts in his spot, bending down to get a closer look at you. You wish you could do the same, the weak light from your touch barely able to keep even the silhouette present at this point.

“You didn't get lost. You live less than a mile from here. You know these woods. You came here for a reason, so I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”

How did this man know where you live? Why is he in a fucking tree?

Only you could come into the woods and run into neither a bear or a vampire but a fucking stalker. Sally owes you so much more than $50 if you survive this.

“How do you know where I live?”

The man above provides no answer, obviously waiting for you to answer his question first.

“Fine. My friend dared me to come into the woods and see if it really was a bear that mauled Jenny Waller. She’s convinced it was a vampire, for some stupid reason. Even made me bring a stupid stake just in case. But just my luck, I managed to run into a stalker instead.”

An amused huff came from the man above.

“You think I’m a stalker?”

“You know where I live. You’re standing in a tree. You haven’t tried to introduce yourself or make this situation less creepy. So, yeah. Stalker.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me introduce myself.”

With that, the man jumps down from the tree. It must have been at least 15 feet and yet he landed perfectly, no sign of discomfort as he landed in a crouch.

“Eddie Munson, at your service.”

There’s no way. Eddie Munson died in the earthquake more than a year ago. Yet, here in front of you, in all his battered battle vest and fluffy haired glory, was Eddie Munson.

“You died.”

“I did. Just not in the way everyone thinks.”

Dumbfounded, your eyes track up and down the man in front of you. Black, ripped jeans? Check. Hellfire shirt? At this point it was completely torn to shreds, but check. Obnoxiously oversized boar ring still wrapped around his middle finger? Check. Brown, doe eyes? Check?

Those signature puppy dog eyes stare back at you, yet now they're ringed with bright red, pupils narrowed and focused on the pulse point beating rapidly in your neck.

“You're afraid.”

Scoffing, you steady yourself against the tree trunk you hadn't realised you’d backed yourself into.

“Well, it’s not everyday someone comes back from the dead, and is a vampire.”

“Observant. What gave me away?”

“You’re fixated on my pulse, your eyes have red in them, you just jumped 15 feet and didn't eat shit, and you came back from the dead. Shall I continue?”

At the mention of your pulse, his pupils flick back to yours, a hint of apology buried deep in brown.

“Sorry. Haven't had anything to eat since that bear, and you do smell absolutely divine.”

Ignoring the flush on your cheeks at his strange compliment, you tilt your head, questioningly. “The bear was real?”

“Oh yeah. Got a good few chunks out of Jenny before I managed to drag it off of her. How do you think she made it to the roadside? I carried her and waited until a car came, then went back for the bear.”

Knees giving out slightly, you sink down the tree trunk. You were right, it was a bear. But Sally was right too. There were vampires.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, are you?” No matter how much you tried, your voice still shook as you questioned him.

“Of course not, sweetheart.” He looks almost offended at the insinuation that he would hurt you. “I don't drink human blood. I don't really drink blood, I mostly get it from animal meat. Kinda gross eating raw meat, but it keeps me going, y’know?”

You use the silence after he finishes speaking to take a closer look at him. He still looked just like Eddie, soft smile and awkward stance, yet there was something powerful about him. Like he could walk into the centre of a room and command attention without meaning to. Well, he could do that before but this time, it wouldn't be at the expense of having insults hurled at him.

It was a quiet confidence. Strong and radiating from every pore of his body. It suited him.

“Eddie?”

Crouching down to match your eyesight, he nods, eyes staring softly as he waits for you to continue.

“Jenny was attacked almost 2 weeks ago. Have you not… eaten since then?”

Shaking his head, ruffling the slightly matted curls on his forehead, he begins to pick at a weed on the floor.

“Nope. That’s why I was a little weird when we first met. You just smelt so good and I didn't want to hurt you. I was hoping if I snapped some twigs, you’d take off but instead you carried on. Climbing the tree was my last hope, but you still found me.”

His eyes bore into yours, almost like he’s trying to analyse you.

“Why didn't you run?”

“I don't know.” Eyes flitting from the surrounding forest to the man in front of you. “I think I needed to make sure it was a bear that hurt Jenny, Mostly so I could happily take Sally’s $50, but also for my own peace of mind.”

“And yet, you found me. Good ol, vamp Munson. So what now? You run and tell Sally that vampires exist, and I wait for the torches and pitchforks in the morning?”

It’s your turn to be offended. “God, no, Eddie. I would never do that to you.”

The words are raw, and laced with a little too much truth for your liking. He senses it, leaning even closer towards you.

“Why not? I wouldn't blame you. Round 2 of ‘hunt the freak’, right?”

Quick to rebut, being used to defending him to your friends whenever they called him that. “You’re not a freak.”

“Babe, I’m quite literally a vampire.”

“Well, you are now, but even then. You're still Eddie. The same Eddie who helped me when Jason Carver threatened to break my glasses. The same Eddie who would spend hours in the cassette shop, trying to find that one specific cassette. The same Eddie who I can tell is trying his hardest to not hurt me despite the fact that every fibre of his being is telling him to go for it. You’re not a freak, not even close.”

You’re not stupid. You can see the way his nostrils flare every time a breeze passes you, the way the red ring around his eyes ebbs and flows with every breath he takes. He wants to feed, but he’s still the same Eddie Munson who nearly cried when he had to dissect a frog in Grade 9 Biology.

“Come with me. I have some steaks in the fridge. It’s not much, but hopefully it should make this,” gesturing between the two of you, “easier for you.”

Shakily, you stand up, using the trunk to support you. He remains crouched, eyeing you intensely.

“Eddie, please. I just want to help you.”

Nodding in assent, he rises and the two of you begin the journey back to your house. It’s quiet, only the sounds of the rustling leaves under your feet and the wind whistling gently through the trees. Eddie’s the first to break the silence.

“You should probably rethink being friends with Sally.”

Startled by his sudden statement, you trip over a tree root. Before you can hit the ground, hands wrench you back to your feet, sturdy on your shoulders.

“Thanks.” He nods, slowly moving his hands back to his sides as the two of you continue walking. “Why do you think that?”

It takes a second for him to remember what he had mentioned earlier, teeth nibbling on the edge of his nail bed.

“She willingly dared you to walk into the woods, believing that there was a vampire out there. Friends don’t do that.”

You take a second to mull his words over. It’s true she dared you to come here, but you couldn’t lie and say it was all her idea. You were slightly intrigued by the possibility of vampires. The overflowing pile of vampire fiction tucked under your bed was a testament to that.

“I’m sure she was just joking about that.”

His eyes are still on you, deep and questioning.

“Still. She dared you to come into the woods where someone had just been mauled by a bear.”

You couldn't argue with him there. Both of you continue on in comfortable silence until you reach the threshold of your back door.

“Do I have to invite you in?”

The second you say it, you wish you could cram the words back into your mouth. He stands there, a little stupefied by the question.

“I… don't know? Not really been invited into many homes since the whole vampire thing.”

Your heart aches for him. Considering he lives off animal meat and is well acquainted with the woods, you assume he hasn't returned home since the earthquake.

“Have you not been to see your uncle? Or your Hellfire friends? I’m sure they would be happy to see you, Eds.”

He huffs, gingerly stepping over the door threshold. You note that he doesn't need an invitation.

“The infamous freak Eddie Munson, leader of the devious cult Hellfire, creator of the Munson Murders. I’m sure their parents would be ecstatic to have a wanted murderer on their lawn.”

Dropping your backpack next to the door and moving to grab the steaks from the fridge, you level him with a glare. “Not everyone believes that. I don't. I’m 100% sure your friends and your uncle don't. You're a good person. Sure, some people may not know that, but the ones that matter do. They know you.”

“And why do you believe that?” He grabs the steaks from your hands, ripping at the packaging. As he begins to tear into the first steak, you glance away.

“Like I said in the woods, you're kind. Even if you don't know me, I know you. We were once in the same class at school. You interested me. You liked to play into this devilish persona but you couldn't hide your true self. The boy who welcomed outsiders into his group, the boy who protected anyone that people deemed as ‘lesser than’, the boy who welcomed the glares and harsh words even though he once rescued a kitten from a tree and cried when it licked his cheek as a thank you.”

Sighing at the end of your speech, your eyes flicker back to him. He’d long since dropped the half eaten steak, doe eyes placed firmly on you.

“I do know you. You sat behind me in Biology. You left me notes in my locker every time I missed class, I know it was you because of the handwriting. You were one of the only people outside of my friendship group to smile at me in the corridors. You interested me too. In fact, I even had a little crush on you.”

Your eyes widen at his admission, cheeks flushing with happiness. “I had a crush on you too. The day when, y’know, everything started, I was waiting at your locker. I was going to ask if you wanted to go see a movie or get dinner or something. But you never showed, and then the rumours started. I never believed them, not once. I couldn't.”

“You were going to ask me out?” His eyes widen to match yours, cheeks radiating a similar heat.

“Well, yeah. I wasn't exactly subtle with my crush.” You nervously scratch at the marble countertop, only stopping when a rough hand rests on top of yours.

“Thank you. For believing in me. And for feeding me. And for all the nice things you’ve said. It means a lot, truly.” Even though you had bared your heart to him, he still looked at you like he was trying to see right into your soul.

“You’re a good person, Eddie Munson. I’ll say it until the day I die. You deserved to be happy, to be respected and loved.”

You can feel the way his hand shakes over yours, can see the tears gathering in the corners of those puppy dog eyes. Using your free hand to swipe gently at a tear that escapes, you smile softly at him.

“Eat up. You need it.”

Busying yourself with dishes that had been sitting in the sink since last night, you startle as a body pressed up behind yours, dropping the plate that the steaks had been on into the soapy water.

“Sorry. Silent steps, vamp perk.”

His breath tickles your neck and the goosebumps rise again, for a good reason this time.

“What other cool vampire perks do you have now?”

He brushes past you to pick up a kitchen towel and begins to wipe down the clean dishes. “Super speed, super strength, these sweet lil things,” you glance across as he taps a finger to the small fangs poking out from beneath his upper lip, “and I don't really feel pain anymore.”

“Any downsides?”

“Apart from the whole having to live off blood thing, none that I’m aware of at the moment.”

Nodding, you continue to wash and he continues to dry, a comfortable silence blanketing the two of you.

—-----

By the time the dishes are done, the adrenaline from your adventure has slowly seeped out from you, eyes struggling to stay open. Eddie slowly sets the towel on the counter, shuffling from foot to foot.

“I suppose I should go… you look pretty tired and I’d hate to overstay my welcome.”

You take in his appearance. His hair is greasy, obviously washed in the streams running through the forest, his clothes are caked in mud and what looks like dried black goo and his jeans have definitely seen better days.

“Stay.”

He looks at you in surprise. You smile at him, heart aching at the idea of him going back into the woods.

“Stay. You can wash up, have a good night's sleep. I don't think any of my clothes will work but I’m sure my dad has some clothes from his younger years that he won't miss.”

Before he can try to decline, you grab his hand gently and lead him up the stairs.

“The bathrooms on the right. There's fresh towels and plenty of soap and shampoo. I’ll leave my dad’s clothes by the door. We don't have a spare room, but the sofa is super comfortable to sleep on. Or you can sleep in my room, I don't mind,” you can sense hesitation on the tip of his tongue, “truly I don't mind, Eddie. Go shower. I’ll see you either in a bit or tomorrow morning.”

You leave him by the bathroom door as you rifle through your dad’s dresser, reaching for a slim fit black t-shirt and some jeans. Picking up some boxers and socks that you know are new, you place them outside the bathroom door, hearing the quiet hum of running water from inside.

By the time you’ve changed into a clean pair of pyjamas, just in case, and brushed your teeth in your ensuite, you can barely stay upright. Falling beneath the soft duvet, you keep your eyes open at a squint, some part of you hoping he’ll take you up on the offer of staying in your room.

At some point you must have drifted off, eyes opening to a wild mess of curls, smelling distinctly like your apple shampoo, invading your vision. You glance down and take in the position you're currently in. Back pressed to the mattress, the hefty weight of a young vampire surrounding you. Eddie has his head tucked under your chin, one hand tucked between your bodies and the other resting lazily across your stomach. Soft breaths puff across your chest, and you smile as you close your eyes again, hand reaching to rest on top of the one on your stomach.

In the morning you may wake to a cold, empty bed but for the moment, you’ll enjoy the feeling of Eddie’s body on yours, sleep soaked and slightly cold, and you’ll sleep happily.

#eddie munson scenario #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #stranger things imagine

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263adder · 2 months

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Found the best website for Slow Horses fans, look at this glossary for the SH's themselves (baby Coe's is the best, followed by Louisa):

Baker, Sid – A young, attractive agent who is sent to the slow horses for murky reasons. Injured in the line of duty and spirited to parts unknown. (SH)

Cartwright, River – Young, white, fair hair, grey eyes and a mole on his upper lip. Wannabe super spy/espionage royalty/screwup. In the first book his bungled call on a potential terror incident landed him on the slow horses where he’s been trapped ever since. (SH)

Coe, JK – Banker turned member of MI5, he’s a babe in the woods compared to cynicism and wiliness that his colleagues show. Sent to the slow horses by Dame Ingrid to hide one of her messy mistakes. Coe learns the hard way that “Kill the messenger” is not just a turn of phrase when you work for MI5. Full name, Jason Kevin. After a trauma he finds the one thing that works best to take the edge off is … murder? (TL)

Dander, Shirley – Short and built like a barrel. A new slow horse who gets a high from doing her job, also from cocaine. Partners up with fellow slow horse Marcus Longfellow. Former member of Comms department. Sent to Slough House after punching a colleague. (DL)

Guy, Louisa – Louisa was sent to the slow horses after she lost a suspect she was supposed to be tailing and a bunch of illegal guns ended up on the streets of London. She’s surprised when her relationship with Min Harper gives her a purpose and strength she forgot she had. Probably the most competent of the slow horses. (SH)

Harper, Min – Min ended up on the slow horses after leaving a top secret disk on the train. Sees an assignment from the untrustworthy “Spider” Webb as his way back into the big leagues. Two spy screw ups who form an unlikely connection. (SH)

Ho, Roddy “Clint” – Computer genius and social incompetent. Hacking skills – 99%, People skills – 1% Only thing keeping his people skills from rating a 0% is the existence of someone with even less. See “Jackson Lamb” Sent to the slow horses not because he did anything wrong but because no one can stand to be around him. (SH)

Lamb, Jackson – The famous, or infamous depending on who you ask, Cold War spy. A Cold Warrior whose closest brush with being PC was turning on a computer. Never found a nap not worth taking, belch not worth belching or fart not worth letting loose. The improbable creator and head of Slough House. Worked as a mirror-man in Berlin during the Cold War. (SH)

Longridge, Marcus – Bald with goatee, Black, carrying a few extra pounds. Special operator and potential plant in Slough House by the politically wily Diana Taverner. (DL)

Loy, Struan – A slow horse, single and with few prospects until Diana Taverner dangles a lifeline. (SH)

Moody, Jed – A former “Dog”, Herron’s name for MI5’s internal affairs/clean up squad, now put out to pasture with the Slow Horses. (R)

Standish, Catherine – Formerly the right hand of the head of the service, formerly a drunk, currently sober and the administrative force keeping Lamb’s Slough House running. Personally recruited to the slow horses by Lamb, perhaps as penance. (SH)

Tregorian, Moira – Office administrator bewildered she’s been sent to live with the slow horses. (SS)

White, Kay – A slow horse dropped a lifeline by Diana Taverner. (SH)

Wicinski, Alec “Lec”– MI5 analyst who learns the hard way that no good deed goes unpunished. Sent to the slow horses after learning too much about a German spy. Won’t be working as a model anytime soon. (TD)

#slow horses #mick herron #slough house #jackson lamb #jk coe

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cassieuncaged · 1 year

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okay lemme get uuuuuuuh a #3 (Dale Cooper) with uh some fluff please

Damn Good Coffee and Company

Dale Cooper x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: You share your morning coffee with a certain federal agent.

TW: none :)

WC: 900

Twin Peaks had always felt off. You'd never deny that accusation should anyone ever make it. The entire town felt like a liminal space to the rest of the country.

Even time itself felt strained and different, like each second moved slower than the last.

But you'd gotten used to it since your father had moved the family up to the Pacific Northwest and gotten a decent paying job at the Packard Sawmill. The very place you now worked to make ends meet, though there were rumors that the place was on its last legs and about to shut its doors for good.

It wouldn't be shocking; all hell seemed to break loose after the homecoming queen's body washed up on the shore.

You tried not to think about it or the feds that would no doubt flood the town since there'd been rumors milling around about cocaine and the brothel that did business at the border.

Christ Almighty.

That was the only though you could muster before cutting the engine outside the R & R Diner. Work boots crunched against gravel as you hopped from the old pick up, crackling with you every step until the door chime announced your arrival.

No one paid much mind other than Norma.

"Morning, Y/N," she beamed tiredly, "Usual?"

"Am I getting that predictable?" a comfortable laugh was shared as the order was jotted down and cash was shelled out.

"Predictable isn't always bad. Especially around here." Norma was filled with sage, maternal wisdom. Something Y/N appreciated greatly. "Have a seat. I'll have Shelly bring you some fresh coffee when it's done brewing.

Grinning shyly, you spun on one heel to see a sea of familiar faces. Yet one stuck out like a sore thumb amidst all the blue collar workers. Agent Cooper, the federal agent from DC, sat alone sipping at a dwindling cup of coffee. Normally he had case files spread across the table with a put upon Sheriff Truman sitting in the other booth.

Today was different.

Cooper stared into the middle distance, whispering to himself about owls. It wouldn't be the first time an outsider lost their marbles within town limits. Sighing, you padded over and decided to play the part of friendly townie.

"Mind some company, Agent Cooper?" you asked shyly, breaking the man of his reverie. Concentration broken revealed a friendly smile and slight crinkling of dark eyes.

"Not at all, Y/N. Have a seat." he offered cordially yet completely accommodating. He was different than how you pictured most FBI agents, always upbeat and excitable. Almost like a puppy dog. "Sheriff Truman isn't here today."

"Harry must be pretty busy if he decided to skip breakfast at R & R." you both share a chuckle as Shelly confidently strides over with a fresh mug and steaming pot of coffee. The mug is slid in front of you while Cooper obediently holds his mug out. After a moment, the waitress is gone and you're left alone.

Conversation is sparse yet enjoyable. There's something about this outsider that's different from the rest. You strive to impress him as much as learn more about him. Dale, he asks you to call him, is as intelligent as he is charming.

Not to mention odd. Maybe that's why he fits so well into such a fascinating town.

"Must be way different out here than in Washington." you offer awkwardly as the conversation hits a lull.

"On the contrary." he offers cheerily, "I think every place is similar in its own way. Filled with as many interesting people as there are shocking secrets."

"You think Twin Peaks has a lot of secrets?" that would news to you: everyone was pretty forthright to a fault around these parts.

"Absolutely. It's a puzzle." he stops after that, smiling vacantly. Something is amiss but that's common in Twin Peaks.

"That's an odd way to look at homicide." you add tersely, taking a sip of coffee. He grimaces, pondering a potential misstep.

"Forgive me. I suppose you do this kind of work for so long you get used to it. Were you close with the deceased?"

"Laura? No. I'm practically a decade older than her," you guffaw darkly, thinking of that homecoming picture that was plastered all over town. "But I can't help but think that she and I would have been enemies."

"What makes you say that?" he cocks his head doggishly, gelled hair shining in the sunlight pouring through the window.

"Look at me," you motion at the ball cap, flannel shirt, and mud-stained boots, "Lumberjacks and popular girls don't exactly mix."

"I like your ensemble," he adds wholesomely, "It has character. And it takes character to be different."

Then he smiles warmly before reaching out to pat your hand. Heat rushes to your cheeks, something you hope he doesn't notice. But before anything can be mentioned, he looks at a digital wristwatch as doe eyes grow wide.

"I'm late for a meeting." he scoots out of the booth before setting a few crisp bills on the table. "But I've enjoyed our conversation. See you tomorrow morning?"

"S-sure." you stutter, not quite believing his words.

"Then it's a date."

#requests #twin peaks #dale cooper #dale cooper x reader #reader inserts #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #tv shows #dale cooper is a cinnamon roll #you cant change my mind #gender neutral reader

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handoverthekawaii · 10 months

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We Go Together | Homelander x You | Chapter 2

Taglist: @hom3landr

You spend the rest of Friday in a state of paranoia, unable to focus on your work and startled by every footfall you hear. Surely, you’re going to be summoned to your boss’s office at any moment, or maybe armed guards will materialize instead to escort you from the premises. There’s no way you’ll still have a job at Vought by the end of the day… is there?

But defying all odds, at 5:00 you are dismissed for the weekend alongside the rest of your team. You remain alert as you exit Vought Tower for the night, still half-expecting to be tackled to the ground by overzealous security staff.

You finally start to relax once you’re onboard a subway train chugging out of Manhattan. Now that you have a moment to think, you start to turn over the day’s incredible events in your mind. Could your offense have been deemed so egregious that Vought needs all weekend to strategize how they’ll deal with you?

Or did Homelander not tell anyone what he saw you trying to do? And if he didn’t, why the hell not?

You obsess over it all weekend long but the answers don’t come. By Monday morning, you’ve resigned yourself that this is a riddle you won’t be able to solve. Whatever his reasons might be, Homelander gave you a pass this time around. You’ll have to be more careful — more strategic — the next time you try to access that room.

Homelander would never admit it, but he thinks about his encounter with you all weekend, too. There are a mixture of reasons, really — like the fact that he let you go scot-free, and he can’t articulate why he did it.

The easy answer, the convenient answer, would be that seeing Vought employees behave badly doesn’t faze Homelander in the slightest. After all, how many times has his X-ray vision revealed baggies of cocaine in their desk drawers, purses, and pockets? How many times has he flown past the window of a corner office, only to witness a workplace tryst occurring within? And how many times has he seen Translucent doing… whatever Translucent does in the building’s restrooms… and just walked away?

But something about THIS encounter, with you, had been different. You weren’t popping pills in the stairwell or bending it over your boss’s desk for a 0.25% higher raise this year. Homelander had caught you red-handed trying to enter a restricted area, and he hadn’t done a damn thing about it. Simply put, his decision defied explanation.

Not being able to justify his actions scares Homelander (although he’d never admit that, either). It makes him feel out-of-control somehow, like he’s a loose cannon, no better than a dog chasing cars. Deep down, he knows he IS better — he’s the leader of The Seven, goddamn it, the jewel in Vought’s superhero crown. But if he can’t rely on himself to make smart decisions, then how are the people of America supposed to rely on him?

No, he can’t go there. He can’t think like that. Homelander refocuses his attention, from the nature of the encounter to the other person that was there — you. Y/N L/N, the feisty little temp from Hero Management who likes to keep her secrets close. The mere mortal who stood in the presence of divinity and would not bend the knee.

Homelander’s got a busy week ahead — there’s an executive leadership meeting on Monday, two television interviews on Tuesday, blah blah blah. Still, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind moseying down to the Hero Management Division to get an update on their stats this quarter. All the better if during his visit he runs into YOU again. [continued in AO3]

#ao3 writer #fanfic #the boys #homelander x reader #homelander x you #the homelander #homelander x y/n #homelander

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lifesarchive · 10 months

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MONSTRLIO by GERARDO SÁMANO CÓRDOVA

quickly: a grieving mother grows a monster from the lung of her dead child (the grieving process / emotions made manifest / folk magic and wives’ tales / hunger pains and sharp teeth / friends who could be lovers / women who work by the hour / the mystery of metamorphosis / sleeping in trees in the park / taming wild things / loving and letting go).

This is the story of four people (Magos, her partner Joseph, her friend Lena, and Monstrilio) adjusting to the loss of one person (Santiago). Santiago, a young boy born with one lung, succumbs to his condition at 11 years old and his parents’ lives are halted and darkened. His mother, Magos, in her grief, takes a piece of his lung to remember him by. After going home to Mexico City and hearing an old folk tale about a woman who grew a man, she decides to feed the piece of lung. It grows… but it grows into a monster, whom she calls ‘Monstrilio’.

Transferring her attachment from Santiago to Monstrilio, Magos binds herself to this hungry and uncontrollable creature whom she sees as her son returned.

The concept is interesting but weighed down and dulled by the portrayal of this story through four different people. What should have been an outstanding work of family horror (i.e. Hill House, Hereditary, Servant, etc.) is instead just an *okay* story about a family, with a ‘creature’ running around in the background. There is no horror. A monster, but no real ‘horror’. The close falls flat and does not meet the ambition of the emotions called forth at the opening. There are some poetic moments, but overall, not enough to speak to the heart. For how little horror Monstrilio’s ‘monsterness’ brought to the story, Magos may as well have adopted an unruly dog from the local pound.

★ ★ ★

more thoughts: NO SPOILERS!

After reading THE SHARDS by BRET EASTON ELLIS, 500+ pages of cocaine-fueled private school kids, I wanted something that would bring me back down to earth a bit. I’d previously read HUMAN SACRIFICES by MARÍA FERNANDA AMPUERO and was so moved I checked it out again, immediately after returning it to the library. SACRIFICIO by ERNESTO MESTRE-REED was incredible as well. Both writers deal with the heavy heavy stuff, but with such incredible worlds and characters, grief is an active part of the story. It shifts and changes as the characters change. It is an antagonist almost, something to resist and have conflict with. Here, it is just some abstract thing, unintentionally drawing energy away from the center.

I was disappointed at where the story ended up (as well as how it got there). I can’t tell an author what to write, but there just seemed to be so many missed opportunities!! (I wonder what audience this was written for?) It had a beginning, middle, and end… the characters were distinct… the core plot is intriguing… but I couldn’t find the unique and horrific tear-jerking story I thought that I would find in this book.

Separately, I’m also starting to become annoyed at how loosely the genre label ‘horror’ is applied to stories. Several reviews of this book mention this being ‘truly’ or ‘genuinely’ scary… to quote Tiffany Pollard, “It was nothing like that… nothing of the sort”. Horror should be horrific! And more than just blood, guts, and scares; good horror unashamedly examines the darkness and gives air to the things we’d rather not talk about.

#monstrilio #gerardo samano cordova #3 stars #fiction #books & libraries #currently reading #booklover #booklr #booksbooksbooks #bookworm #literature #book review #reviews #horror #2023

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twcfaces · 5 months

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💬

‘ honestly i don’t remember, i was probably fucked up. yeah, i was crazy back then ’

Crazy now, too. But not the crazy of back then - the theatrics, the blood pooling on the courtroom floor, the chainsaw, the dogs, the baseball bat, the hanging - a history of a rare kind of murderous insanity that had Two-Face taking revenge on the world for the death of Harvey Dent. It wasn't like that anymore. Besides, Arkham had let him slip beyond its grasp one time too many already --- he wasn't about to wrest loose and cause any serious chaos anytime soon.

"... the cocaine didn't help."

#ratwhsprs #tw drug mention

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imapervertedtangledfan · 9 months

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Leah Sublime

Leah Sublime, Goddess above me! Snake of the slime Alostrael, love me! Our master, the devil Prospers the revel. Tread with your foot My heart til it hurt! Tread on it, put The smear of your dirt On my love, on my shame Scribble your name! Straddle your Beast My Masterful Bitch With the thighs of you greased With the Sweat of your Itch! Spit on me, scarlet Mouth of my harlot! Now from your wide Raw cunt, the abyss, Spend spouting the tide Of your sizzling piss In my mouth; oh my Whore Let it pour, let it pour! You stale like a mare And fart as you stale; Through straggled wet hair You spout like a whale. Splash the manure And piss from the sewer. Down to me quick With your tooth on my lip And your hand on my prick With feverish grip My life as it drinks— How your breath stinks! Your hand, oh unclean Your hand that has wasted Your love, in obscene Black masses, that tasted Your soul, it’s your hand! Feel my prick stand! Your life times from lewd Little girl, to mature Worn whore that has chewed Your own pile of manure. Your hand was the key to— And now your frig me, too! Rub all the much Of your cunt on me, Leah Cunt, let me suck All your glued gonorrhea! Cunt without end! Amen! til you spend! Cunt! you have harboured All dirt and disease In your slimy unbarbered Loose hole, with its cheese And its monthlies, and pox You chewer of cocks! Cunt, you have sucked Up pricks, you squirted Out foetuses, fucked Til bastards you blurted Out into space— Spend on my face! Rub all your gleet away! Envenom the arrow. May your pox eat away Me to the marrow. Cunt you have got me; I love you to rot me! Spend again, lash me! Leah, one spasm Scream to splash me. Slime of the chasm Choke me with spilth Of your sow-belly’s filth. Stab your demoniac Smile to my brain! Soak me in cognac Cunt and cocaine; Sprawl on me! Sit On my mouth, Leah, shit! Shit on me, slut! Creamy the curds That drip from your gut! Greasy the turds! Dribble your dung On the tip of my tongue! Churn on me, Leah! Twist on your thighs! Smear diarrhoea Into my eyes! Splutter out shit From the bottemless pit. Turn to me, chew it With me, Leah, whore! Vomit it, spew it And lick it once more. We can make lust Drunk on disgust. Splay out your gut, Your ass hole, my lover! You buggering slut, I know where to shove her! There she goes, plumb Up the foul Bitch’s bum! Sackful of skin And bone, as I speak I’ll bugger your grin Into a shriek. Bugger you, slut Bugger your gut! Wriggle, you hog! Wrench at the pin! Wrench at it, drag It half out, suck it in! Scream, you hog dirt, you! I want it to hurt you! Beast-Lioness, squirt From your Cocksucker’s hole! Belch out the dirt From your Syphillis soul. Splutter foul words Through your supper of turds! May the Devil our lord, your Soul scribble over With sayings of ordure! Call me your lover! Slave of the gut Of the arse of a slut! Call me your sewer Of spilth and snot Your fart-sniffer, chewer Of the shit in your slot. Call me that as you rave In the rape of your slave. Fuck! Shit! Let me come Alostrael—Fuck! I’ve spent in your bum. Shit! Give me the muck From my whore’s arse, slick Dirt of my prick! Eat it, you sow! I’m your dog, fuck, shit! Swallow it now! Rest for a bit! Satan, you gave A crown to a slave. I am your fate, on Your belly, above you. I swear it by Satan Leah, I love you. I’m going insane Do it again!

#aleister crowley

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nicetrynicetry · 4 days

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194

It does not matter what day it is, only that my finger hurts when I play a D minor chord on the guitar. I tell my band I want to add another song to our set at the 11th hour, which is how I know I’m not myself right now, because I can’t stomach doing anything at the 11th hour. But here we are. I will be thrilled not to talk about the business of playing live for at least 7 months after next week. It’s tragically uncool to make this big a deal of it, and I can tell A agrees. He’s assembling a complex pedal board to play on SNL, and this is just objectively more important, even though I believe the importance of a live performance should be measured not by its prestige but by how terrified one is to do it. By this metric I am headlining an arena tour. Do I have concert dysmorphia? You bet

Because of SNL and the rehearsal it necessitates, A’s time in New York has been gradually shaved down from a week to a mere 2 days and change. Our time together is so short and I’m so pissed about it that I see no need to remove any body hair for the occasion. But a non-refundable wax appointment is a non-refundable wax appointment, so I walk to it wretchedly, embarrassed to be female and embarrassed to be myself. This is the real walk of shame, I think, preparing oneself aesthetically for a glorified one night stand. I spend most of the day on the brink of tears, and muttering to myself “emotions are running high”. I am grateful in the end to spend time with the wax technician, who shares my name and talks freely about her upbringing in rural Hungary. She says my finger doesn’t look good, and I stare at the mille-feuille of plasters wrapped around it and have no choice but to agree. She asks whether I always wear baggy clothes and I tell her I don’t, and she says good, because I should wear very tight things, ideally a silver dress. She takes my armpit hair and throws it in the trash and sends me away

I pick up lunch and walk through the financial district to the studio, where I find two drug addicts assessing their stolen goods just outside the entrance. I had thought Sundays were the only unpleasant days in the yard, but I guess I was wrong. One of the addicts is draping various laptop bags and totes over a broken Boris Bike, bickering with his comrade. I do not think these two men would be friends if not for their shared love of crack, and isn’t that the saddest part of addiction, that it sets such a miserably low bar for friendship? The pair move aside while I enter the studio and proceed to discuss “making a call” at the “right time”. They try their luck at pushing on my locked door from the outside, and I text A, the yard boss, for help. He sends five men of different races and sizes to my aid, by which time one of the addicts is trying to push his way into V’s gallery. They leave without fuss, and I mouth “thank you” to the tallest and fattest man of the crew. They look happy to be of use, and strut away in satisfaction. I don’t exactly embody the ideal damsel in distress - my loose clothing and worn Hokas and insane hair cut - but I am definitely scared enough to qualify. Being a lone woman will always feel unsafe, and that is why there’ll always be a market for martial arts classes. It’s the first time I’ve thought of having a weapon in the building. Not a gun, but a baseball bat or a bread knife to wield

With the henchmen comes M, who I haven’t seen since the yard dog was given away to a better family. He tells me he was imprisoned in March for stalking charges, and released when they couldn’t find evidence. I have played therapist to M enough to know that he and his ex girlfriend have one of the most toxic relationships on the planet, fuelled by drugs and illegitimate children and moderate organised crime and passive aggressive Facebook statuses. Now he treats me like a jury, trying to show me screenshots of this woman’s contact with him, and her naked videos, and her pleas for cocaine. M has a court date in June where he says the truth will out. He was treated very badly by police, I assume in part because he is not white. His whole story is painful. I nod and shake my head at the correct times as he rants. I tell him I have to get to work and he asks if I’ll visit him in prison in June if he is put away

I paint, A (other other A) calls me and I vent to her and she vents to me in kind. She goes to a lunch and I walk to the tube in the rain. I try to download a book on Audible written by the divorce lawyer who charmed me on YouTube last week, titled “if you’re in my office, it’s too late”. I am heartbroken that it’s only available in the US. Too heartbroken, in fact. Beside myself even. The evening passes with a steady flow of art world people asking for tickets to my concert, despite having had ample opportunity to buy them online. One guy I am reluctant to turn down because he is my Wimbledon connection; always transferring me amazing tickets each year that he and his hedge fund manager dad don’t use. G is smart and tells me he bought a whole bunch of tickets for both nights to dole out. I do some liaising from the toilet and I don’t get too angry, because I am an inexperienced performer and therefore lucky not to be playing to 9 people at a time. I export stems, I watch a biological anthropologist explain love, do laundry, listen to the rain, eat listening to the rain, text while listening to the rain, panic while listening to the rain

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agentcable · 2 months

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Law & Order Special Victims Unit Season 23 Ep. 18 "Eighteen Wheels a Predator"

Rollins and Fin are investigating an assault in Kentucky. The victim has striking similarities to another victim found in Central Park. As they uncover more cases in other states, they soon realize that there is an elusive serial rapist on the loose.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

A woman enters a bar after breaking up with her boyfriend. The bartender briefly interrupts serving her to comfort a man with his sister. Later, he offers to escort her home. When he kisses her, she declines further advances and decides to leave. As she walks through Central Park in a drunken state, the bartender follows her outside and insults her by calling her a derogatory name when she refuses his offer to a ride.

During a stormy night, an unknown person hits a woman, causing her to lose consciousness. The perpetrator then drags her away and leaves her body at the bottom of a cliff.

Rollins instructs the uniformed officers to cordon off the area. She appears distressed and mentions that the storm kept her up due to frightened children and a scared dog.

The victim regains consciousness but is unable to provide Benson with her name. McGrath informs Benson that they must obtain results quickly because a rape in Central Park reflects poorly. Benson confides in Fin that she dislikes the politics involved in their job.

Makayla is awake. She did not see the rapist. She was walking home when she got hit in the head. Her boyfriend broke up with her via text from LA, so she went for a drink. She paid with her phone and can show Rollins the receipt. She tells Rollins that the bartender gave her shots on the house. She thinks he thought she owed him.

The bartender denied working at the bar when he saw the cops, but they did not believe him. When his sister asked if it was about the girl in the news, he was uncooperative and got frisked. The cops found drugs on him, and he was arrested. He insisted that he did not harm the girl in the bar. The security footage indicates that he followed her outside. He claims to have gone home after the girl left. He lives with his sister in their parents' place and wants a lawyer.

Demmy hesitated when questioned, then admitted that Dustin wasn't there when she got home. She woke up at 3 AM and heard him in the shower. His clothes were muddy, so she assumed he got caught in the rain. She wants to speak with Dustin. The police obtained a search warrant and discovered a gun in Dustin's dresser drawer, as well as Kayla's wallet under the bed.

McGrath is pleased with the strength of the case against Dustin and requests Benson's presence at a press conference. A police officer informs Benson of a call from an individual with information regarding the case. A call was recorded from an anonymous source who claims that Dustin is innocent and has information about the folded jeans. The source mentions another victim but refuses to provide further details before hanging up.

This raises the possibility that Dustin may be innocent. Rollins reports that the phone number was traced to a truck stop in Kentucky. The local sheriff was contacted after a young girl was found sexually assaulted in the woods near the location of the call. Benson requested the assistance of two detectives, which the sheriff welcomed as the state police were occupied with a school shooting.

Dustin denied following Kayla to the park but admitted to having a business deal. After being promised immunity, he admitted to having a cocaine deal with some gang members. However, he did no tell them about Kayla.

The police chief in Kentucky offers Rollins coffee. The victim has a concussion but not permanent damage. He has known the victim alls her life. The police talk to the victim, who does not want her boyfriend to know. Rollins promises not to tell anyone. According to Shay, the individual who took her was not local but brought her to a location where young people hang out.

The police question Demmy once more, inquiring if she brought anyone home. Demmy denies this, stating that she is unable to do so. She provides her cab receipt as evidence. The police excuse themselves as Rollins calls. Rollins informs them that the suspect has been involved in rapes dating back to 2001. Since Dustin was only 7 years old at that time, he couldn't have been the culprit. Benson deduces that the rapist has been evading the law for two decades. McGrath is pleased that so many individuals are taking an interest in the case. However, he wants Dustin's release to be kept out of the press.

According to Benson, the rapist has been traveling from one small town to another, following the interstates. It is likely that he is a trucker or traveling salesman. DNA evidence indicates that he is Caucasian, and his voice has been recorded during a phone call.

Kayla has been asked to listen to the recording and try to identify him. She recalls that there was a man who monopolized the jukebox and insisted on playing country western music all night. The police return to Demmy, who is hesitant to reveal to Dustin that she is sharing security footage with them. On the footage, they identify the country western guy waiting as Kayla crosses the street, but no one can identify him. Benson concludes that they should focus on attempted rapes rather than completed ones.

The police officers meet with Raelynn, a woman who reported an attempted rape but was not taken seriously. Raelynn explains that she was hit from behind but regained consciousness during the assault and fought off the attacker. Fin asks Raelynn to look at photos, and Benson promises to continue searching for the perpetrator. Raelynn identifies the suspect and recalls that his wife called him Wes and that his daughters were planning a birthday party for him.

During a rainstorm, Benson joins Fin in a car. Rollins has found a potential suspect who lives in PA. Wes' wife is curious about the situation. They have been married for 22 years, and she doesn't comprehend it. He drinks and gambles when he's on the road, but nothing significant. She learns from him where he goes to gamble and relays this information to the police officer on duty.

Benson advises the officer to delay making an arrest until they can gather more information from the gambler. Benson approaches the gambler, who is unaware of her true identity, and engages him in conversation. During their conversation, the gambler reveals that he was caught in the storm. He asks her what she does for a living. He recognizes her from somewhere. Benson apprehends him and he admits he expected it.

McGrath is satisfied with the news coverage. He advises Carisi not to mess up. Carisi expresses doubt about his ability to make the case due to the presence of the wallet in Dustin's room. Demmy takes responsibility for the incident. Rollins receives a call informing her that Demmy has been physically assaulted and left unclothed. He questions whether Demmy has any knowledge of the situation. Rollins informs Benson that Demmy agreed to a rape kit but won't disclose the identity of her rapist. Benson attempts to speak with Demmy, but she refuses to cooperate unless "he" is released. The detectives suspect Dustin as the perpetrator and question why Demmy placed the wallet in his room. Dustin is not going to go to prison for raping Kayla so she needs to talk to them.

Demmy saw Dustin with Kayla and had a bad feeling. Later, she found a wallet in the park and feared that Kayla was dead. Panicking, she ran away. Demmy suspected Dustin of being responsible and was too scared to call the police, so she put the wallet in his room. She believed Dustin was capable of such a crime because he always gets what he wants and treats her like his personal servant. She wanted to remove him from her life. He had been abusing her since she was 12 years old. She did not confide in anyone.

Dustin has been arrested for drug-related charges. Meanwhile, Wes is being interrogated and claims that the call could have been made by anyone. The authorities have a substantial amount of evidence against him. Rollins admits that he did not appreciate it when they arrested the other individual, so he felt the need to reveal his true identity. He confesses to taking what he wanted simply because he could. He hopes that his story will be recorded for Netflix.

Dustin's lawyer is confused about the situation and insists that it is not rape because they grew up together and needed each other. He claims that she wanted it. Benson is disgusted and leaves the room.

During a press conference about the arrest of Wes, McGrath appeared on TV with Benson. Fin commented that McGrath had achieved a victory, to which Rollins added that they all had. Benson acknowledged Fin and Rollins in her speech to the press.

#USA #TV Serie #Crime #Drama #2022 #Law and Order #SVU #Law and Order Special Victims Unit

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wikiuntamed · 2 months

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Top 5 @Wikipedia pages from a year ago: Saturday, 25th February 2023

Welcome, ongi etorri, dobrodošli, hoş geldiniz 🤗 What were the top pages visited on @Wikipedia (25th February 2023) 🏆🌟🔥?

1️⃣: Cocaine Bear "Cocaine Bear (released as Crazy Bear in some countries) is a 2023 American comedy horror film directed by Elizabeth Banks and written by Jimmy Warden. It is loosely inspired by the true story of the "Cocaine Bear", an American black bear that ingested several kilograms of a bag containing about 75..."

2️⃣: Murdaugh family "The Murdaugh family ( MUR-dok) is an affluent American family that has lived in the Lowcountry region of South Carolina since the 18th century. Three generations named Randolph Murdaugh served consecutively as circuit solicitor (the elected prosecuting attorney) for the state's 14th judicial..."

3️⃣: Cleopatra "Cleopatra VII Thea Philopator (Koinē Greek: Κλεοπάτρα Θεά Φιλοπάτωρ lit. Cleopatra "father-loving goddess"; 70/69 BC – 10 August 30 BC) was Queen of the Ptolemaic Kingdom of Egypt from 51 to 30 BC, and its last active ruler. A member of the Ptolemaic dynasty, she was a descendant of its founder..."

Image by Louis le Grand

4️⃣: XXX: Return of Xander Cage "XXX: Return of Xander Cage (released as XXX: Reactivated in some countries) is a 2017 American action thriller film directed by D.J. Caruso and written by F. Scott Frazier. The film stars Vin Diesel in the title role, Donnie Yen, Deepika Padukone, Kris Wu, Ruby Rose, Tony Jaa, Nina Dobrev, Toni..."

5️⃣: The Last of Us (TV series) "The Last of Us is an American post-apocalyptic drama television series created by Craig Mazin and Neil Druckmann for HBO. Based on the video game franchise developed by Naughty Dog, the series is set twenty years into a pandemic caused by a mass fungal infection, which causes its hosts to transform..."

#TopWikiPages #WikiUntamed #GemsOfWikipedia #WikiWonderland

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violetsystems · 7 months

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Pokemon Go but with actual garbage. "You caught a wild auto repair receipt." Spin the wheel at the transit stop for more garbage. "Raid event against a half smoked cigarette." Walk three miles with this rat poison crumbled under your shoe to get a free coupon for a half eaten lunchables snack pack. Feed the carelessly discarded fentanyl laced ecstasy pill on your front sidewalk to the nearest raccoon for a sick evolution. The year is 2024 and an AI generated deep fake of your face is plastered on a Costco deal brochure doxxing you for putting ketchup on a hot dog. At least they didn't kill you for raising the price of it. Probably because they got the eye color wrong. The cocaine lawyers from Miami Beach argue this makes your cash settlement null and void. This is how they pay off their student loans. This is real life in America without GDPR. The New York Times will write a cartoon about it on the career site and convince you that it is funny. Then blacklist you in the job market for having a negative opinion about the kerning of the quotation text. Thank God Tumblr has a tip button for you to survive. The only job you qualify for is at the NSA but unfortunately you lack the degree in advertising. Taylor Swift will write a song about it but change the names to protect the innocent. The truth will remain locked behind a paywall at the FBI in Oliver Anthony's classified file. The cast of SNL breaks the picket line to perform it all as an opening monologue loosely based on actual events without a writer’s credit. Live from New York. It’s Pokémon go.

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enjoyyourdunghillbaal · 10 months

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Maybe you should try quitting while you're ahead.

You have got to be the stupidest drug dealer I have ever known. No I don't want to buy drugs from you anymore.

Why are you coming around harassing me about it? And bringing up your "old-times" bullshit.

I hurt myself, i got up, got over it. I walked away. And you lived free to live another day destroying lives.

And you really want to fuck with this, or bring problems to MY life over illegal shit YOU are doing, not me?

You nauseate me. I could have been a total snitch, instead i said nothing.

And this is my reward? You burdening my life with some dope dealer's bullshit grief over things that are his problem, not mine. Why shouldn't I turn the dogs loose on you?

You don't pay me a living wage. I know wholeheartedly that my insurance cuts corners on quality of care or service. You're just another dick looking over my shoulder, cheating off of my work, so you can take credit and get the better grade and higher paying job, instead of doing any of the due diligence yourself. I am doing all the detective work, you sit on your ass where it's safe so you can stay hidden and mysterious, and pass my answers along and keep me under your thumb, while telling others I'm the village idiot.

The feds are equally as much of a piece of shit. Making shit up as it goes along. Mistreating me, lying to me, trying to wear somebody else's identity, then commit acts of criminal dishonesty so people blame the mask you currently wear.

What are these loose ends of yours? What can't you leave unattended? What crime scene item was left behind by you?

What did you do that causes you to worry about who knows what?

Are you a cocaine or meth dealer? Are you worried about who I talk to or what I say, or live to tell about it? 2000, means you're 23 years older than you used to be. Are you really still trying to cover your own ass in the same criminal conduct?

How much LESS would you worry, if you stopped giving me reasons to want you in prison?

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mingzisdrgongxuo · 2 years

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that's odd. i don't hear the housekeeper's cart. so it's not them stomping around being rude, trying to make waves....

just the wiggers from the past two nights.

why are they trying to play "tune-in tokyo?"

can you not function right if you're not like some dog choking on their leash? doesn't your dogg know how to heal?

same as fucking tweakers, they don't like mellow or relaxing or "chill", everything needs to be overtorqued and wound up like a child's toy.

what's it to you? is it messing up your prostitution or meth/cocaine peddling?

am i supposed to blame my sister?

or that same joto from the family, needing to stir up shit because he feels powerless, i dunno, maybe it's because he's not king of the family, or does not control anybody else's money to make people obey him.

are you lost without knowing what i'm thinking? stupid dog trying to flush out fox-holes making waves and disturbing the peace, for signs of life?

or do you get mad when i don't write crazy stuff? why? do you need it to feel better about your own problems?

personally, i think that says something about you.

do you need it the way politicians need each other to look bad, so you can have an arguement or an accusation to win?

do you feel "threatened" when you see me making friends or being normal? how is that a threat to you? were they supposed to be your friends instead of mine?

my sister is married and lives out of state. but i don't check up on her. i respect her privacy and her rightful boundaries, unlike SOMEBODY. she could be living in my old house for all i know. but what would that prove, on what manpower or resources?

to make enemies for no reason as the final endgame?

if i never returned she would have a bigger inheritance instead of only half of it. is that what you need to win? planting seeds of suspicion, distrust or doubt, just to see if you can? how righteouss. i don't exactly like thinking this stuff. you gonna screenshot or forward this to her? or is she capable of spying on me or being dishonest about her role in this equation just fine since that's the illusion you want to paint. and then there's what she inherits from me as next of kin. way more than what my was divided between my parents. does that motivate her to keep me alive?

my sister has been nothing but good to me, and a friend, she's been there in my times of need and helped at everything life throws at it. i cannot dispute any of that. i also cannot think of a time in either of our lives when i acted against her or did anything unforgiveable that would motivate or provoke ill will.

i don't appreciate some mind felcher trying to give me the 3rd degree while in contempt of their own court.

my stepmother used to speak openly in front of us, and talk all kinds of shit about her mom, "when is she going to hurry up and die". were my stepmother's words about her own mom.

the "how to host a murder" roleplaying party game, similar to clue, was a nice touch.

i don't know what that meant, i just remember the circumstances, and what my dilemma was at the time. red flag is all i know and i'm not just shrugging it off. i have to think about it if somebody else already is.

are you faulting me for not ruling anybody out when my quality of life, survival, or longevity is at stake? it's nothing against you. it's against everybody. especially those i have loose ends and unresolved shit from my past about, including previous life-threatening, documented, on-record emergencies. i survived and still live to talk about it. is that a problem for you?

this fagmob courtesy of mother's brother is no better. should have just broke your silence if you know something, instead of trying to play me against her. you sure as fuck aren't there for either of us, and plenty of time, resources, travel and money spent, to be there AGAINST us.

all up in my shit 24/7, do you have time to investigate or be up in anybody elses shit 24/7?

fuckin' wiggers back at it, playing shitty music.

why should i even feed your dialog with a complaint.

your dj/pa speakers aint shit. i don't hear you, it doesn't impress or intimidate me, no rhythm, can't keep a beat. can't dance to the shit. how do you even fuck to this garbage? black without soul. ignorant fool. go ahead and shit on the community while you try to impress your non-binary friends. don't even waste your weed on this buzzkill. wait until somebody else has shit to say about you. the mirror you hold up that you've been saving for a rainy day doesn't mean shit.

go live outside, homeless, no shelter. no running water, no sink, no mirror, no shower, no ac in the summer, no heat in the winter, eat nothing but the garbage you find in the trash cans. five years, outside, no days off. no friends, no "homeboys", no backup or support, noone watching your back, plenty of people looking to stab you in it though. noone gives one fuck about you. everybody is your enemy. everybody wants you out of your sight, kids arrange bum fights tries to entrap you over petty shit, and steals from your homeless ass because they think it makes them cool, and makes life generally unpleasant for you.

does it further their career? does it make them the bigger man or better person? i doubt it.

what do you think you have energy or patience for with people? how long did you have to wait for some spineless sociopath piece of shit to stop fighting with you, before you're "allowed" to live in peace?

must be church crusaders huh.

funny how word travels, and attitudes and behaviors change. it's almost as if they monitor my tumblr activity.

for what? in case i badmouth the landlord, (as if you dont... ) so you can screenshot my words and show them how two-faced you are.. and what a "true friend" you are to them? trying to take what i say and use it against me, as if you're mirandizing me?

is this the positivity that you're "all about"?

and you're not punished for seeking negativity or trying to manifest it, huh?

why should i give you power? you already have power, or are in power, why should i give you any? i remember what it's like to be cold hungry and alone with no shelter. i know what it's like to watch you feast and bitch about your have-nots, while i'm eating garbage, without a word from me. where somebody can just walk up to you, rob you blind or shank you in your sleep and noone gives a fuck even if they see you do it. you don't give me power, you try to take what power i have away from me. why the fuck should i give you power?

why are you watching the parking lot so intensely dickhead? are playing backup for the wigger party?

you sure are a slave over your thoughts concerning me. when do you have time to actually investigate anything, your too busy trying to get a rise out of me everyday, like your little dick depends on it.

there. words. do you feel like you have power now, that you don't have over people?

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