#goddamn what the fuck? jesus christ. she should move.
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Y'know it was REALLY goddamn evil and nefarious that the oil fields gave my mom (a single mom working 3 jobs to raise 2 kids) a single $5,000 check in exchange for her signing a nondisclosure to never complain about them.
Of course we fucking took the money. Even with her working 1 full-time job and 2 part-time jobs, she barely made over $1,000 a month. Of course she took the money. We though about moving but we still couldn't afford it. She was so frugal with it, though. It did give us a sliver of financial security for years.
But goddamn. $5,000 is table scraps to them, and they bought her silence with it because she couldn't refuse the chance to slightly lessen the weight of poverty on her family.
#sorenhoots#i remember i was like 11 or something. she didnt know if she should sign it. and its not like we had or knew any lawyers. she had ME read it#over and even i was like “this is a nondisclosure and it means you cant ever talk about anything they do even if they do something terrible”#i recall being very proud of myself for knowing what a NDA was. lord knows where my middle-school self learned that from. she did eventually#have a lawyer of some sort look over it and they said the same thing but.... $5000#it wasnt an option for her. that was more money than wed ever had or saved. she had two kids who would need cars bc we lived so far in the#country. she knew i wanted to go to college. i dont think i ever saw her buy herself clothes before then either. it was money for emergencys#and necessities and birthday presents and road trips and... i often wondered about the person who offered us that. i wondered where they#lived and wondered how much their clothes costed and wondered if their kids got to have art or piano lessons. i wondered if their home was#over 80 degrees in the summer and under 60 in the winter and if they lived in a house that wasnt filled with dangerous spiders (we had nice#spiders too but we did also have Very Dangerous Spiders) and id picture him in his office in a button up and slacks and it would break my#heart that my mom couldnt have all of that. we just had a $5000 check and a vow to not complain.#she still feels earthquakes from it. less nowdays but still. and sometimee it still smells like a jar of hot petroleum jelly. and the attic#smell is worse than ever and the tap water smells like sulfur and wet mold#goddamn what the fuck? jesus christ. she should move.
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Mainly for my love, @strangersteddierthings ily
An overly sappy and fluffy follow up to this angst piece
“-Christ, I’m coming!”
It’s- Jesus Christ, only eight in the morning on a goddamn Saturday and someone decided to call him now? He roughly picks the phone up, “whoever the fuck this is, you better have a goddamn good reason to be calling!”
“Well, I’m sorry. It’s even earlier for me, nerd” Robin’s voice comes through, and now he’s confused.
If anyone should still be asleep, it should be her. Since she’s ya know, in California, in a different timezone. It’s- “why the fuck are you awake at five? Aren’t you on vacation?”
He can hear the eye roll Robin does, but it’s only fair. She woke him up, she gets to deal with a little bit of bitchy Eddie.
“I am, doesn’t matter. What are your plans again for Christmas?”
Tilting his head, squinting his eyes, he blinks hard before rubbing a hand down his face. “Buckley. You did not fucking just ask me what my plans are. The hell? You’re not even here! Why?”
Robin groans, obnoxious and long. Then a huff, and after that he hears tapping and he can imagine she’s bumping the phone against her head and straighten up with a glare on her face. He gets the look a lot from her to see it clearly.
“Edward Munson. I need to know what your Christmas plans are for very good reasons. Actually, what are you doing for that whole weekend? I need a favor and you’re going to do it, because it’s very very important. So important that if you do not do this and I find out, you will be a dead man and wish the demobats were after you.” She takes a deep breath, “do you understand?”
It must be, if she’s bringing up violence this early.
“Okay, geez I’ll bite. My plans for Christmas is just hanging around with Wayne, we usually just hang around watching Christmas movies and eat together. I got nothing planned the weekend, all of ya and my band are busy with family and shit.” He leaned against the fridge, closing his eyes and hoping whatever Robin is thinking doesn’t involve much.
“You need to kidnap Steve.”
He opened his eyes quick to widen them, straightening up and looking around for his keys. “Can I keep him then?”
Robin groans and he smiles, “if I’m kidnapping Stevie, I get to keep him. Finders keepers, Buck!”
“If you can only promise to love him and care for him.”
“Always, Robin. My Honeylove deserves it and so much more, he doesn’t even know how much,” he sighs, “I’ve agreed, now can you explain why?”
He’s met with silence and he looks at the phone wondering weather it’s not working or Robin hung up; already satisfied with him agreeing. Which would be fucking rude of her.
As he brings the phone back, he hears her sigh and- “i know my platonic soulmate and he doesn’t think I’ve noticed him being withdrawn or sad. He’s determined to make me go grey by suffering in silence, and he doesn’t believe how much I care or how much you care. So, he’s alone, like right now.” She sniffles and he can imagine she’s gripping her hair while also leaning up against whatever wall or surface, “SO, I would appreciate you for the rest of my life, if you help me and make him very, so very happy. Please.”
Taking a step out of his van, Eddie shifts his weight as he looks at the single flower he managed to pluck from his neighbors bush, it’s probably cheesy and maybe a little much but he couldn’t help himself.
Picking it up, he quickly slams his door before marching his way to Steve’s front door and stands straight. Taking a breath before moving his arm behind his back, knocking on the door with the other.
It’s been a few days since Robin’s call and his plan couldn’t take any shape until this morning. Wayne had noticed he was off the rest of that day and a complete word-for-word retelling happened and he ended with Wayne telling him, “Jesus kid, ya didn’t need to ask. That boy of yours is welcomed here”
And that was that.
He holds his fist up again as the door swings open and he’s met with an adorable sight, Steve wearing his glasses a little askew and his favorite yellow sweater along with some plaid sweats.
“Eddie?”
Smiling, Eddie pulls the flower out and brings it in front of their faces. Twirling the flower around before lightly bumping it on Steve’s nose, “My dear, Stevie Honeylove Harrington, I am here on this lovely December twenty third to officially kidnap you.” He watched as Steve pulls the door open more looking even more confused, it makes him smile at him.
“Eds, what the hell? Please don’t tell me you’re high right now?”
Rolling his eyes, Eddie shakes his head. “I am very sober, and come on, get things together. You’re coming home with me”
They move into the kitchen and Steve looked at him before shaking his head.
“Can my kidnapper explain one more time, because he deserves to know why he’s being kidnapped- two days before Christmas” Steve asks and grabs the flower from him, putting it in a cup before leaning up against the counter to look at him.
He doesn’t bother sitting anywhere, instead comes right up to Steve and tapping his temple. “Because, my heart, you selfless dummy. You will be spending the rest of this holiday, with me and Wayne.”
Steve’s eyes widen, before darting around to avoid looking at him. It pulls a frown on Eddie’s face and he steps back just a bit, just to let Steve avoid his gaze more. He knows when it’s necessary to give more space, especially this lovely boy.
“I don’t want to impose on you both, I’m fine here. My parents called and said they’ll be her-”
“Nuh uh. Nope, I will not accept that. Even if they were coming, I’d still be kidnapping you, sweet boy.” He interrupts, crossing his arms and glances around the room before settling his eyes back on the important thing, Steve.
Steve who is still looking anywhere but at him, his own arms crossed but looking much more like he’s hugging himself, his fingers drumming along his arm.
“Sweetheart, Steve, I would truly and utterly love if you come along with me to your first official Munson Christmas.”
A smile pulling at his lips, as the words process in Steve’s head. A light blush is slowly creeping up. It makes his own cheeks start to burn, his own blush coming up from seeing Steve looking soft and confused.
Eddie moves closer to him again, arms no longer crossed and instead coming up around Steve. Enjoying how he instantly shifts to wrap his arms around Eddie, it makes his heart happy.
“Yeah okay, Teddy. I’ll go”
It’s the smell of bacon that makes him stir and the light sound of Christmas music playing.
Steve blinks a few times to get the sleep out of his eyes, his vision getting as clear as they can without his glasses. Along with that his other senses also kicks up and he can feel the weight of an arm around his waist and legs tangled with his.
He shifts just enough to see Eddie behind him, face still relaxed as he lightly snores. Clearly still asleep. It’s only then that he relaxes back down and looking away with a blush and tiny smile.
For once happy to wake up on Christmas morning in years.
“Merry Christmas, Love” Eddie’s arm tightens around his waist as he spoke, pulling him closer.
His face completely breaking out into a smile now. “Yeah?”
Eddie hums and squeezes his waist again, “yeah course, it’s Christmas”
Steve shakes his head, “no, well, yeah it’s Christmas but um, the love thing.” He squeezes his eyes shut and mentally counts to five before turning around to face Eddie, “are you serious? Because I’m, um, starting to think that you’re-”
There’s a smile tugging on Eddie’s lips and he moves his arms to settle back snug around Steve, “In love with you? Yeah, Honeylove. I am, I love you Steve and I would be the happiest man alive if you let me keep you”
Steve’s eyes are watering as he nods and breaks into a breathless laugh, the words bouncing around in his head over and over.
“Yeah, yeah. Please. I love you too”
It brings a bright smile to Eddie’s face that Steve matches, Eddie presses a kiss to his forehead and promises that they’ll share their first kiss once they lose the morning breath and Steve holds him to it.
They’ll get up, brush their teeth and share a soft kiss before walking out to see Wayne busy finishing off some pancakes. They’ll wish him a merry Christmas, enjoy their breakfast together before settling in the living room to watch Christmas movies and unwrap the presents under the tree.
There’s not much; only a few gifts for each of them.
Steve doesn’t even pay much attention to his, he’s really truly happy because his favorite present is currently sitting on the floor in a Santa hat obnoxiously shaking a gift next to his head with a big smile on his face.
It’s the best Christmas he’s had in a long time.
One of my all time favorite tropes is “they’re not dating” and guess what, they weren’t dating at all in this until Christmas 🥰 Eddie was very obviously in love with Steve from the start though, Steve was just a little slow on catching the very point-blank flirting :D
Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this sappy piece and it made up for the angst I put you through in the first part. ☺️
Those who also asked/commented: @goodolefashionedloverboi @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @vampirestevie @steviesummer
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#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#platonic stobin#wayne munson#stranger things#fic#nburkhardt writes#casual possessive Eddie Munson#lol he was calling Steve his from the start and Steve never caught on#Steve gets more than a hug#he gets a BOYFRIEND AND KISSES
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hi queenie, love of my life 😌 i’d like to ask the following for 🩵: d’you think there was ever a moment where joel really thought holy shit. she drives me insane… i gotta fuck her. ???
(rly hoping there was 😌)
ily, sister! thanks for the gif. feeling really. normal. about him. right now. oh, yeah. he had his moments. let's get into it.
compensation 1.1k words | duckie's baby shower 🩵
warnings: literally just joel masturbating to the thought of his neighbor. good shit.
she can’t have been older than twenty-five, when she moved in.
hell, she’s not even thirty yet, as it is. she’s too fucking –
you’re too fucking young for him, and that’s the end of that.
at least – that’s what joel’s telling himself, trapped on your front porch. watching you relive the story of the ups driver who almost wouldn't let you sign for his package.
doing his best to keep his eyes on yours, and not the thin tank top you’re wearing.
“…she’s like, how do i know you’re gonna get this to him? i’m like, uh, what the fuck do i want with my boring ass neighbor’s mail? no offense, joel. but c’mon. i’m literally signing for it. anyways.”
you turn, bending down for the box by the stairs, and joel drags his eyes upwards.
his hand shakes at his side. jaw ticks, watching you turn back, the package leaning against your front. your breasts – oh, jesus.
he swallows. his throat feels like carpet burn.
“’s heavy,” you mutter, edging towards him. “rock collecting?”
“mind your business,” joel clips, slipping his hands around the box. the back of his wrists brush against the swell of your breasts, and he stares so intensely at his own address on the label that he hopes it’s burned forever into his vision.
you huff as the weight passes into his hands. a little sigh.
something twitches beneath his belt buckle.
joel sits the box on his hip. “well, thanks for this. and for calling me boring.”
you cross your arms. it only pushes your tits up more. “stay humble, old man.”
he should walk away. right now. he should take his package, and his pride, and the fucking rock in his jeans – and head on home.
but then you slump against the doorpost, one ankle crossing over the other, and say, “s’posed to get pretty hot this summer.”
“’s already pretty hot.”
“hotter, jackass. they’re sayin’ record temperatures.”
“they say that every year.”
you poke at the inside of your cheek with your tongue. the way you always do, when you’re trying to annoy him.
and it’s working.
“actually, uh –” joel shifts between feet, “– i was gonna ask you a favor.”
“mhm?”
his gaze trickles down your figure. each curve and swell of supple skin. the shorts he’s getting a little too used to seeing you in, too used to looking for. your bare legs, and the glow of sun on them.
when he looks back up, you’re smirking at him.
christ, he wants to wipe that smirk clean off your face. wants to twist it into something darker, something…something louder, and filthier, and –
“joel. hellooo?”
you wave your hand in front of his face, and he snaps back.
“huh? oh, shit. sorry – i, uh…” a flush rises like an inferno up his neck. he shakes his head, fighting it off. “yeah. a favor.”
“you good? don’t pass out on my porch,” you warn. “wait until you’re back on your own land to do that.”
he breathes a laugh – panting, almost. “i’m good. i just – i need someone to water my, uh – my plants. i’m outta town next week, visitin’ my brother. if you wouldn’t mind…”
he feels like a fucking moron when he finally meets your eye again.
you blink back at him, frowning. head tipped, looking him up and down. “i don’t mind,” you say, something cautious in your voice, “but i expect generous compensation for my time.”
“compensation,” joel agrees, nodding. he’d do anything to be off this goddamn porch right now. “how about i’ll owe you one?”
“works for me.”
“alright. thank you, again,” he holds the package up, “and, uh – i’ll see ya.”
he’s gone before he hears your response.
too young. she’s too young. you’re so young. goddamn it.
you drive him fucking insane. you and your little shorts, the simper on your face. he swears he could see through the white of your top, two perfect circles where –
oh, fuck.
he spills into his bathroom, a heavy hand slamming down on the valve. the water roars from the showerhead, louder than the blood in his ears.
joel hauls his tee over his shoulders, the fabric peeling from his muscles and crumpling in a damp pile on the floor. he shucks the rest of his clothes off, kicking them to the side, and steps straight into the cubicle.
he looks down, and – fucking hell.
his cock sways between his legs, all rosy and already dripping. he can feel his pulse hammering at his tip; hisses when the stream sprays over it.
his hand lifts, curving around air.
shit, he just wants to touch himself. wants to relieve the ache between his hips. he has to.
he balls his fists against the tiled wall. his head drops low between his shoulders. the water pours down over him, pastes his dark hair in soaking flicks around his face. he can taste the salt of sweat and sun as it slips from his skin.
once. if he only did it once, would it matter? he’s hard now, anyways. there’s a quick fix.
you just – you caught him off-guard. he only went over there to pick up a package. he didn’t fucking know you’d be – oh, christ – he didn’t know you’d be in that shirt. no bra, no nothing beneath it.
he can still feel the plush of your tits on his knuckles. the way they moved as you leant against the doorframe. he can still see the summery shine on your skin.
he thinks about slipping his hands under the hem of your tank. up, up, up, across your smooth skin until he’s cupping them. squeezing them; circling his thumbs over the hardening peaks.
the short breaths from your lips, your smirk melted into a delicate o-shape. voiceless, nothing but whimpering and gasping when his teeth take your nipple.
before he even realizes it – he’s stroking his cock.
and quickly.
he groans, lips turning to his bicep. he bites down on the skin, hard.
he’d slip your shorts down your hips; see whatever slutty little panties you wear. he’d pull your thighs over his shoulders, unfold your sweet cunt and –
“shit,” joel pants, hips stuttering. his fingers splay out on the slippery tile.
you’re so infuriating. loudmouthed and fucking bratty. and he could shut you up, he knows he could. he’d sit you on his cock, wrapped perfectly around him, and fuck you dumb. fuck you until you’re nothing but a sobbing, soaking mess.
fuck you with that scrap of a tank top on. tits bouncing beneath it, the fabric riding higher and higher until they’re exposed.
what a good fuckin’ girl, taking all of him. letting him split you open, letting him fuck you raw. so big he’ll leave an ache deep inside you; so hard that he makes you come three times over before he’s even close.
but – fuck, he’s close, right now.
“c’mon, baby,” he mutters into his skin. teeth gritted; fist so tight the skin threatens to split across his knuckles. “make me come, c’mon.”
it’d dribble from your cunt, and he’d push it straight back in. make damn sure you keep it all in there, make damn sure you’re walking around all full of him. the seam of your thighs slick, semen seeping into your panties.
“goddamn,” he groans, and with a throb, coats the shower wall.
his cock twitches, pulses until he’s empty. the ache begins to thaw.
he shuts the shower off, still massaging his softening dick as he steps back out. he lifts a towel and drags it across his tingling body.
and he swears, when he notices the sun dipping below your roof –
it will never happen again.
#another “short” one from me :) will i ever stop rambling about this man's dick#duckie's baby shower#🩵#mrsmando
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Thinking about what might’ve happened if Dustin and Eddie both made it through the trailer Gate; if the door held and none of the bats followed them.
-
They get a momentary reprieve, dizzy with relief.
And Hawkins splits open.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie screams, and he throws himself over Dustin as the living room is rent apart, shields him from chunks of the ceiling and trailer roof raining down; after one final shudder, everything goes eerily still.
They breathe.
“Max,” Dustin gasps. Scrabbling out from underneath Eddie, he reaches for his walkie, desperate, “Lucas, do you copy? Lucas! Do you goddamn—”
There’s a click and then the horrible sound of Lucas sobbing—trying and failing to get words out.
Eddie’s stomach plummets.
Through the fear and horror, it dawns on him that he needs to step up to the plate—that he’s in charge—and he has to act now.
“We’ve gotta go,” he says, thinking fast. He pulls Dustin up with him, adds, “Leave the walkie here,” jerking his head up to the grotesquely expanded Gate, “so they’ll have it when they get back.”
He’s thankful beyond words that Steve left the keys in the RV.
It’s a tense, silent ride broken only by Dustin sharply saying, “Watch out,” whenever they get too close to a chasm in the road.
Eddie can hardly comprehend what he’s looking at. He remembers saying the shire is burning. Now it sounds like a prophecy fulfilled.
When they reach the Creel House, he drives up onto the grass until the RV is hidden as best he can manage amongst the bushes and thorns.
Erica’s running out of the house by the time they reach the front steps, a walkie in her hand; Eddie’s eyes land on her skinned knees, and his stomach drops all over again.
“Hey, are you hurt, are you hurt?” he babbles, already knowing the answer—but he means is there more than this? I’m here, I’ll help you, I’ll help you.
His hands land on her shoulders, squeezing tight, and Erica—this sharp-tongued, funny, kind kid—breaks down in tears.
“I called a-an ambulance,” she stutters out.
“Hey, you did great. Shh, you did great.” Eddie hugs her far too briefly, but there’s no time. He presses the keys to the RV into her hand. “It’s hidden, hey, see that bush down there? Lock yourself in, keep radioing for the others. Hey, look at me. It’s gonna be okay.”
She nods, eyes shining.
No-one should have to be this fucking brave, Eddie thinks.
Dustin follows him through the house, up the stairs, jumping over the cracks until—
Max in Lucas’s arms, her eyes closed, blood running down her cheeks.
Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, but he can’t falter now; he pushes back vivid images of Chrissy, of Patrick, and falls to his knees next to Lucas.
“Her—her bones,” Lucas gasps, “I shouldn’t have m-moved her but the ground—Jason, he…”
Eddie follows where Lucas’s eyes darts to, across the cavernous gap in the floor, sees the mangled remains of—
“Jesus.” Eddie swallows through a wave of nausea.
“I hurt—I hurt her,” Lucas whispers.
Eddie puts a hand on his back. “No, you—you did what you had to, man. You saved her, Sinclair, you hear me?” He places two fingers to Max’s throat. Waits. Exhales deeply. “Pulse is still… okay, okay.”
“What?” Lucas tries to check, too. His hand is shaking. “But I—I felt—”
“Trust me, she’s—”
A wail. Sirens, rapidly approaching.
Eddie’s gaze flickers over Lucas and Dustin: their eyes are glassy with horror. It’s not hit them yet, what’s about to happen, and that’s fine. That’s how it should be.
It’s Eddie’s job to know.
The paramedics arrive first.
Eddie moves back. Gives them space.
He doesn’t miss the way their faces pale as they spot him.
“She has a pulse,” he says calmly. “Broken limbs. And her eyes, um, I don’t know what exactly…”
More sirens.
“Eddie,” Dustin says suddenly. Sharp, urgent. “Eddie, what are you doing? You need to go.”
Eddie smiles sadly. Shakes his head.
Footsteps pounding up the stairs. At first it seems to take forever, and then it speeds up all at once; Eddie’s being pulled roughly until he’s standing, handcuffs cutting into his skin, and Dustin is screaming.
“They didn’t know anything,” Eddie finds himself saying. Lucas’s expression shatters; Dustin just looks furious. “I swear, they didn’t—”
“Eddie, stop.” Dustin sounds close to tears. “Stop, stop—” He grabs at Eddie’s arm, only to be pushed aside by an officer. “He didn’t do anything!”
“It’s okay,” Eddie says. He tries to catch Dustin’s eye, but he’s already being dragged out. “It’s okay.”
And it’s funny, just an hour ago and this would’ve been one of his worst fears realised. But now he barely feels it.
A hand clamps over his skull, pushes him into the police car.
The view out the window blurs as they speed away—black cut through with a burning red.
Eddie closes his eyes.
He wishes he could’ve…
He thinks of Steve, Robin, Nancy. Wants them to know he tried to protect their kids for as long as possible. Tried to buy them time. He did his best.
No, Eddie The Banished isn’t a hero, he thinks.
He simply did the only thing he could have done.
#i have s4 ending alternate takes on the brain apparently forgive me#eddie munson fic#eddie and the party#eddie and dustin#eddie and erica#eddie and lucas#eddie and max#eddie munson#eddie munson ficlet
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Kinktober 2023: October 18th
Day 18: Sensory Deprivation Gags, Service Top/Power Bottom, Bloodplay
Frankie Morales x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, kink shaming?, Tom being a douche, mentions of drinking, tipsy Frankie, assumed prior consent, oral sex (female receiving), sex toys, slight exhibitionism
|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
It never fails that a conversation with the guys has to include sex of some kind. Even if it's just ribald jokes and busting each other’s balls as they drink beer out in your backyard around the firepit. It’s one of those nights. The jokes have come out in force since announcing that you and Frank were expecting, all the men who had served in Delta Squad A congratulating your husband on his virility, his obvious prowess in the bedroom while you just hummed happily at the very real prospect of the newest addition to the Morales household.
“Fish, what the fuck is this?” The slider to the house closes behind Tom and he holds up a book that you know for a fact was tucked into Frankie’s nightstand before the guys came over. You know because you had put it away.
“What the fuck? Did you go through my nightstand?” Frankie frowns, seeing the book in his former team leader’s hands. He moves a hand up to push the brim of his hat up and scratch his hair underneath before he pulls it back down, a little embarrassed.
Tom ignores the question, obviously having committed the crime since he had been the one in the house and turns to the book to read the title. “Powering From the Bottom.” He reads out loud. “How To Be a Service Top.” His tone is incredulous and he snorts as he looks back at your husband. “Jesus Christ, Fish, wanna tell us something?”
You hiss in anger, watching your husband squirm uncomfortably. Tom is one of those fuckers who believe that macho men have to be dominant, constantly the ‘head of household’ and would never, ever, be a service top.
“Red-”
“Maybe you should read it, Tom.” You speak up, not wanting Frankie to fight this battle alone. It’s not really any of his goddamn business what happens in your bedroom, but since he wants to embarrass your husband, you think you’ll just embarrass him. “Maybe you can figure out why Molly left you.”
It’s amazing how quickly the air seems to go completely silent. Even the fire decides it’s not going to speak up and crackle. “What did you just say?” Others might be intimidated by the former soldier’s narrowed gaze, but you aren’t. Fuck Tom.
“I don’t know.” You shrug, taking another sip of your punch. “Told me that she hadn’t had an orgasm from sex with you in nearly eight years.” You snort. “Just that you climb on top of her and ride her for forty-five seconds and think that you’ve done her some sort of favor.”
“Babe-” Frankie frowns and moves over towards you. Wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you towards him. You know why he’s doing it. One, to get your attention. Two, to remind Tom that you are his wife. Tom’s a hothead and you are pushing his buttons in front of a group of people. But he brought this on himself.
“No, baby.” You shake your head and turn towards Frankie, kissing the bare patch of skin on his jaw. “He started this.” Looking back at Tom, you huff. “Do you even know what a Service Top is? It means that his focus, his priority is my pleasure. He gets off on making sure that I’m very well taken care of.” You hand slides protectively over your stomach, reminding everyone that you are pregnant, that it obviously works for you. “It’s not something to be ashamed of. And I bought that book for my husband as a joke, a private one.” You announce to the group. “Yes, he is reading it, but I want to know how you found it when it was tucked into his nightstand in our bedroom?”
You’ve got him there and everyone knows it. Tom scowls, not happy with the way that you’ve neatly turned this around on him and huffs. “I was just fucking around with him.” He grumbles, tossing the book down into one of the chairs and looks around the group. “What? Drink your beer.” He tells them, annoyed at being called out and even more annoyed that he doesn’t know if you were lying about what Molly said or not.
You smirk and hum to yourself, feeling Frankie’s fingers pressing into your side as he leans down and presses his lips to yours. You know that your husband is ten times the man that Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis is, and you’ll be damned if you won’t fight for him as hard as he protects you.
****
“Baby, I want you.” It’s not surprising that Frankie is pressing up against you, his cock rock hard against your ass the second you climb into bed with him. He’s more than a little tipsy and he always wants sex when he’s been drinking. “So fucking sexy.” He groans, kissing the back of your neck and immediately pushing his hands under your shirt to cup your breasts gently. His touch has been lighter since they have been sensitive, but it’s perfect. “Defending me. Want to make you feel good, want to make you scream my name for everyone to hear.”
The rule of the Morales house was that anyone who drank too much, stayed. Keys were put away and the guest bedrooms and the couches were put to use. No one needed a DUI to pull them off the team or god forbid, kill someone. Even Tom had stayed, since he had one too many.
“Are you sure?” You ask, smirking when his answer is rocking his cock against your ass. As if showing you how sure he was. “Let me eat your pussy.” He begs, thumbing your nipple and not pinching since that would make you hiss in pain.
Frankie’s tongue is magic and you moan softly, making him twitch against you. He loves eating you out, making you cum on his tongue and sometimes would want to just do that, because you weren’t up for sex. He didn’t care, he just wanted you to cum.
“You want to show all of them how you take care of your girl?” You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder and he’s practically salivating at the idea.
“Fuck yes,” he groans. “Want to - fuck, you want your toy? Your dildo inside you while I play with your clit? Want you so wet for me when I slide inside you.”
He always knows exactly what you enjoy, taking note of everything that makes you pant or moan for him. It’s exactly why Frankie is a service top. He’s always in control of you in the bedroom, but rather than using you for his own pleasure. He gets pleasure from your satisfaction.
With your pregnancy, Frankie has become more attentive than normal. Maybe a little sloppy because of the alcohol, but he’s still bringing his A game. Kissing and nibbling on your thigh while he slowly works the toy in and and out of your lips, he waits until you are breathless to latch onto your clit.
“Frank!” You know your cry is loud, unwilling to censor yourself in your own home, and wanting those that had heard Tom try to shame him hear how much you enjoy Frankie as a lover. Not faking it, but not holding back.
Your fingers twist into his longer curls and you love looking down to find his dark brown eyes fixed on your face. Watching as he slowly tears you apart with his tongue and the motion of the toy rocking deeper into your grasping walls.
Every moan spurs him on, every sigh a sign that he should suck more, nibble or pull back just based on the sound of it. Reading your reactions and your body like a book and adjusting to make sure that you are soaking the toy and the bed beneath you with the evidence of how well Frankie treats you.
HIs own hums and moans vibrate deep into your pussy, making it throb and clench even more as he works you over. Fully aware of the power that he has over you and even if he is giving, he is also taking from you as well. Taking your sounds, taking the way your hips roll down to chase his tongue. Taking every pulse of slick that gushes from your cunt. He takes all of it with the pride that makes his cock leak into the bed under him.
You know that some of this is a lesson to everyone in the house around you. None of them, except maybe Tom, are asleep yet. You had just gone to bed when the moaning started. The breathless sighs of his name and the slight begging orders of ‘more’ that seem to fall from your lips every time Frankie slides between your thighs.
Your cry of pleasure when you fall apart is just that. Pure pleasure. Pleasure from the way that his tongue laps at your clit and pleasure in knowing that you are proving to everyone how being a service top isn’t being weak. It’s the most powerful that a man can be.
#pedro pascal#kinktober#kinktober 2023#absurdthirst kinktober#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales smut#frankie morales imagine#frankie morales fanfiction#francisco catfish morales
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Take It Out On Me Part 11 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)
A/N: It's about to go down. Ya'll ready?!
Enjoy <3
Warnings: Dom Steddie & Plus Size Sub Y/N and all that implies (I regret nothing!), Smut and ALL the angst. These three confront the parents and as you can imagine it doesn't go well. Steve's dad is a douchebag and Y/N is referred to as a whore a few times. Eddie gets hit *cries*. He in turn gets a little rough with the reader but Steve intervenes. A bit of a cliffhanger ending... I mean I guess lol I think that's everything!
Word Count: 3335
A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you slowly open your front door and enter your house, Eddie and Steve following close behind.
Both your parents are standing in the living room and to your surprise so are Steve’s. His dad visibly looks a mess, his hair and suit completely disheveled.
“Oh, Steven!”, his mother exclaims as she runs to give him a hug.
“You can leave.” Your dad gestures towards Eddie.
“I could but I’m not. Do I need to call my uncle so we have everyone who needs to be here present?”
“It’s not like you can call his dad.”, Mr. Harrington sasses under his breath as you angrily glare at him.
“Mr. Munson, you don’t need to be here. I asked for my daughter to come home with Mr. Harrington here—”
“Yeah well, my understanding is you have a problem with me to so…”, Eddie shrugs. Your dad turns to your mom and whispers something to her before she rises to head for the kitchen to use the phone. “He works at the mill up there. He should be in by now.”
You three sit on the couch as you try to keep your emotions in check. The way everyone is staring at you guys terrifies you but you were also extremely angry, knowing how this conversation was going to play out. No matter what they said, you loved Eddie and Steve. You weren’t leaving them.
“Wayne said he would be here in 15 minutes.”, your mother notified the room.
“Good. He can take his nephew when he gets here. Now while we wait, Steven, I’m just going to say this out right, stay away from my daughter. This thing you two have is over.”
“Dad—”
“And as for you, you disobeyed us. We told you to stay away from him especially since he’s associated with this one here.”, he points to Eddie.
“Which ends today to. I don’t want you spending any more time with this freak.”, his dad adds.
“Well, what does it matter, dad? According to you, I’ve already tarnished our name by not making into college, right? I’m too fucking stupid and lazy. Isn’t that what you said?”
“You’re goddamn right! We raised you to be better than this.”
“You didn’t raise him at all!”, you defended. “He’s spent half of high school alone in that big house.”
“Y/N!”, your mother scolds and you immediately fold back into yourself.
The boys glance your way before looking back down at the floor. “I guess we see now why she was so meek and scared before.”, Eddie softly smiles as he reaches for your hand.
“Hey! Don’t touch my daughter.”
“I love your daughter! No one has ever cared about me or made me feel the way she does.”
“Wait…”, Steve’s dad rubs his palm over his eyes. “I’m confused. Steve, you told me you were dating Y/N.”
“I am and I love her to.”
“But he just…”
Your eyes meet your mother’s before hers drift towards the ceiling. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
A knock on the door brings everything to a halt and your dad quickly answers it to allow Eddie’s uncle entry. “Get your nephew and get out of my house.”
“Wait. What is happening?”
“You to, Bill! Get your son and leave. It’s obvious we need to have a long talk with our child.”
“We can talk as long as you want, dad, but that’s not going to change how I feel. I love them to and after we graduate, we’re moving in together.”
“Huh…well that explains some things.”, Wayne smirks as he looks at all the other adults in the room. “I mean I had a feeling but didn’t want to assume.”
“You’re ok with this?!”, your mom shrieks.
“Yeah, I mean… they aren’t doing anything wrong. They aren’t a gang or something. They’re three people in love. It’s nice and rare at such a young age.”
“Exactly! ‘Young age’! You three are way too young to understand what you are feeling!”
“ENOUGH!”, your dad booms as all conversation ceases. “This is over.”, he points his index finger towards you. “End it now. As long as you are under my roof, you will follow my rules. You are not allowed to see either of these boys again.”
“You can’t keep us from her.”, Eddie responds as he grips your hand tighter.
“I sure fucking can! I’ll call the cops! I’ll send her to live with family in other states! I’ll—”
“You’ll call the cops and tell them what? Your daughter is spending time us? And you can send her anywhere you want, no matter what, we would follow her.”, Steve interrupts reaching for your hand as well.
“Steven Harrington, you think about this now. If you insist on staying with this…whore…I will cut you off—”
“Hey now.”, Wayne cuts in. “No need to be rude or disrespectful. If you say something like that again, I’m ending this and taking all three of them back to my home.”
As Eddie’s uncle spoke, your eyes scanned your parents. Their angry eyes were staring into a void they seemed to stuck in. What killed you most was while Wayne defended you, your mom and dad remained silent, seemingly agreeing with Steve’s father. To them…you were a whore.
“Cut me off, dad. I don’t care. I’ve spent my whole life trying to impress you and be what you wanted me to be. Now I just want to figure out who I am and I want to do it with this woman here. I may not be the best student, man, or even fucking son but I am good at taking care of baby girl here.”
“Do you agree with his dad?”, you blurted your question as you addressed your family. “Do you two think I’m a slut?”
“What-what are we supposed to think, Y/N?”, your mother stutters.
“It’s not like I’m-I’m opening my legs for all of Hawkins! I’m in a relationship with these two. I—”
“Stop it, Y/N.”, your dad warns.
“No!”, you suddenly rise to your feet. “I’ve never done anything wrong or given you two any reason to worry before. You both always said I was smart and knew how to make my own choices! Why is this ONE suddenly wrong?”
“Sit. Down. Y/N.”
“Sweetheart…” Eddie tries to pull at your hand to get your attention, getting to his feet as well. He recognizes that look and tone from your father; he’s seen it before on his own.
“Dad, they are both so good to me. If you just got to know them—”
As your dad’s arm rears back, the metalhead slides between you two, taking the slap that was meant for you. Wayne moves forward as Steve stands, tugging you behind him.
“We’re done here. I’m taking them to my trailer until Steve and Y/N feel safe coming home if at all.”, Wayne growls.
“You can’t do that.”
“Oh, I assure you I can. Unless you want to call Hopper down here so we can explain to him how you just assaulted my nephew.” His uncle reaches for Eddie’s arm and guides him towards the front door. “You kids get a head start. I’ll be right behind you.”
Without speaking, the three of you exit the house and quickly move to Eddie’s van.
“Do you want me to drive?”, Steve asks.
The metalhead shakes his head, opening the passenger door for you before slamming it shut. As he begins the drive back to the trailer, you start replaying everything in your head. You knew your parents weren’t going to approve of this relationship but you never expected them to be this angry to the point where your dad would react the way that he did.
Eddie got hurt, Steve was cut off, you and he didn’t have a home anymore. Then everything that happened last night… this is all my fault…
You tried to hide the tears that flowed as you curled into the window. After a while, the trailer came into view but even after the man parked no one moved. You glanced over at the driver, suddenly realizing his chest was rising and falling rapidly.
“Eddie… are you okay?”
Steve followed your eye line as he shifted to the other side of the van. “Munson. It’s okay, man. You’re okay.”
Eddie’s eyes shut as his mouth opened to release a loud scream as he repeatedly hit at his steering wheel. His hair blocked his face as his head hung to his chest. The driver’s side door gradually opened as Wayne leaned against it, reaching for his nephew’s arm.
“Come on, son. You’re okay.”
Gently, he tugged his nephew out and the rest of you followed suit. As you entered the trailer, you and Steve sat on the couch while Eddie’s uncle looked him over.
“He got you pretty good but…it would have probably done way more damage to her. That was a brave thing you did, Eddie.” The metalhead’s shoulders deflate as he exhales. “You two are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Y/N, I can give you some cash and after school tomorrow you and the boys can go into town so you can buy some essentials.”
“I’m sorry…”
Wayne came over and bent down on his heels beside you. “You have no reason to be sorry, honey. You are not a whore; you’ve done nothing wrong. Okay?” He smiles when you nod. “Ed, I have to get back to work. Are you three going to be alright?”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”
As his uncle straightens up, he reaches over to pat Steve’s shoulder. Once he leaves, Eddie abruptly turns and heads for his room. You two trail after him, finding him in a chair with a cigarette dangling from his lips as he tries to light it.
“Fucking…piece of shit…lighter…”, he growls before angrily throwing it to the floor.
Slowly, you place yourself in front of him, extending your hand out to run your fingers through his hair. Eddie sighs again as he leans forward and rests his forehead on your stomach.
“I’m…thank you…” The tears start flow again as you hug him to you. His hands glide up to your lower back as his lips press against your tummy. The metalhead’s eyes glance up to meet yours for the first time since you left your parents house and the pain you found within them killed you. It was like the man now was fighting with the scared little boy he was back then, trying to remind himself that he was in control. You lean down to kiss his lips before nodding you head, whispering against them. “Use me.”
With incredible strength, Eddie lifted you under your arms and all but threw you onto his bed. He tore off your clothes, rapidly trying to do the same with his own. After opening your legs, he spit into cunt, gripping the base of his cock and guiding himself roughly into your body. His hips pounded aggressively into yours as he remained pushed up on his palms, long hair blocking his face from your view. As you reached up to move it out of the way, his hand flew to your wrist, pinning it flat to the mattress.
You winced at the feeling of each hard thrust; he had never been this rough with you before. He began muttering things under his breath you could barely hear as you caught every other word.
“Fucking…asshole…I could…knock him…out.”
“S-sir?”, you whimpered as Steve knelt by the bed, scanning your face.
“Color, honey?”
“Yellow, Da-daddy.”
“Eddie, she needs a minute.”
“They think…tell me…what to do…no. I’m…in control.” Your eyes widen as his hand suddenly flies to your throat, gripping it hard between his fingers.
“Eddie! Stop!” Steve quickly shoves him back and he tumbles off you, releasing you from his hold. “Y/N, are you ok?”
You cough as you try to catch your breath.
“Fuck. F-fuck, Y/N. Sweetheart, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t even hear you. I…fuck!”, he shouts as he hits the trailer wall with his fist.
You glance over at him before looking up Steve, assuring him you were alright. “Take these off, Daddy.” You tug at his shirt collar and he nods, rising to his feet.
“Don’t. Don’t touch me. I don’t want to hurt you again.”, Eddie’s voice shakes as you turn and place your hand on his chest.
“Do you trust me?”, you whisper.
“Yeah, I just…don’t trust myself.”
Leaning forward, you tenderly kiss his lips as you push him carefully on to his back and straddle his waist. “I do, Master.”
A moan escapes his beautiful lips at the title, his palms coming to rest on your thighs as you carefully slide his cock into your entrance. Balancing above him on your hands, you grind your hips as you tilt your upper half closer to his chest.
“You’re always so protective of me. I feel so safe with you and Daddy.”
Steve climbs on to the bed behind you as you crane you neck to watch him spit in his hand and stroke it along his length. His eyebrows raise as if to ask if you’re ready and you subtly nod, allowing him to grab your waist and push himself into your ass.
Once again, you felt so full by both of them immediately, moaning at the delicious stretch of them inside of you. Steve’s arms came into your field of view as his chest pressed against your back and his hands rest near yours against the mattress.
Your eyes rolled as he began rolling his hips into yours, panting against your skin.
“You both feel so good. Oh my god… Please, Sir. I NEED you to move.”
“You need me, princess?”
Eddie licks his lips as his hips thrust upwards eliciting a loud moan from you both. Steve leans back onto to his knees, guiding your movements with his palms as he glances between your bodies.
“F-fuck, baby. You take us both so well.”
The metalhead nods underneath you, agreeing with his friend. “Such a good girl.”
“Mmm—use me. Fill me up, please. I need you to. I need to—mmm-- feel you cum inside me.”
Eddie’s fingers reach up to caress your face before gripping the back on your neck, bringing your lips to his.
“I love you, Y/N. You are safe with us. I’d never—God—I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.” His glassy, blown out eyes lock with yours as he pumps into you harder. Steve tries to match his pace, slamming his hips into yours.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your pussy clenches around him as you cum. Eddie grunts below you at the feeling, clinging to your waist as he follows you.
The other boy holds you against his chest as he chases his high, his arms holding you tightly as he thrusts his spend into your body.
Without a word, they each gradually pull out of you making you hiss and wince at the slight sting. The metalhead gently takes your hand and walks you towards his shower. After cleaning you and making sure you were comfortable, he places you back on the mattress in front of Steve who casually begins brushing your hair.
“Wayne doesn’t need to give you too much cash. I, um, I bought some stuff and have them here for when you spend the night like that brush.”, Eddie gestures towards Steve. “We just need to find you some clothes more than anything. In a couple days, maybe my uncle can talk your parents into letting you swing by to get your stuff. You may have to wait till we find an apartment to bring everything… Trailer is kind of small.”, he smiles.
You fingers reach out to move some of his hair back so you can see his face.
“I’m really fucking sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to… Your dad hit me and I just felt like a boy again, you know? I got lost in my brain.”
“It’s okay. I understand. I genuinely do. I’m sorry he hit you.”
“I’m sorry for my dad to…talking down to both of you like that.”, Steve sighs. “You’re not a whore, Y/N. That goes without saying but…”, he chuckles. “I know you like to be called that in bed—”
“By you two. But even then, when you say it, I know you don’t mean it like they do.”
They nod at your statement, each man leaning in to kiss your lips. The rest of the night, they kept an extra close eye on you; making sure you were fed and comfortable before falling asleep in their arms. While Eddie leaned out his bedroom window smoking a cigarette, you shot up in bed, grabbing your heart as you panted.
“Hey! Whoa, sweetheart. It’s ok, you’re ok. It was just a nightmare.”
Silently, your head feel back against the pillow as you sobbed. He tossed the end of his smoke out into the yard, closing the window, and enveloping you in his arms. The metalhead tenderly kissed your forehead as you rolled over, pressing your face into his bare chest.
“I know, baby. It’s ok. I’ve got you. Master’s here for you.”
##########
That following morning, Eddie gave you a shirt to wear so you could at least have on something different than yesterday. All eyes felt like they were on you as you three climbed out of his van and headed for the campus.
“Is it just me or are there more eyes on us than normal?”
“Well, King Steve did just show up with the freak so I imagine there’s a lot of gossip there.”
You squinted towards the metalhead, pursing your lips. “I hate when you call yourself that. You aren’t a freak.”
“Y/N?”, Masie called as she waved you to her locker.
“We’ll see you in class, alright? Everything is okay.”, Steve soothes as he tenderly pets your head.
“Hey Maze. What’s going on?”
“I was going to ask you that.” Your best friend takes a few steps closer to you as she lowers her voice. “Is it true that you’re fucking Steve Harrington AND Eddie Munson?”
“I—what—I mean—where did you hear that?”, you ask as you stumble over your words.
“Y/N, Mr. Harrington went to the bar last night talking about how you ‘corrupted his son’ and how delusional the three of you are. The whole town knows about it. Is-is it true? I mean I know you spend a lot of time with them but I thought they were just friends.”
“I…um… what if I was in a relationship with them both? Would that be so wrong?”
Masie’s eyes widen as she takes a step back from you. “I-I-I don’t know what to say.”
Your eyes begin to water as you slowly back away. “No. I completely understand. Um, take your time and I’m just, um, going to go to class.”
“Y/N, WAIT!”, she screams after you as you run away from her down the hallway. You don’t stop till you’re outside your first classroom which is currently being blocked by students.
“Move! Everyone out of my way!”, Mr. C pushes through the crowd and you follow close behind.
A couple of boys were on the floor wrestling with Steve and Eddie. The desks were pushed out of the way and blood had already began staining the linoleum. A few other teachers with campus security ran in pulling everyone apart.
“What is going on?!”, your teacher shrieked. “Mr. Munson? Mr. Harrington? Care to enlighten me?”
They were furious, you could see it reflecting in their beautiful eyes even as they tried to avoid your gaze. Another student finally piped up and pointed towards the blackboard where you and Mr. C quickly turned to look.
In big bold letters, written in yellow chalk read the words, “Y/N Y/L/N. CLASS SLUT OF 1984.”
#########
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#steddie x reader#steddie fluff#steddie smut#steddie fanfiction#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson smut#eddie fanfic#eddie stranger things#steve fanfic#steve smut#steve stranger things#joe keery#joseph quinn#stranger things#fan fiction#steddie x you#steddie x y/n#steve fluff#dom!steve harrington#dom!eddie#sub reader#steddie x plussizereader#steve x plus size reader#eddie x plus size reader#plus size reader
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If you had the chance to change something about the dance of the dragons (TV show or book), what would it be? For example, how a character dies, which team a house is on,or an entire character personally. How would you change it to make the story better, in your opinion?♥️🖤💙💚
Ohh anon i've got a list.
When it comes to the tv show there are a few choices the writers made that just don't sit right with me.
Laenor
I do like the characterization they went for, he's a pretty cool dude who really loves his weird, dysfunctional family. What I really don't like is how they handled his death.
See I truly can't stand it when a character is sugar coated just because they're the protagonist and thus must be righteous and always objectively correct.
So to witness the writers white wash his murder, having him flee to essos instead of being killed by Rhaenyra pisses me off. I get that after showing them being good friends it would be very odd to have her kill him.
But that's the thing, they should have opted for a more ruthless Rhaenyra in the first place!
Laenor's death in the books (at least for me) was the first instance of Rhae Rhae making morally wrong choices in order to pursue her ultimate goal. It was compelling! Here she just takes the easy way out, without having to make a tough choice.
Also his survival really fucks her up when you really think about it. Now all her sons are bastards since her marriage to Daemon isn't valid, and for the upcoming season 2, how are they going to handle Addam and Seasmoke? Laenor is still alive, his dragon won't accept a new rider. This doesn't make any sense and just causes plotholes what the actual fu-
Sidenote: After Laenor's very moving speech on how he was done goofing off and was now willing to really step up for Rhaenyra and their family it's super strange to imagine him ditching them all immediately afterwards Lol.
Rhaenys
My gosh, where do I even begin with this woman?
She too is pretty cool at the start, but then episode 9 rolls around and I roll my eyes.
She's so hypocritical. She tries to shit on Alicent for "toiling in the service of men." When that's all she does in the goddamn story!
She wants Baela to get Driftmark, tells Corlys about it, he shuts off the whole plan cause he wants a kid who he's not even related to on the driftwood throne, and when she complains about it he dismisses her.
So what does feminist Rhaenys do about it?
She... submits to her husband, something she conveniently forgets about when talking to Alicent. My god. Just remove this entire exchange, it hurts to watch.
And the coronation scene, Jesus Christ! It was so cool in the books, why did they have to ruin it? Had they replaced it with something better I wouldn't have complained, but this is just, the worst.
Rhaenys shows how badass she is by.... Brutally crushing hundreds of small folks to death and almost slaughtering the greens.
Cool, cool, absolutely necessary. Thanks Sara.
And you know what's even more infuriating? When she flees to Dragonstone to inform Rhaenyra of all that happened. She says she didn't kill the greens cause she didn't wish to start a war. I'm sorry what?
That would have ended the war at the start! As glad as I am that Rhaenys didn't barbecue them it makes absolutely no sense!
If she had killed them there would have been no dance in the first place!
I hate these dumb show only moments. They needlessly complicated an already complicated story and just mess everything up.
There's probably other stuff I could rant on, like how Aegon was made a rapist sorely to make the audience think:
Oh look! The greens are so baad, they believe a rapist alcoholic douche should be in charge instead of our empowered dragon queen, they sure do suck!
Or how house Velaryon was disrespected and mistreated by D*emyra but still somehow decided to support Nyra's claim.
They didn't really have a motive to be greens though, so I think they should have stayed neutral. Their fervent black support makes no sense.
The writers really should have given them more reasons to back up the blacks or had their beloved queen treat them better so that their loyalty made more sense ( I mean holy hell I wonder how they will handle the two betrayers and Corlys's arrest lmao).
But other greens have already shat on these awful decisions and I won't beat a dead horse.
Book
When it comes to fire and blood I surprisingly have very little complaints, except of course, the Jaehaera situation.
My poor baby deserved better, I've made a post about it in the past
(where I ranted and said stuff I kind of regret now, don't post while very angry guys I don't recommend it)
tackling how the little queen was unnecessarily killed off and how her death genuinely adds nothing so why was it added? God I get upset just thinking about it lol.
Some people say George did it cause he needed Aegon's kids to be born after Viserys's, and apparently he couldn't fathom a married teen not having kids until her 20s, which is veery weird.
The more plausible theory is that he got rid of her cause he wanted more Velaryon queens to showcase how close they used to be to the Targs.
Which is something I had understood already thanks to Alyssa, the sea Snake and all the Velaryons who were masters of ships but whatever.
#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd critical#anti team black#pro team green#rhaenyra targaryen#asoiaf#aegon ii targaryen#corlys velaryon#laenor valeryon#rhaenys targaryen#rhaenys velaryon#jaehaera targaryen#fire&blood#hotd season 2#thanks for the ask! it was lots of fun to answer lmao
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THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 27
stranger things
eddie munson x reader
rated e
6.9k
spotify playlist
for @punk-in-docs
fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, suicide ideation, tags will be updated as needed
Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?
Weird weird?
He shrugged. He liked weird.
In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.
note: This was going to be the last chapter, but it's too long. I'm splitting it and posting what's completed. Expect a last chapter and epilogue. Thank you for sticking with me!
27
The doorbell chime made him start, which was stupid. An invasion wouldn’t start with someone ringing the goddamn doorbell. He stared unseeing at the den’s television while MTV went to commercial.
Also, he should be used to the noise. Steve’s house was a hub of activity, between the phone ringing and the doorbell going off and people talking.
Footsteps thumped overhead. He identified that as the man of the house himself walking to the front door. A moment later, multiple voices, all male, rumbled from the foyer. Several pairs of footsteps moved farther into the house.
Then your voice joined the mix. He couldn’t gauge your tone, other than you weren’t pissed. He turned down the TV volume and frowned at the basement ceiling when you kept talking. A male voice said something you replied to.
Eddie eased from the sectional couch and padded to the foot of the stairs. Of course, it didn’t gain him anything. The door at the top remained closed, muffling any conversation. He considered creeping up the stairs, but he didn’t know where the creaks hid in the treads.
He put a knee on the third tread and crawled forward to half-lay on the stairs. Now midway to the door, he could distinguish between the voices. Yours, of course, Steve’s every so often, then three others.
No one sounded defensive or upset, so that eased his mind. Somewhat.
Everyone kept talking, though. He racked his brain for what they could be discussing. It probably had something to do with yesterday’s visit. He hoped it wasn’t government officials who’d changed their minds about not dragging him to prison. Or worse yet, to some underground lab to conduct experiments on him.
What if they were here for you, though?
Maybe they’d figured out you had magic and wanted you to do stuff for them. While in their clutches, they’d take bio-samples from you. They’d clone you — was that even possible? — or make babies in petri dishes — that had to be possible — to grow a whole witch army and take over the world.
Of course, the thought of having a second you intrigued him. Would a clone kiss like you? Taste like you? Would she moan like you do when he sinks inside her? Would one of you sit on his face while the other rode his dick?
His cock grew heavy and hot in his borrowed briefs.
Jesus H. Christ, he chided. Fucking focus.
It was quiet. Too quiet. He strained to hear what was going on.
Soft footsteps shuffled near.
He shot off the stairs and turned towards the TV. He couldn’t be discovered hanging around near the stairs with a half-chub like a perv. And the sleep-pants did nothing to hide it. His gaze darted to the VHS tape storage cabinet by the TV.
That would work.
He careened around the scuffed coffee table. The loops of the cable-box controller tangled around his foot. Like Gandalf in the Balrog’s whip, he’d been caught.
He hissed, “Shit, shit, shit,” as he hopped to the cabinet, shaking his foot free.
The basement door opened. He grabbed the cabinet for balance. A drawer of tapes wobbled open. He shoved it closed. Tapes clattered. Whoever opened the drawer next was going to have to repack it. Whoops. But it was cool. Everything was cool. He checked his crotch. His half-chub had subsided.
“Eddie?” you said as you descended the stairs.
He faced you, propping an elbow on top of the cabinet.
You’d changed into those black jeans he liked. They hugged your thighs and ass. He willed his dick to stay soft.
“Hey, hi, what’s up?”
You gave him a curious look as you stepped down into the basement.
“You okay?”
He waved a hand in a general sort of way.
“Other than, you know, everything, yeah, I’m okay.”
You nodded, though he could tell you knew something was off.
He said, “I was going to pick out a movie.” He glanced at the stairs. “Is everything okay up there?”
You approached him like he was a cornered dog.
“Yeah, everything’s fine, but don’t freak out—”
“Freak out about what?” he asked, warning sirens blaring through his mind.
“The police are here, and they want to take your statement.”
He straightened.
“Statement about what?”
“The night Chrissy died.” You held up your hands before he could protest. “I just gave them my statement about my interactions with Jason Carver. Who is dead.” With eyes wide, you gave him a leading look and head tilt. “I know you’ve had interactions with Jason, too.”
He nodded along as the implication clicked into place.
“Yeah, I’ve had interactions with Carver.”
“You want to give a statement to the police about that night with Jason and Chrissy?”
No, he did not, yet if he didn’t, he’d never be free. Vecna would continue to ruin his life. While Eddie still wasn’t sure about the existence of an afterlife, he wouldn’t give that asshat the satisfaction.
He girded his metaphorical loins — why did everything circle back to his crotch? — and headed upstairs. You walked behind him, not crowding him, but close enough to be supportive. He wanted to look at you, really look at you, and confess his love again. Just in case this all fell apart. There wasn’t time — and he was certain if he did, he’d wuss-out. Compound that with the fact he couldn’t hold your gaze for more than a second, he’d definitely wuss-out.
Taking two steps into the living room, he froze. He must be hallucinating. Chief Hopper, the very one who’d been there at Dad’s arrest, who supposedly died in the Starcourt fire, stood by the dining table. Though there was considerably less of him around the middle, his hair was buzzed short, and he looked like he’d lost a fight with the Wolfman, there was no question it was him.
Chief Powell sat at the table, facing the room. Metal crutches had been propped against the table next to him. Eddie recognized the deputy who stood at Powell’s left. He couldn’t recall a name, but he’d seen the deputy around town.
Steve leaned a shoulder on the tall curio cabinet behind the table. It was a King Steve pose he’d observed many a time at school. The sling and bandages were absent, courtesy of you.
You stepped beside Eddie and took his numb hand. On instinct, he curled his fingers around yours.
Hopper stepped forward, expression calm and hands placating.
“You’re not in trouble, kid.”
If it had come from anyone else, he’d consider it a lie. For a cop, Hopper had been a decent one. He’d ignored Eddie’s underage drinking at the Hideaway. He’d issued warnings instead of speeding tickets.
You turned your head to whisper, “I won’t let them take you even if they try.”
He gave a minute nod before releasing your hand and marching to the table. If they tried to arrest him, he hoped he’d retained that undead speed. He pulled out the chair across from Powell to sit.
You went to stand by Steve, who gave you a warm look. If anything happened, Eddie knew Steve would protect you and vice versa.
Powell cleared his throat and pressed the Record button on the cassette recorder to start the interrogation.
“Chief Calvin Powell and former Chief Jim Hopper speaking with Edward Munson, Monday, March 31st, 1986.” To Eddie, he said, “Mr. Munson, you’re not under arrest. All we want is your account of what happened the night of March 21st.” When he nodded, Powell said as an aside, “Note Mr. Munson nodded in understanding.” He continued, “We have multiple statements from witnesses placing you at Hawkins High School during the basketball game that night. We also have several overlapping accounts attesting to Jason Carver threatening them at gunpoint at a later date.”
Eddie nodded again, wanting to say that didn’t surprise him. However, Dad’s warning to never talk to cops kept him silent.
“These folks stated Jason Carver said he’d sacrifice them for this town. They claim he’d wanted to break their bones. Does that sound like something he could do?”
Eddie glanced at you and Steve. If he followed Dad’s warning, he’d never get out of this. Of course, he didn’t have to give them everything at once. That would be out of character. He had to think like a DM and give them just enough to lead them where the party wanted them to go.
“Yeah, along with pinning all those murders on me,” he said.
Planting his elbows on a nearby chair back, Hopper said, “Sounds like he had the whole town fooled.”
He bobbed his head in agreement.
“I heard he hijacked a town hall meeting.”
Powell shifted in his seat.
“Mr. Munson, did Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham enter your home the night of March 21st?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recall the time?”
“No, not exactly.” He glanced up in thought. “I guess after ten?”
“What were they doing there?”
“Said they wanted drugs.”
“Did you sell them drugs?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have drugs.”
Which he didn’t. Now.
“But they thought you had drugs to sell?”
He met Powell’s gaze and said, “I can’t presume to know what they thought.”
Powell sighed, frustration clear.
“Alright. Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham enter your house sometime after ten, looking to purchase drugs. Then what?”
“I left them in the living room.”
Just like he’d left Chrissy for Vecna to kill. Bait on a hook.
“To do what?”
“Get my cigarettes.”
He could do with one right about now.
“Why would you get your cigarettes?”
“Why does anyone get cigarettes?” He shrugged with a huff. “I wanted a smoke, and I forgot them in my room.”
“Then what happened?”
He rolled his shoulders as if uncomfortable.
“They began arguing.”
“About?”
“I don’t know. I was still in my room.”
“But you know they were arguing?”
“Yeah, Jason raised his voice at Chrissy.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I grabbed my cigarettes and came back to the living room.”
“Did you step in?” Powell angled his head. “Try to intervene?”
“No, it was too late—”
“Too late?”
“Look, he was yelling at her. She said something. Might’ve been his name, I don’t know. Then it got quiet, and then I heard a real loud thump. When I came out, Chrissy was on the floor.”
Instead of floating midair.
“Alive?”
“I don’t know, but she wasn’t moving.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I wanted to go to her, but Jason was…” He shook his head, remembering how intense Carver could get. “Jason was out of his mind.”
“What do you mean, out of his mind?”
“He was, like, in a rage. Scared the shit outta me.”
“How so?”
“He screamed and pounded on his chest.” He mimicked what he saw in his mind, knocking his fist against his breastbone. “His eyes were wild, like something else was behind them.”
“Something else?”
He blew out a breath. This was make-or-break in the story.
“I’m not religious or anything, but he looked… He looked fucking possessed.” He rubbed his forehead. “I know how this sounds, okay? I know this sounds crazy.”
It was quiet for a moment before Powell asked, “Did Jason Carver have the same reaction the night of March 25th at Lover’s Lake?”
“I don’t know. He and—uh…” He snapped his fingers as though trying to recall. “A teammate?”
“Patrick McKinney.”
“McKinney, yeah. They were in the water, coming after me.”
“Where were you?”
“In a fishing boat, trying to get away from them, but I lost my balance and fell in the water.”
“Did you see what happened to Patrick?”
“No, I was swimming away from them.”
Powell nodded in acceptance.
“Okay, back to March 21st: Jason and Chrissy. Jason was screaming, and Chrissy was on the floor.”
“Yeah, I wanted to go to her.” He looked at the table, muttering, “I wanted to save her. Get her away from him.”
He’d tried to do it. He’d shaken her shoulders and yelled for her to wake up, snap out of it, anything, but Vecna’s hold was too powerful. Whatever she’d needed to break the curse, he hadn’t had it.
“What did Jason do?” asked Powell.
“He came after me. He chased me out of the living room.”
“Where did you go?”
“I ran out of the trailer.”
“Did you go to a neighbor?”
“No, I got in my van and left the trailer park.”
“Why didn’t you report this to the police?”
He threw a glance at Hopper. He suspected Hopper would’ve taken him seriously, but that hadn’t been a possibility. Everyone thought Hopper was dead. Including himself.
“Like any of you would’ve believed me — the son of a convicted car thief, trailer trash, a super senior, a freak — over Hawkins’ golden boy, the captain of the basketball team.”
Powell and the deputy looked equal parts uncomfortable and insulted.
Good.
“So, yeah,” he said. “I ran and hid, and Jason kept chasing me.”
While you morons stood around with your heads up your asses.
“Why do you think he did that?” Powell asked.
“Probably because I saw him hurt Chrissy. I was the only witness. Get rid of me, one way or another, and no one would ever know what he’d done.”
Powell shared a look with the deputy, whose face was unreadable. Powell saw something there, though, and turned to him.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Munson. We’d appreciate it if you stayed in town until we conclude our investigation.”
“Yeah, sure, of course.”
He didn’t know where he’d go or how he’d get there. He’d hidden his van in the woods off Coal Mill Road. He needed to retrieve it, but not until it was safe to leave this house. Also, he didn’t know where Wayne was, or if he’d survived. The thought made his insides shrivel and tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.
Hopper clapped him on the back, knocking him into the present. The cassette recorder was gone.
“Glad you’re still with us, kid.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Powell arranged his crutches to stand. The deputy assisted, while Steve straightened to show them to the front door. Powell shuffled around the table, his right leg supported at an angle.
Eddie felt your concerned focus directed at him, but he couldn’t indulge himself. Instead, he watched Steve lead the police to the door. Something compelled him out of his chair and moving towards them.
“Hey, Hop,” he said.
Hopper faced him, heavy brow lifted in interest.
“Wayne— Have you seen— I mean, do you know if my uncle’s alive?”
Hopper contemplated the question for a second.
“No, but I think I know who might.” He jutted his chin in a reassuring way. “I’ll give ‘em a call.”
“Thanks.”
Hopper nodded before jogging to catch up with Powell and the deputy outside. He said something to Steve in passing that made Steve grin.
Once Steve shut the door, Eddie dragged his ass to the table and flopped into his chair.
“Jesus, fuck…”
You asked, “Want a beer?”
He rubbed at his eyes, saying, “That’s a good start.”
-
“Holy shit,” Robin said from her seat at the kitchen island.
You kept smearing melting butter on your toast. Steve grunted in front of the gurgling coffee maker. Eddie, who sat across from her, remained quiet.
You’d learned Robin said ‘holy shit’ about a lot of things.
“Guys,” she said with a flap of the morning newspaper. “Guys, look at this.”
Steve abandoned his vigil to see what Robin was holy-shit-ing about. You took a bite of toast and turned. His eyes widened when he read what Robin had pointed out.
“Holy shit.”
Eddie, chin in hand, hummed as he stared at the window over the sink. However, your curiosity had been piqued. You stopped beside Eddie, anticipating Steve sliding the newspaper in front of you. When he did, you swallowed and stared at the headline:
DEVELOPMENT IN LOCAL TEEN MURDERS
You scanned the article. It mentioned the nationwide Satanic panic and how citizens had been led to believe a local cult was sacrificing children to the Devil. The writer praised cooler heads, namely Chief Powell and his deputies, who continued to investigate despite the earthquake and subsequent volcanic fissure eruption.
Ah, you thought, that was how they were covering up the destruction near the closed nexus.
Chief Powell was quoted:
“There is irrefutable evidence Edward Munson is the victim of false accusations. This office has cooperated with federal investigators and spoken with numerous local, credible witnesses to determine such a conclusion.”
Despite police not identifying a person of interest, the writer insinuated the actual murderer might be amongst those who had advocated for hunting down Eddie. They speculated the public accusations against Eddie had been a diversion. While the police investigation remained ongoing, an insider let slip police were closing in on a suspect.
The writer went on to report neither local nor federal investigations uncovered any cult, Satanic or otherwise, in the area. Of course, citizens were welcome to report any cult activity to the sheriff’s office. The article ended with the newspaper promising to keep readers informed.
Holy shit.
“Eddie,” you said, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Read this.”
He blinked a few times before pulling his attention away from the window. With a concerned look, he glanced around the island.
“What?”
You pushed the newspaper in front of him and tapped a finger on the headline. He perused the accompanying article, eyes widening as he read.
To Steve, you said, “Better call Nancy.”
He nodded and dialed Nancy’s number on the kitchen phone. After a playful exchange with Mrs. Wheeler, during which Robin rolled her eyes, Steve’s manner turned serious. From listening to half of the conversation, you deduced Nancy had seen the article. He mentioned Dr. Owens, along with Jason Carver. Nancy said more about Jason, but you couldn’t make out her words.
Steve nodded as she spoke, though. When he hung up, you gave him an expectant look.
“The Feds found Jason Carver’s body. Or what’s left of it. His gun’s missing, but there were bullet casings nearby. Nance told Owens about Carver at The WarZone buying a gun, so that’s a lead for them.”
“It corroborates my story about him, too,” you said.
“And the Sinclairs’,” Robin said, leaning an elbow on the island.
After she’d returned to Steve’s last night, she told you, Eddie, and Steve about the police collecting statements from Lucas and Erica. Their statements had led to yours, then Eddie’s. Maybe others’. Who knows how many people Jason had terrorized after Chrissy’s murder.
You nodded as you pondered how many doors he’d knocked on before coming to yours. It was fortunate he’d found you before Mom. If he’d confronted her instead of you, she’d know all about you and Eddie. It’s funny how you’d been debating on introducing him that day. Eddie still had no idea.
Eddie slid from his stool, mumbling something about a shower. You watched him leave the kitchen. While you’d give him privacy, you first needed to tell him. It was an urge, like a hand pushing at the middle of your back.
He was halfway up the stairs when you reached him.
“Eddie, hang on.”
He stopped without turning to face you, hand on the railing.
“What?”
“The Saturday after Chrissy was killed…”
“Yeah?”
“Jason came looking for you.” When he said nothing, you continued, “I was out front planting—”
“Why’re you telling me this?”
“It’s called backstory.”
He turned his head enough for you to see his jaw around his hair, yet he remained quiet.
“He called me your girlfriend.”
“And I bet a whole bunch of other things.”
You sighed, though you remembered Jason’s accusations.
“That doesn’t matter. What matters was my plan for that day.”
“Plan?”
“I wanted to introduce you as my boyfriend to my mom when you picked me up. I was going to run it by you first, of course, but I wanted to.”
Voice dripping with sarcasm, he said, “Well, the pressure’s off now, isn’t it? They’re out of town for the foreseeable future, right?”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Your mouth fell open as he stomped from view.
What an asshole thing to say. You’d been trying your best this entire goddamn time.
“I hope your shower sucks,” you snapped, climbing the rest of the stairs.
His bedroom door closed with a definitive click.
You went to your room and shut the door. If he wanted to be a little brat about it, let him. All you’d wanted to do was tell him the truth. You understood he’d had the worst week and a half in the history of the world. You’d cut him some slack, but you were no doormat.
Maybe it was too little too late, though, and maybe he didn’t need to know. You sat on the bed and wiped at your stinging eyes. Why did you have to bring this up now? Of all times? It was just… It was just that you wanted him to know you’d… Been serious about him? Remained serious about him? That you’d never been embarrassed to be with him?
But shit, he’d been the one who wanted to pause the relationship. If he hadn’t, you would’ve introduced him much sooner. Sure, your father wouldn’t have been supportive, but no one you’d ever associated with ever met with his approval. He hadn’t liked your friends in New York. You weren’t sure you liked your friends in New York anymore, either.
Mom would’ve been more open-minded, though.
Dammit, you needed to call them.
It would still be foolish to call from Steve’s house. You could call from the hospital’s payphone again. You thought you remembered one in front of Bradley’s. With all the extra people Steve had been hosting and feeding, you assumed he needed groceries. A visit to Bradley’s would take care of both issues.
You changed into street clothes and slung your purse over your shoulder before heading downstairs. Steve and Robin sat at the kitchen island, chatting between spoonfuls of cereal. It reminded you of hearing their voices in the middle of the night. It made you miss Eddie even though he was only upstairs.
Greeting them with a soft “hey,” you volunteered to do a grocery run. Steve fumbled his spoon when you asked for a shopping list. Milk sloshed onto the counter. He wiped at the spill with the hem of his t-shirt.
Robin watched him with exasperation before fetching a paper towel.
“That shirt’s going to smell so bad tomorrow.”
He snatched the paper towel from her hand, saying, “You’re going to smell so bad tomorrow.”
“Real mature, dingus.”
He aimed a goofy sneer at her.
After cleaning the spill, he finished the shopping list and retrieved some cash. Robin offered money, but you and Steve refused to accept it. With their hours at Family Video reduced, and Robin’s parents making her pay for her band equipment, it didn’t feel right. You and Steve weren’t hurting for money, in any case.
“Remember, we’ll be gone by the time you get back,” he said, handing you the list and money.
You nodded and pocketed both. They were volunteering at the school, which was kind of them. It was also convenient for you since you’d probably argue with Eddie when you returned. He’d acted like a brat and deserved a spanking like one.
“Maybe I’ll join you two tomorrow?”
“That would be awesome,” said Robin, perking up and scooping soggy Cheerios from her bowl. “You can make meals with me and Vickie.”
“Cool.” You gave her a teasing look. “I want to meet Vickie and hear all about you two in Band.”
Robin blushed, hands fluttering. An arc of milk and cereal splashed across the counter.
Steve laughed, “God, Robin!”
“Shit, sorry!”
With a chuckle, you wished them a good day and left the kitchen. You didn’t want to be the next thing they flung milk on. As you crossed the living room, you noted Eddie’s closed door. That was fine by you. He should stay in there and chill the hell out.
On the drive to Bradley’s, you mulled over what to tell your parents. You couldn’t say you wanted to stay because of your boyfriend, who they didn’t know existed, or that said boyfriend was the accused cult leader everyone in town had been hunting. You couldn’t say you hated Hawkins, but the thought of leaving right now made you want to cry. And you certainly couldn’t say you were bunking with the flirty clerk from Family Video.
Bradley’s half-full parking lot was a strange sight for a Tuesday. With the ads in the windows exclaiming Two For Tuesday, you expected a swarm of shoppers. Then again, half of Hawkins had fled less than a week ago.
You bought two cans of generic soda from the machine out front with a couple of dollars. That supplied plenty of coins to make a long-distance call. You carried the sodas to the car. They’d be nice with lunch. Which was a meal. And Robin had invited you to volunteer making meals with her and Vickie.
Volunteering was a decent excuse to stay.
You deposited the sodas in the car’s drink holders and rushed to the payphone. After paying and dialing the Cincinnati number, the line rang twice before Mom answered. She sounded relieved to hear from you and asked after your car. It took you a second to recall the lie you’d left on their answering machine. You replied the radiator leak hadn’t been bad and had been repaired.
“Then when should we expect you?”
You sighed.
“I don’t want to come down to Cincinnati.”
Incredulous, she asked, “You want to stay in Hawkins?”
Your father’s voice rumbled in the background.
“Yes, actually,” you said. “I’m volunteering at the school. With friends.”
“The same friends you’re staying with?”
You nodded with a “yes.”
In reply, you got the swish of Mom putting her palm over the receiver. Your father’s voice sharpened, though you couldn’t make out his words. Mom responded, yet it didn’t sound like that pacified him.
You closed your eyes, waiting for him to grab the phone from her. Shaking your head, you realized preparing to be berated was something a previous version of yourself would’ve done.
“Mom.” When she didn’t answer, you said, “Mom.”
“Y-yes, honey? What is it?”
“I gotta go — I’m in the middle of a grocery run — but don’t worry about me. Everything’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll call you again, alright?”
“Honey… Where—? Your father—”
“No. I don’t care what he wants to yell about. I’m fine here. I’m safe, I promise. Just…” You took a stuttering breath. “I love you.”
She sighed.
“We love you, too.”
Your hand trembled as you placed the phone handset on the hook. A nickel dropped into the return slot. You never make anyone’s life easier, Vecna had said, using Eddie’s voice. You left it. The next person might need it. Besides, it was only a nickel. You turned to rest your back on the sun-warmed brick.
You’d done the right thing by staying. You were doing the right thing. It was the difficult thing, but you’d faced tougher. You weren’t some spoiled little rich girl who ran away from the aftermath. Even if it hurt — and it probably would. Even if Eddie left you — and it appeared as though he might.
You couldn’t worry about that right now. There were practical things to do. You felt like Scarlett O’Hara as you told yourself you’d think about the aftermath later.
Inside Bradley’s, shoppers and clerks spoke in hushed tones. Beeps from the checkouts didn’t carry beyond the cart corral. The quiet helped you concentrate on Steve’s shopping list. Item by item, you filled your cart, having to substitute skim milk for 2%, whole-wheat bread for white, and a carton of eighteen eggs instead of a dozen.
Steve had written ‘12 eggs,’ like you could buy them individually.
You huffed a laugh when turning into the ransacked paper aisle. The shelves for the industrial-sized packs of toilet paper were empty. That left you stepping onto the lowest shelf and struggling for the last two packs of the expensive floral-printed stuff at the back.
At the checkout, the clerk issued a rehearsed apology for the shortages. With the volcanic fissures now closed and road crews fixing the damage, they assured you shipments would start coming again soon. They helped bag your order since there weren’t enough baggers. They apologized for that, too.
You waved away their apologies and thanked them for their assistance. Because you weren’t an entitled person who didn’t appreciate a favor when it was offered.
Once the car’s trunk was loaded, you headed back to Steve’s. You didn’t know what you were going to say to Eddie about this morning, or how to broach the subject. He’d been dealing with so much stress. You understood that. You didn’t want to be another stressor. He needed to talk to you — or someone. He couldn’t just bottle up his emotions and get snippy when someone wasn’t mindful of his unspoken wishes.
As you made the left onto Cornwallis, an older truck paused at the stop sign on your right and followed you. You hoped they wouldn’t get aggressive when you slowed to get your bearings. You still weren’t used to the neighborhood. Something about it kept screwing with your sense of direction. Maybe it was how all the houses were set back from the road and obscured with manicured shrubs.
You recognized evergreen bushes and the u-shaped driveway of Steve’s house. You put on your turn signal. The truck did the same. You frowned at the rearview mirror, but pulled into the driveway. If the driver was some irrational, as your father had put it, country bumpkin, you’d make them regret tailing you.
You parked beside the enclosed carport and stepped out of the car, leaving your keys in the ignition and purse on the passenger seat. The truck stopped a few yards away. Sunlight glinted off its windshield. The engine went silent.
You stayed inside the vee of your open car door and waited for the driver to reveal themself.
The truck’s door creaked open, window reflecting the greenery of the front yard. Dusty work-boots hit the driveway. Something about them struck you as familiar. You studied the truck as you racked your mind for why.
The truck door clapped shut.
You gasped, eyes going wide. It was Eddie’s uncle, Wayne. He had a black eye and a shallow scratch at the top of his forehead, but otherwise appeared unharmed. You pushed the car door closed and hurried to him.
“Mr. Munson, oh my God! I didn’t— I’m so glad you’re okay!”
With a wry note in his voice, he said, “It’s good to see you, too.”
You offered your hands, which he grasped in his rougher ones. Tears prickled at your eyes. You hadn’t realized how on edge you’d been about Wayne’s absence until he was there.
You squeezed his hands, saying, “Eddie’s going to be thrilled to see you.”
He squeezed back as his expression softened, yet hardly shifted.
“Is he here?”
“Yes, sir.” You nodded. “He’s okay. He’s been asking about you.”
Wayne hummed, sounding pleased. “After that girl was found… Well, I’m sure you know by now. And with the trailer park done split in two, I’ve been staying at the Motel 6.”
“Of course, that makes sense.”
“This Henderson boy said Eddie was in the hospital when I dropped by the school on Saturday, but then that eruption happened.” He gave you a knowing look. “Course, the hospital didn’t have a record of Eddie being there.” He harrumphed and gently released your hands. “Then this morning, Agent Stinson, the one that put me up at the Motel 6, paid me a visit and told me about my nephew recuperating here.”
You glanced at Eddie’s bedroom window.
“Please, come in,” you said, pivoting to show him inside. “I’ll take you to him.”
“I first have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, anything.”
“Will you help this old man get a few things from the truck?”
You grinned.
“Absolutely.”
He led you to the back of the truck. You gasped a second time in so many minutes. Three guitar cases lay in the truck bed. You put a hand on your tight chest.
“I didn’t want to leave ‘em with no one at home,” said Wayne.
He’d never given up on Eddie. Like you, he’d known Eddie was innocent. His days must’ve been horrible, full of waiting and dread. You couldn’t imagine the stares and comments he must’ve gotten at work.
“—fit the amps, but I know these mean more.”
You nodded, feeling like a bobblehead doll as you blinked back tears.
“Whoa, hey now, don’t cry.”
You tried to reply you were fine, but the words wouldn’t come.
Wayne put a strong arm around your shoulders, grounding you. His faded denim jacket smelled of tobacco.
The guitars were just objects and could be replaced, of course, but Wayne was right: they meant something. You’d bet Eddie had resigned himself to replacing them. Coming to terms with that must’ve hurt.
You shook your head at the good fortune, then gave Wayne a smile.
Now, Eddie wouldn’t have to go through that.
It took you a few tries, but you finally said, “He’s going to lose it when he sees you and these.”
“Eh, I reckon more for the guitars than me.”
You laughed as Wayne lowered the tailgate. He handed you the acoustic case and bossed around the two electrics. You closed the tailgate for him and led the way into the house. Television noise came from the open basement door.
In the living room, you and Wayne had a hushed conversation about leaving the guitars there. He wanted to surprise Eddie. You loved the idea and propped the acoustic against a sofa arm. Wayne added the electrics next to it before following you to the top of the stairs.
“Eddie?” you called.
“Yeah?”
“You have a visitor.”
“What? Who?”
You stepped to the side, giving Wayne access to the stairs. Eddie choked out something when Wayne was halfway down. You leaned on the doorframe, biting your grinning lip, waiting for their first exchange. However, it was quiet. You snuck a glance. Eddie’s arms were around Wayne, and Wayne’s around him. His fingers dug into Wayne’s jacket.
You closed the door to allow them privacy.
Taking a step towards the guitars, you remembered the groceries thawing in your car. That was unlocked. With the key in the ignition. And your purse in the passenger seat.
You dashed to the car and began unloading it. The kitchen counters filled with bags. Each trip obscured the counters until brown paper surrounded you.
By the time you finished stocking the refrigerator and pantry, Eddie and Wayne had emerged from the basement. Eddie’s excited voice came from the living room, making you smile. You padded to the doorway to watch the second reunion. Eddie knelt in front of the red guitar’s open case.
Wayne said to him the same thing he’d told you: he couldn’t abandon the guitars.
Wordlessly, Eddie nodded and stood. He hugged Wayne again, murmuring something into his shoulder. Wayne put a hand on the back of Eddie’s head and ruffled his hair as he replied. Eddie laughed with a sniffle.
You ducked your head and crossed your arms. If you saw him cry, you’d cry. Then Wayne would be stuck in a house of the emotionally compromised.
When Eddie and Wayne separated, you cleared your throat to make your presence known. Eddie beamed at you in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. Wayne was more restrained, but he appeared just as happy.
“Mr. Munson, would you like to stay for lunch?” you asked.
“I’d like that, but I can’t. The plant’s understaffed, and I’m workin’ a double.”
Eddie wilted, but you didn’t want him to give up hope. He needed something to look forward to.
You asked, “Maybe on a day off?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at Eddie. “My Friday’s free.”
“Come for lunch,” said Eddie.
“Yeah, stay as long as you want. Stay for dinner.” Raising your eyebrows at Eddie, you said, “We can invite the rest of the party. Make it a potluck.”
“I think we better run that by Steve first.”
“Like he’ll refuse.”
Eddie conceded the point with an agreeable shrug.
To Wayne, he said, “Steve’s got cable downstairs. There’s at least one sports channel.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a good enough reason to return.”
Eddie barked a laugh and knocked his elbow against Wayne’s. He then turned to Wayne and perched his chin on the back of his hands, blinking owlishly.
“You mean my spectacular personality isn’t reason enough?”
Wayne said drily, “Your personality is a spectacle, alright.”
Eddie laughed again. Wayne’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curved into a private grin.
After a moment, Wayne said, “Well, I best be off.”
“Thank you for coming by,” you said.
Eddie nodded.
“Thanks for everything.”
“Anytime.”
You heard the love in that one word. Eddie must’ve heard it as well, because his face softened. It was easy to forget his sharp smile and smart-ass remarks and big personality masked a tender heart.
As you thought it, you asked, “Do you have the phone number here?”
“No, ma’am.”
You hurried into the kitchen, found the pad of paper Steve used for the shopping list, and wrote the number. When you came out with a pad and pen, Wayne and Eddie stood in the foyer. You tore off the top sheet and asked for the motel’s number.
“Just in case plans change,” you said.
After trading numbers, you saw Wayne off. Eddie followed him down the front stairs while you remained in the doorway. Once in the truck, Wayne held up a hand in goodbye before reversing down the driveway.
As soon as Wayne’s truck was out of sight, Eddie brushed past you without meeting your eyes. You closed the door and trailed after him into the living room.
“You want to talk about this morning?”
“What’s there to talk about?” he asked, kneeling in front of the guitars and closing the red’s case.
“Well, geez, I don’t know.” You put your hands on your hips. “Maybe how you brushed me off?”
He laid the acoustic case flat and paused with his hands on top.
“I didn’t ‘brush you off.’ I didn’t want to talk about fucking Jason Carver, okay?”
“That wasn’t the point.”
“No, that is the point. He wouldn’t have targeted you if I’d left you alone from the start.”
You narrowed your eyes at his back. That was a crappy excuse. And still not the point.
“Why did you say it was good my parents had left town so I wouldn’t have to introduce you?”
“I don’t know, alright? Everything got screwed up.” His hands balled into fists. “I know part of it’s my fault.” He shook his head as his shoulders hunched. “I can’t undo it, so… It’s whatever.”
You huffed a breath through your nose.
“It’s whatever?” Letting your hands drop to your sides, you said, “Me being serious about you, about wanting my parents to know you, is not whatever.”
He muttered, “They wouldn’t have liked me, anyway.”
“Maybe not, but I’d make them respect my choice.” You tried to breathe with a too-tight chest. “Because I choose you. It sucks that doesn’t seem to mean a lot to you.”
You didn’t wait for a reply and headed into the kitchen. There were empty grocery bags to deal with. You folded and stacked them on the island while swallowing around the lump in your throat.
If Steve’s parents were anything like your own, there was a stash of empty grocery bags somewhere around here. You found a bag of bags in the pantry — something you’d missed a few times. Of course, you missed it. You’d missed plenty of things these past few days, evidently, but you wouldn’t cry over them. Not now. Not in Steve’s pantry. You added the new bags to the collection, then closed the pantry door.
You turned and startled at Eddie dawdling in the kitchen doorway.
“I choose you too, you know,” he said, fingers playing with nonexistent rings. “And it does mean a lot to me — that you’re serious about me. I’m serious about you, too.”
You nodded, voice constrained by the sudden stranglehold of too many emotions.
“I’m going to go upstairs now.”
You nodded again, though you didn’t like it.
He shifted from foot to foot before leaving the doorway. His faint footsteps disappeared from the first floor. All the while, you mentally screamed for him to come back. You didn’t need him to say more. He just needed to stay. Maybe to make lunch with you, though the idea of eating turned your stomach. However, you wanted to do something dumb, something mundane, with him, like make lunch and drink the cheap sodas you’d bought.
Instead, you trudged into the sunroom and flumped into one of the armless chairs.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson#stranger things#em tagd#waywardrose writes
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My Dancing Queen
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Swearing, Eddie being a weirdo, ittie bit of fluff
Words: 807
Request: The reader is captured by vecna, and eddie saves her by playing her favourite song on the guitar, dancing queen by abba, before the reader is possessed they had talked and she wanted him to play that song because it's her favourite and he said "no way I would play it" or something like that hahahah I don't know what's going through my head, I understand if you don't want to do it. (If it sounds ridiculous sorry I haven't slept since yesterday and it's going to be 11pm here in Ireland and I can't sleep so that's why I wrote this)
Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist
Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @sebby-staan, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @darling-i-read-it, @sebby-staan, @bubsonnobx ,@tubble-wubble @livlaughquinn, @bunnyweasley23
Seeing her, floating with cloudy eyes and a lifeless expression on her once lively and gorgeous face, instilled a fear in Eddie. A fear so great, he never really thought it was possible. Then again, he never really thought fighting another dimensional being in a reverse dimension beneath his home town would be possible either.
“Music, c’mon Eddie! What’s her favorite song??” Dustin begged frantically. He was just as horrified to see his friend in that state. “You have your guitar, what’s stopping you?!”
The group continued to pester him with shaky voices, all racing to save their friend. The more their voices rose over each others, the more pressure Eddie began to suffocate under. And then, he finally snapped. “ALRIGHT!” He sighed as a silence washed over them. “Give me a goddamn second!”
Eddie closed his eyes to think. He didn’t have to do much digging to relive the memory he secretly held close.
Y/N danced in her room, singing along loudly and shamelessly to Dancing Queen by ABBA. She didn’t even notice the long haired rebel sitting in her window sill. She sighed when the song ended and quickly restarted it, an encore of the same song but more enthusiastic dance moves. He watched her hips sway to the beat, her eyes closed as she felt the music in her soul, her whole body moving the rhythm, perfectly on beat, almost like she was one with the music.
He smirked, admiring her and her cluelessness as she got lost in the sound of ABBA. “You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen!” She even sang the little extra vocals, the music drowning out under her own voice.
It was only when Eddie fell forward while trying to readjust himself into a more comfortable position did she snap from her trance.
“Jesus H Christ Eds! What the fuck?!”
“What, am I not allowed to see my beautiful girlfriend?”
Whilst she did smile at the comment, she playfully rolled her eyes and helped him up. “No, you’re just not allowed to sneak onto my window and watch me like a creep.”
Eddie chuckled, “Oh but, if I’m not mistaken, you’re the dancing queen, right? A peasant like me can’t help but admire such a royal beauty.”
“You’re a royal pain in my ass, Munson.”
He brought his hand to his chest, feigning hurt at her quip. Suddenly, he grabbed her hips and pulled her into a passionate, yet short, kiss. “So, m’lady dancing queen, what are you up to this fine evening?”
“Well I was just listening to only the greatest song of all time before you decided to be a peeping Tom.”
Eddie cringed slightly, earning a scoff from Y/N. “You’re sadly mistaken if you think ABBA wrote the greatest song of all time.”
“You’re just without taste, my love.” She shrugged. “You should play it for me sometime, ya know? Make me swoon while you be all romantic and seduce me with your guitar.”
“No way in hell am I gonna play fuckin’ ABBA.”
“But Eds!” She frowned, “It’s my favorite song...”
“Mhm, and you’re my favorite girl, but you don’t see me playing you.” His words came out a much more odd sounding than they did in his head, but nonetheless, it appeared he got his point across when she sighed in defeat.
Coming back to reality, he realized he had to do the one thing she begged him to do that he refused. Oddly enough, he wasn’t even phased by it. No cringe, no hesitation, just pure determination to get his girl back.
Going through the notes mentally, he prepared himself to play the song. Looking up at her, he swallowed. “This is for you, Y/N. Come back to me, my dancing queen.”
The familiar tune echoed in...wherever the hell she was. All she knew was that it was just as Max had described to her. Vecna’s possession. She was close to tears, fighting with her life literally on the line. Before the music started playing, she was beginning to lose hope, lose strength, and lose distance between her and Vecna. But then the melody began, and like an syringe full of adrenaline, she was filled with the energy and all she needed to escape his grasp.
A portal looking opening appeared when she turned to her left. Seeing the man she loved playing the song he swore he’d never play brought on more of her fighting spirit. She didn’t even look back, knowing that it could be her greatest mistake. Instead, she ran like hell, toward her hell-raiser.
Once she’d made it out safely, she scrambled into Eddie’s arms, crying into his chest as he kissed the top of her head and rubbed lines up and down her back. “It’s okay dancing queen. You’re here now. You’re here with me.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x reader#joe quinn#joe quinn x reader#x reader#stranger things#stranger things x reader#stranger things fanfic#fanfic#reader insert#imagine#drabble#oneshot#fanfiction#st4#eddie munson st4
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Uncanny X-men #196- What Was That?!!
CW: racial slurs
Last Issue Recap: The Power Pack made a cameo and Wolverine did not disembowel a child. Callisto in the Morlocks did show up and they are as skrungly and terrible as ever. And then there was Secret Wars 2 which I have mentally blocked out of my brain because it's too pointless and annoying to take up important Nightcrawler Obsessing Space.
Anyway, HOLY HELL, how did this cover make it to print?! Its literally a woman in a gimp suit! Have I talked about Rachel's Mutant Hunter gimpsuit before? I feel like I have, but I would once again like to say, what the actual fuck.
It's Chris Claremont so I expect to be using this a lot in the near future. Also, in this cover there are spikes around her crotch that form a thong/triangle shape (super umcomfy 😬) which (spoilers) are not there when she wears the suit in-issue. Which just makes this worse.
Gimpsuit aside I don't like this cover. The composition is meh, and its the same sort of misdirection we saw in the last issue. Is Rachel going to beat the shit out of the X-men and get stabbed by Wolverine? Of course she's not. The splash panel on the first page is pretty striking though.
The title is uncreative, but I do adore when writers try to work their issue title into the first page's dialogue or onomatopoeia or something (Thor #366 is my absolute favorite example of this). This is a fantastic first page, not only does it immediately set up tension, mystery and stakes while quickly delivering exposition, but it cleverly uses the in-universe curtain behind Professor X as a tool for adding motion and energy, whilst directing the reader's eye around the page.
I half forgot that Professor X is actually a professor and that he didn't just make that title up to sound cool. Hell, since he has a PhD it should actually be Dr X but that sounds a little too much like a porn knockoff of Dr Strange for my and Marvel's liking. Jesus Christ I bet he's the sort of proff who never ever grades essays in time because he's too busy fucking off fighting Godlike entities in space. I'd give him a 2 on Rate My Professor so fast.
Several students in this packed classroom are smoking. Oh 1985, how the times have changed!
As his students leave, Professor X laments that he cannot simply read their minds and figure out who's thought this was. Not because this would be highly unethical, but because his mind and body has been weakened ever since he got the shit kicked out of him by anti-mutant muggers a few issues back.
Meanwhile, Storm is home in Africa on her self discovery tour, where she is- shot in the head and left for dead by the racist poachers she'd fought before?!
I know logically this is just a fakeout but I'll be damned if it isn't some good tension! Also; the racist poachers are a brother-sister pair named Andreas and Andrea. Their parents must have hated them even more than I do.
We immediately cut to Kitty talking about Ororo's letters at a team meeting just to hammer the stake further into my goddamn heart. The Gang has gathered in a deli to discuss Professor X's mystery, including Magneto (whose presence goes undiscussed, probably because it was explained in Secret Wars 2) and some blonde lady named Aleytys who I have no idea who she is. (Edit: I know who she is- Lee Forrester, Scott Summers ex-girlfriend who apparently hooked up with Magneto in New Mutants. What an absolute power move.) Something I haven't mentioned yet because it hasn't come up is that Chuck has been hiding his growing frailty and power loss from his friends and teammates for some reason I've forgotten but which is probably stupid. Also he can walk at this point in continuity but that's not important.
Rachel sees the Beyonder shows up for his editor mandated plot interruption for a few pages and I'm not going to discuss it because I Don't Care.
My thoughts exactly Kitty.
Speaking of the best boy, he is off at his parish, talking to the priest about his crisis of faith.
I cannot imagine what it must be like to go into confessional with a superhero he has heard some shit someone redraw this man in that one stock photo of the priest.
The monster Kurt is talking about his the Beyonder because goddamnit I guess I can't just ignore that motherfucker. TLDR, he was the ultra-powerful being who started the excuse plot for the original Secret Wars. In Secret Wars 2 he comes to Earth to learn the meaning of life or some bullshit and wanders around causing problems before turning himself into a baby (probably, idk I never finished it, Jim Shooter did that before so he'd probably do it again.) Kurt's faith has been completely destroyed by the Beyonder's sheer power which is like no being he's ever seen before- oh please.
This whole scene sort of pisses me off. First off, its more wanking off about the Beyonder and I really don't want to hear about this guy. Second, its another reason to leave Kurt out of this weeks plot and that pisses me off, give my boy more screentime! Third, this really doesn't feel justified by the Beyonder. Nightcrawler saw Dr Doom hand him his ass in Secret Wars, he knows he's not omnipotent. Nightcrawler having a breakdown is fine but there's way more interesting stuff for him to break down over.
Back on the main plot, a group of shadowy figures sneak into Professor X's office and plant a bomb under his desk! I see someone has been reading Hitchcock's quotes on suspense.
Rogue and Rachel are flying over Columbia U having a dramatic irony-laden conversation about how much less nasty this current timeline is than Rachel's home time whilst she mind-scans for the culprits. They don't find them, but they do find a mugging in progress and stop it.
I'll tell you what else is a crime, that hairdo! Yeesh.
It turns out the civilian they saved is a anti-mutant jackass who was grafitti-ing the words "Muties die!" when he got jumped, because Marvel civilians are assholes. Kitty and Wolvie take a quick break from crimefighting and have an conversation that's too cute for me not to share.
Kitty phases into a building because she sees a light on in a lab after hours. She finds some of her student acquaintances skulking about and, despite having doubts that any of them could be murderers, is immediately suspicious. I personally think the fact they ordered pizza with anchovies on it would be enough to peg them as supervillains on the spot, but Kitty is more of an optimist than me. The terrorists realize Kitty is a mutant and confront her about it.
Kitty Pryde just said the N-word. This isn't ok. I don't know how the editors at Marvel ever thought it was ok, and it speaks volumes that they did. "Mutie" isn't a real swear. "N-----" is. That word is hateful and terrible and affects real people and it is not ok at all to equate it to a made-up slur. The X-men are supposed to be an allegory for suffering that empowers minority groups. This just hurts them more. Hell no to all of this.
I took a hot minute to absorb what I just fucking read and then moved on with the issue. The terrorist kids get the jump on Kitty and chloroform her before she can phase out, with intent to kill her. Meanwhile, Magneto, Professor X and Rachel Summers are in the Prof's office, discussing the case and the Beyonder's continued presence because he's been stalking them like a weirdo. Rachel tries to psychically link the three so they can sense the Beyonder like she can, but using her psi-powers sets off the bomb, which is actually not a bomb but a "psi-scream," a device that amplifies and reflects psychic energy back to its source. This is a massive plot-hole; how did they know Xavier was psychic?! As far as I'm aware its not common knowledge Professor X is a mutant at all, let alone what his powers are! And these are just normal Columbia U college students with no connection to any supervillains or secret organizations whatsoever, there's no way they'd have access to this info!
The bomb overloads Rachel and she accidentally destroys the office, sending out a shockwave of energy that sends Professor X and Maggie flying. Rogue has to catch them both which I find sort of curious because its always so inconsistent whether Magneto can fly or not (my personal headcanon is that his costume has metal soles and he levitates them). Rachel senses Kitty's distress through their psychic link and freaks out so bad she manifests her BDSM Mutant Hunter costume. She flies over to the lab, explodes the anti-mutant students and rescues Kitty in a very hetero way.
Cannot imagine what goes on in Kitty Pryde's head. Must a beautiful and terrifying place to visit.
The guy in the pink jacket from before regains consciousness and tries to shoot Rachel, but its a bit like trying to stab a rhinoceros with a butter knife. She's about to kill him, when Magneto shows up to stop her from making the same mistakes he has.
I don't know bout you but if Magneto in a suit told me to do anything I'd drop whatever I was doing immediately. I love reformed Magneto, such a richer and more interesting character than racist whiny asshole villain Magneto. I sure hope Marvel lets him continue to grow as a person and don't constantly regress his character for the stake of a stupid status quo! Haha. I hate the Endless Wheel of Comic Book Samsara.
The conversation between Magneto and Rachel is honestly really beautiful. Two people who've never interacted before, but understand each other's pain better than anyone else can. Its a fantastic scene only slightly marred by the final panels being of the Beyonder observing the scene and giving some pointless, longwinded commentary. Its too long for me to screenshot and post here so I super recommend you check this out for yourself!
On the plus side, next issue is Dr Doom!
Final Thoughts: This issue had some really high highs and some really low lows. I'm honestly super shocked the panel of Kitty Pryde saying the N-word isn't more infamous than it is, because holy fuck that was awful.
#comic books#marvel comics#x men#professor x#storm#ororo munroe#kitty pryde#nightcrawler#kurt wagner#wolverine#rachel summers#magneto#rogue#way too long#way too many tags#i didn't proofread this
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Day 2: Santa Hat
Hawkins Indiana, 1985
No, no, no, no…
Why is this happening to him?
What has he ever done wrong?
Okay, universe, no need to answer that. He knows he doesn’t deserve her by a long shot, but God, he doesn’t deserve this.
This is torture.
The senior cheer squad is spreading “Christmas Cheer”—Jesus H Christ— bounding through the halls of Hawkins High, giving away little homemade ornaments with wintergreen and butterscotch candies for the school colors.
They’re all decked in their winter uniforms with matching green Santa hats.
Fucking Santa hats!
He groans softly as he opens his locker to exchange textbooks, averting his eyes or rather trying to avert his eyes. Someone just kill him now. Like she isn’t cute enough.
Sinking into his hardened shell, he keeps his back to them as they near with their chanted rhetoric “Happy Holidays! Go Tigers!” uplifting all the dreary spirits wandering to their next class with sugar and pep.
He thinks he’s in the clear once he’s heard all the chipper chirping move down along the halls, only to freeze over when he closes his locker.
Chrissy’s right there.
In her little hat.
Holy shit.
He stares down at her silently as she gives him a small, nervous smile, making his blood race to his ears, thankfully hidden beneath the dark waves of his hair. She reaches into her bag, holding out an ornament with the attached candies for him to take.
He should probably do something. Like breathe maybe. Goddamn it, she smells like vanilla and flowers.
“…thanks.” he murmurs dazedly, finally taking it.
“Merry Christmas.” she whispers quietly, ducking her head, and he swears he sees something akin to a blush dusting her cheeks.
“Yeah, you too.”
She skips along after her team, leaving him dumbstruck in the middle of the hallway.
With a sigh, he lands his forehead heavily against his locker. Jesus Fuck!
Later that night, when he gets home from Hellfire, he hangs the ornament on the shoddy little tree Wayne put up in the corner of the trailer.
“What’s that?” Wayne asks from where he’s watching tv on the couch.
“Christmas cheer.” Eddie responds with a smile, sucking on a butterscotch.
#hellcheer countdown#hellcheer advant calendar#hellcheer#eddie x chrissy#eddissy#munningham#chrissy x eddie#hellcheer fanfiction#hellcheer fanfic#my fanfiction#my writing#hellcheercountdown
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Watching The Crowded Room and going in completely blind..
Haven't seen a trailer, no idea what it's even about lol
Here are my thoughts as I move along..
After watching Ep 1, I think:
Danny and his brother where SAed as children, maybe by the stepdad.
Ariana is a sex worker?
His brother either died due to abuse or offed himself because of it.
Ep 2:
Ariana was sexually abused too, I think.
Danny might have Multiple personalities and seems to be unaware about it.
Some charracters might actually be part of his system?
Is the "ghost house" actually his mindspace?
Ep 3:
Yup, multiple personalities!
Yitzhak is definitely one of them!
Jonny probably too & if he is, so must Mike.
Ariana might be aswell, maybe she's his sexual protector & SA trauma holder.
Did he ever have a twin brother, or was he also part of the system?
I love Yitzhak, best protected ever!!
I think Rya, the psychiatrist might suspect him having DiD, but isn't sure yet & the police has no idea.
But how did eye witnesses see Ariana?!
Ep 4:
I think Jack is also part of Danny's system.
Jack seems to be a protector aswell.
I can't tell if his brother was another alter or his actual brother?
All the drawings in his (burned) sketchbook might be of alters.
Oooooo shits 'bout to go down!!
Ep 5:
Gee, straight to the intro, no little scene before that? Is that a good sign or a bad one?
I really hope his mother didn't know what her children where going through.
I love Mario, he's cool!
I feel so sorry for his mom (Candy?) too, she just wanted the best for her baby.. :(
I think Adam was his first protector & trauma holder, not his actual brother.
Ep 6:
I hate how the police officer is talking about poor Danny. :(
I hate the psychiatrists son, he's a brat and a nuisance lol
Hell yeah Jonny, get right outa those cuffs!!
God, I love this woman.. she's an amazing doctor and I NEED her to succeed!!
Why do I kinda like his lawyer?! He's such an asshole lmao
Oh, Danny.. My poor baby.. He's so scared :(
Ep 7:
Yayy, Yitzhak is back!!
Jack, Jonny, Mike, Yitzhak and Ariana confirmed alters, yay!!
Goddam Jonny... At least try to keep it together man >:(
These "psychologists" are so insufferable.. and so is the judge..
I love Yitzhak so much.. please don't let him be gone gone AAaAaa <3
Oh god.. please help him, poor puppy boy :(
Ep 8:
GET OFF MY SVREEN YOU FUCKIN PEDOPHILE PIG PIECE OF SHIT!!
I hope Marlin rots in hell, fucking piece of shit.
I love the directive so much!!
Candy, how could you? How could she cover for that piece of shit?
Oh, I feel bad for Arianas boyfriend.. and for Ariana :(
Why should they try to "get rid of the alters"?? I know that this plays in a different time, but it's so frustrating that the alters aren't really seen as whole ass human beings by the professionals.. :(
Jerome is so sweet and kind, I cant- I want them to be friends forever AAaAaa
If that boy doesn't get the help he needs, I'm going to scream...
Ep 9:
I hate him. I hate Marlin so much.. why do I have to look at him right now?!
How can candy live with herself, protecting this pig????
I hope she fucking turns around and stands up for Danny in the end :(
Stan is such a good guy, I hope he's a great lawyer too.
I hate it.. D.I.D. is real for fucks sake.
The trial just started and I'm already crying..
I'm starting to hate candy, she's acting like a real bitch right now, ngl..
FUCK YEAH CANDY!! GO SAVE YOUR FUCKING SON!!!
Aaand she went home.. goddamn it..
Yay Jerome is back!!
Goddamn.. she's a really good psychologist.
I swear to God Candy, if you mess up again I'm going to scream.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Danny, baby.. no :(
How dare you end the episode like that?!
Ep 10:
Jesus Christ, please don't let my baby die.
God damnit Jack..
I hate his smug fucking grin.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him..
Oh, If Danny can come back, so could Yitzhak, right? I miss him. :(
"Adam is me" I'm fucking crying again wtf..
I'm on the edge of me seat, please don't jail this boy!!
OH THANK GOD!!!
I can't stop crying aaaaa
If Danny can forgive Candy, I guess I should too.. but I don't wanna >:(
He looks so cute, with all the paint on his shirt. <3
Don't try and make me feel sympathy for Candy.
Hell yeah, no forgiveness for Candy!!!!
I love the friendship of Danny and Rya, they have such great chemistry!
Last thoughts, after doing some research:
They handled this whole theme so respectfully and good!
Tom also did such an amazing job portraying his roles, it's amazing!!
Especially considering that this series and the movie "Split" where apparently based on the same case.. I fucking hated how DiD was portrayed in Split.. Like it's something to fear. Like it makes people violent. And as something fucking supernatural.. I fucking hated that.. But "The Crowded Room" is so honest and respectful.. It's beautiful!
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ahoy, maties. i return not with a prompt fill, but with a Steve POV companion piece to this post-S2/pre-S3 post-stancy breakup prompt fill because i'm sick in the head. read at your own risk.
3,400ish words (somehow) of nonsense under the cut.
~*~*~*
i'll be alright [it's just a thousand cuts]
He sees her sometimes.
It’s not like he’s, like, looking for her. He’s not, because no matter what Robin says, Steve’s not a maso…a macho…a mecha…okay, like, one of those weirdos who gets his rocks off by getting smacked around or whatever.
He’s not.
It’s just that it’s kinda hard to totally avoid her. According to her brother, Hawkins is, like, smaller than Thor’s thumbnail – and Christ, he really needs to stop hanging around those little dweebs if that’s the kind of shit he’s absorbing – so it’s hard not to see her. Anywhere. Everywhere.
But it’s usually only just out of the corner of his eye. A flutter of flowery skirt disappearing between the aisles at Melvald’s, or the bounce of perfectly set brown curls right as she’s crossing Main Street, walking with quick little steps that are so purposeful.
(Steve used to spend most of free period making a mess of those curls, tangling them between his fingers, testing how far he could go before she’d swat his hands away. They were soft as one of his mom’s silk scarves, but somehow still not as soft as her lips when they’d curve against his, her little body arching between his hips and the creaky leather of his backseat.)
He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that whenever their paths cross, she’s always just out of focus, blurred at the edges like a messed up Polaroid.
It’s no secret that Steve’s no great lover of the language arts (no matter how many long lectures Henderson’s given him – from the front seat of Steve’s car, that Steve drives him around in – about why that’s hurting him with the chicks).
But he thinks maybe if he did give a shit about similes, or metaphors, or any of that crap that he’d mostly slept through in second period English, that it’d be a pretty decent way to sum up their relationship. A couple pictures that might’ve been pretty if they hadn’t gotten all smudged up.
Oh, and her new boyfriend’s a photographer. How’s that for poetic?
Anyway, Steve would have to be an idiot – more of an idiot – to actually go looking for her. So he doesn’t. Because he remembers how much it had hurt, forcing himself through the last seven months of his own goddamn senior year, seeing her every day and feeling tender as a walking, talking bruise, long after the worst of the damage to his face had faded. It’d been almost fucking unbearable, catching her eye only to see exactly how far he’d fallen reflected in them.
Back then (a whole two months ago) he hadn’t even tried to play it cool, had figured it was still common enough knowledge that she could step on his neck, no questions asked, and he’d probably thank her for it. Ask her to do it again, if only to keep her undivided attention for just one more second.
But that was then. Now, he’s moving on.
Mostly.
Trying to.
It’d help if the universe would cooperate – if, at the same time he’d lost Nancy, he hadn’t also somehow lost every bit of mojo that made Steve Harrington that guy, especially when it came to the ladies.
Because it’s definitely gone, and he didn’t need Tracey Wiltshire – who’d rocked full headgear until, like, the end of sophomore year – to stammer out some lame blow-off to confirm it.
It’s painfully evident every time he looks in the mirror, because he doesn’t see Steve Harrington – basketball star, swim captain, somebody who’s somebody – anymore. He just sees some loser in a shitty Popeye costume (which itches, Jesus). A loser who got laughed out of goddamn Tech.
Whose dad barely throws him more than a dismayed glance over the morning paper – when he’s around to read the morning paper, that is.
Who constantly finds new and creative ways to get splotches of Rocky Mountain Fudge where Rocky Mountain Fudge should never be, and takes home maybe ten bucks in tips on a good night.
Of course Na - Tracey wouldn’t want to waste her time on a dipshit like that. Who would?
But he’s not gonna give up, because he knows the only sure way out of a slump is to shoot through it. Besides, it’s not, like, not fun, letting Robin bust his balls nonstop on the days that they’re teamed up. She’s pretty ingenious, like, he wouldn’t be surprised if she goes home after every shift and shuts herself away in her little dork hidey hole until she’s got at least ten new zingers locked and loaded.
(Most of the time it's fun. More fun when she’s not leveling him with big SAT prep words, because then he has no choice but to try to return fire without revealing that he still has no goddamn clue what a charlatan is, no matter how many times Nancy’d drilled him on it last summer. And – surprise surprise – that usually doesn’t end well for him.
But come to think of it, she has kinda backed off from that lately. So maybe it’s more fun for her the other way, too.)
Anyway, he keeps trying, and ultimately racks up more “You Suck” ticks per shift than Robin has room for on her whiteboard (she’s been talking about starting a ledger, and yeah, that’s exactly what he needs, his failures all neatly leather-bound and cataloged in permanent marker).
You know what, though? It’s fine. It can’t last forever, right? Steve’s a pretty positive guy. Eventually, some girl’s gonna want to buy what he’s selling, even if what he’s selling isn’t a whole bunch more than a final fling with the homecoming king. One last stop on the Hawkins Express before it’s all frat boys and keg stands at Boilermakers tailgates.
(He can only imagine what Robin would have to say about that.)
On one Saturday in late June, he thinks he might be on the verge of a breakthrough. Thinks he’s maybe a free scoop of mint chocolate chip away from talking Lisa Kurtz into the back row of the 7:15 showing of Cocoon – because he’s always kind of wanted to see if her boobs really are bigger than her hair, and he’s running out of time to find out.
Things are going well, so according to the current logic of Steve’s life, that means something’s gotta step in to ruin it. And boy, is that something a doozy – all five-foot-four of her, freshly permed and pretty in pink kitten heels.
It’s been two months since Steve Harrington fully laid eyes on Nancy Wheeler. Two months since he’s admired – before he can stop himself – the little dimple in her chin and the delicate curve of her neck and shoulders, today draped carefully in a demure sundress.
Once upon a time, Steve would have taken great pleasure in wrecking that dainty piece of cotton, fisting it in his hands and bunching it all the way up to her waist.
“Hi,” she says softly, biting her lip, and Christ, how Steve wishes she’d stayed in the blurry outer rim of his brain. Because he’s looking right at her, and it’s blinding, the way she just fucking glows for no good reason. It’s worse than that time in fifth grade, when he’d maybe (probably) burned his retinas after Tommy dared him to stare straight into the sun for five whole minutes (he’d made it about fifteen seconds).
“Hey,” he finds it in himself to reply, and he congratulates himself on the way he stays so chill, right up until Lisa’s cup of mint chocolate chip tumbles out of his nerveless fingers and splatters all over the floor and a little bit all over her shoes.
(She’s not happy. There goes the 7:15 showing of Cocoon, along with his only shot this week at a mark in the “You rule” column.)
Now his date’s gone, stormed out in a cloud of Windsong so thick he can taste it, and gone too are his chances of escaping this encounter with minimal humiliation. Perfect.
(Thank god Robin’s still on her break. At least someone up there is still doing him a solid or two.)
Nancy’s eyes flick once, twice between Steve and the door.
“Am I…interrupting?” she asks slowly, as if this isn’t a public dining establishment, as if she doesn’t have as much right to be here as any other prospective paying customer. There’s a glint in her eyes that he doesn’t even try to decode. He’s not dumb enough to think he can still read Nancy Wheeler.
(That he’d ever been able to read her.)
“Not a chance,” Steve lies quickly, flipping the ice cream scoop with suddenly numb fingers. “Always room for one more on this flotilla of flavor!”
He’s pretty sure that was the right way to use “flotilla”, the way he’d overheard Robin say it last week. Like, ninety percent sure. Well. Sixty.
Also, what is wrong with him?
But Nancy smiles that little smile she used to give him every time he said something painfully dumb that she found charming in spite of herself, so no permanent damage, he guesses.
Not that it matters anymore. Because it doesn’t.
“A flotilla, huh?” she plays along. “That’s…a lot of flavors.”
“Thirty-two, to be exact,” he replies on autopilot. “They, uh, wanted one more than Baskin Robbins.” Goddamn it. He swears he used to be able to talk to girls. This girl, in particular.
“Oh,” she blinks. “Interesting.”
Okay, so. The last time Steve and Nancy had spoken for real, they’d just broken up. Billy Hargrove had basically made scrambled eggs of Steve’s brains. And yet somehow, it had still been less of a disaster than the last minute of his life.
Steve has to salvage this somehow.
“It’s…really not,” he admits. “But you’re sweet to pretend.” Without thinking, he moves to drag his hand nervously through his hair and comes away with his cap instead. Oops.
Still, though, they both laugh, and that’s better. Good, even. Getting back on track. He’s not a total lost cause.
“So, uh, what brings you to Starcourt?” he follows up, and that’s safe enough. Neutral. Boring. “Feels like most of Hawkins has been through here, not that that’s saying much. Haven’t really seen you around, though.”
That’s less safe, but she doesn’t seem offended. In fact, she’s still smiling, and Christ, Steve remembers why he hasn’t gone looking for this. Why he’s pointedly avoiding asking if she’s here alone.
“Well,” she says with a sly little curl of her lips, “I’ve been pretty busy. But – someone told me I was missing out on thirty-two flavors of ice cream.” It's almost flirtatious, until she steps forward and winces. “Actually, I think one of them’s on the floor.”
The floor…? Crap. Lisa’s ice cream. It’s still splattered all over where he dropped it.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Steve starts, warmth creeping up his collar. “I can - I can get that cleaned up.”
Ignoring Nancy’s protestations, he scrambles for the mop bucket they have to constantly keep within reach. Of course, it’s nowhere to be found – which means it’s definitely in the back room, which means he definitely can’t get it without drawing Robin’s attention. He pauses, debating.
“No – look, Steve, most of it’s still in the cup, I can just – I can just throw it away.”
Steve is circling the counter to assess the damage just as Nancy is crossing his path to get to the garbage can, and they’re one perilous step away from unwittingly splitting a hefty splotch of Maritime Mint Choco Chip when his reflexes kick in.
On instinct, his hands wrap around Nancy’s bare shoulders to stop her just before they collide and – oh. Oh.
See, he hasn’t touched Nancy Wheeler in damn near nine months, and now his - his skin is on her skin. She’s soft, and warm, and his palms look so big against the slim curves of her arms. He can feel exactly where goosebumps are prickling against the pads of his fingers.
This angle also gives him a perfect, painful view of the swoop of her neck that he’s never quite been able to put out of his head. There’s a dull flush creeping up her collarbone, and for one unhinged moment he wonders what she’d do if he just buried his face there, pressing his lips heavy against that searing hollow until she’s gasping, like he’s done so many times before.
He catches her gaze. Her eyes are bright under the fluorescents, and he can’t help but picture them glassy with alcohol and resentment, punctuated by a sullen mouth and punch-stained blouse. Staring him down like he’s some kind of Upside Down pond scum. Bullshit.
He has no idea what she sees now, but it probably isn’t much of an improvement.
Steve swallows, and steps back.
“Sorry,” he says roughly, retreating back behind the safety of the counter, heart pounding. Nancy looks relatively composed as she neatly disposes of her trash, but he at least still knows her well enough to notice how her fingers curl tightly around her purse strap, the only sign that she’s a fraction as shaken as he suddenly is.
Ask her what she wants. Ask her what she wants and give it to her so they can start pretending this conversation never happened as quickly as possible.
“So, uh, busy? What’s – what’s up in the world of Wheeler?”
For fuck’s sake, it’s like his mouth is completely disconnected from what’s left of his brain.
“Oh, uh.” Nancy looks startled, like that’s not what she’d been expecting him to say. “Yeah. I got an internship at the Hawkins Post with Jonathan.”
So. No tiptoeing around it. Steve gives himself credit for not flinching like he wants to, for nodding his head like that simple statement hasn’t landed like a gunshot.
“Nice. Probably a way cooler gig than dishing out sorbet to all the Jazzercise moms,” he cracks, only half joking.
She doesn’t laugh, though. Her face drops and she kind of hunches in on herself, and he instantly feels like shit even though he doesn’t think he said anything to be sorry for, doesn’t know what could’ve made her react like that. Good one, Steve.
“You might be surprised,” is all she gives him in response. He doesn’t know what to make of that. And honestly, it’s not his job to make something of it anymore, so he lets it go, and they linger in awkward silence for a few seconds.
For once – this one time only – he wishes that snot-nosed Sinclair brat would barge in, flanked by her entourage of equally snotty, pint-sized little dweeb friends, loudly demanding free samples of every flavor. That would at least give him a way out of this.
“Hey Steve?” Nancy looks at him like she’s steeling herself, and he recognizes that look, used to dread it back when they were dating. Time, he finds, hasn’t really changed the way he feels about it.
“Nancy?” he parrots back, defensive for no particular reason.
“The reason I came here today – that is, I just wanted to see if…” She cringes, trails off uncharacteristically, and he waits her out, with mounting unease.
Patience isn’t his strong suit, but he’s found that for Nancy Wheeler, he’s usually willing to try to be the things he’s not. For all the good it does. Did.
She sighs, and tries again.
“I just wanted to ask – how, how are you –”
“Hey, honey, if you’re gonna get your ice cream, get a move on. I still need to stop at the dry cleaners.” A bottle blonde perm pops into the shop, and Steve nearly exhales with overwhelming…relief? Disappointment?
Saved by Karen Wheeler.
She pauses, and Steve sees her notice him in real-time, watches the surprise dawn in her eyes as she identifies who’s behind the counter. “Oh. Hi, Steve.”
“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler.” Karen’s always been nice enough to him, but he’s never been too sure how much she actually likes him. Like mother, like daughter, he guesses.
She gives Nancy an indecipherable look, and honestly, these Wheeler women have got to cool it with all the weird mind reading shit.
“I’ll be there in a sec,” Nancy replies to the question spoken out loud, a tad clipped, before turning back to Steve. “So,” she says, drawing out the “o” and tapping the case. She seems to have set aside whatever she was gonna ask. “I – I guess that’s my cue, then. Any recommendations?”
Steve’s already mid-scoop, and he’s absurdly pleased to watch her eyes go wide as he slides the cup of strawberry across the glass to her, with just a tiny flourish.
“Oh,” she stammers, “is that –”
“Strawberry,” he interrupts. “Your favorite. If – if that’s still right.” He doesn’t think that much has changed.
“It is,” she affirms, and there’s a dusting of pink across her cheeks that Steve refuses to believe is anything more than a reflection from the neon sign.
“On the house,” he says when she goes for her purse, and it’s softer than he means it to be, less cheerful – but thankfully steady. He can’t help but smile at her, and she returns it, a tiny, kind thing.
“Thanks,” she says after a moment. “I’ll…see you around?”
Not if I can help it, is what he thinks.
“Sure,” is what he says instead. “Anytime you need a scoop, I’ll be here.”
Nancy raises her spoon in a minute, unbearably cute farewell salute, and the swirl of her dress is the last thing he sees of her as she disappears into the food court.
(On her way out, she takes her $2 and drops it into the tip jar, and he pretends it doesn’t smart a little.)
“Well, well. Do my eyes deceive me, or are we looking at another tally for Team “You Suck”?”
Shit. Robin. Great. He hadn’t even heard her come out from the back.
Steve recognizes the dangerous note of glee in her voice, but for once he doesn’t have the energy to try to head it off at the pass.
“You know,” Robin continues, “Between this and the truly spectacular crash and burn I know you were hoping I wouldn’t see with Lisa, I think that makes today some kind of record-breaking –”
She must pick up something unusual in his face, though, because she cuts off abruptly. “Steve?”
“Huh?” He knows he’s gaping at the door like a dumbass, but it’s too hard to find the willpower to tear himself away while he’s also blocking out the trace after-scent of Nancy’s baby powder-soft perfume.
Robin doesn’t seem to know what to do when they’re not actively playing by whatever rules she’s silently set for the Shit on Steve Variety Hour. After a minute, he feels a nudge to the side of his foot, and he knows instinctively that it’s the toe of one of her battered Chucks.
He doesn’t look, but he’s pretty sure she’s staring at him like he’s the weirdo.
“You…okay, dingus?” She sounds genuinely concerned, and that’s what jolts him out of it. Because no way in hell is he gonna spill his guts about Nancy Wheeler to Robin-whatever-her-last-name-is in front the sample spoons and a few carved up tubs of hard serve.
Even if Robin’s not, like, totally tragic. Maybe she’s even kinda cute. If Steve squints. Hard.
“Dude, not the shoes,” he finally mumbles, though she’d barely touched him. Her silence is heavy and unimpressed, perfectly matching her face (as Steve discovers once he finally gives in and spares her a glance).
Reflexively, he hitches his shoulders up in a stiff shrug. Arranges his face into a smile that he hopes is more cool and carefree than psychotic.
“Course I am,” he says, and it comes easily. He returns her nudge with one of his own and ignores her scowl. “I’m always okay. I’m…I’m Captain Okay.”
Jesus. He’s glad that one never made it into the yearbook.
Robin seems willing to at least pretend to buy it, though, and as she threatens him with the dry erase marker (though he notices she doesn’t make a single tally), he feels the grin he’s pasted on edge into something more genuine. He almost believes it himself, in fact. He is okay.
Will be okay.
(He has to be.)
#stancy#stancy fic#steve harrington#nancy wheeler#my stuff#i had the worst time with this#but it was already 3/4 finished so i had to power through#and then i had to make you suffer with me#i will never try to enter steve's head again#next time i'm writing them TOGETHER#bc i'm tired of this grandpa
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I’m sick rn so I’m just considering Max skating home in the rain because Billy no longer has a car and is no longer alive to give her hostile, tensely quiet rides to and from school, his angry rock music blaring. She can’t ask her mom to pick her up, she’s at work. So it starts raining and by the time she’s home she’s drenched- which is whatever until later the next day she starts feeling hot and a little shaky, like her limbs might give out and her brain is cloudy. Her thermometer reads 101.2*F and probably, she thinks, that’s bad. Mostly, she thinks, this sucks. She rifles through their cabinets and there’s no medicine and she’s so achey and just wants to pass out. She collapses on the couch only to hear a *knock knock* on the trailer’s front door. She groans, too tired to move and half delirious at this point, and rolls over.
“Red?” A voice calls. Another knock. “Hey , Red? Reddd?”
Jesus H. Christ, go away. She just wants to sleep. Another groan.
The knocks are full banging now, and she feels the irritation spill out of her suddenly- because what the *fuck*- she is trying to *sleep*?! She all but shouts out a groan, half way between a zombie moan and a “go away, asshole.”
Eddie opens the door and sticks his stupid head inside. She closes her eyes and tries to will him away but after a second his hand is on her forehead and he’s crouched on the floor next to her while she wastes away on the old worn-in sofa she wishes would swallow her whole.
“What the goddamn, you’re burning up! Where’s-“ he doesn’t finish the question because they both know the answer. At work. At the bar. Called to say ‘at work’ but the background chatter and cursing on the phone said ‘at the bar.’ Eddie’s no stranger to elusive parents.
Max has never been drunk but she bets this is what it feels like. Her head is fuzzy and on fire, she doesn’t feel like she has control over her own body- one minute she’s solid lead on the sofa and the next her arms are floating away from her, pushing Eddie’s dumb annoying hand off her her, flopping over her her eyes to block out the light.
All she can do is croak.
But then Eddie is moving her arm off of her face and she tries to struggle for a second until she feels the cold of a washcloth on her forehead and the weight of a blanket across her body.
“Alright, Sick-o, looks like the lighter I came to bum offa you will have to wait. God you look a ghost.”
She pulls the blanket tighter around her and then creeps open one eye to see Eddie lean over her and use his hands to tuck the blanket snug around her. Eddie Munson is fucking *tucking her in.*
And if she were thinking clearly she would push him off and call him a weirdo, a creep, a long-haired freak and kick the blanket back out because she doesn’t need anyone treating her like a baby But right now, she just feels her eyes watering up. The blanket is so warm and snug around her, the washcloth cool and refreshing. It feels good. Comfy, even.
Is this what it feels like, she thinks? What she could have had if she hadn’t- if Billy hadn’t- or had- she can’t even finish the thought, a warm tear escapes and she screws her eyes shut. Maybe she should just succumb to the heat and the fever and let it all take her away.
But then the TV flicks on in the corner- Eddie fiddling with it to get a good signal before collapsing on the spare bit of sofa at Max’s feet. He pats her leg and points, explaining about the latest episode of whatever stupid TV show she doesn’t care about.
And Eddie is so casual. The same causal way he helped old lady Lister up her porch steps two days ago or how Max spotted him giving his leftover cereal milk to the stray cats that hang around the trailer park. He just talks. like it’s natural. He gets up when she groans and comes back with a glass of water, like it’s an every day thing, to babysit the dumb sick kid who lives across from you. What, just because they saved the world together or whatever that makes them friends? Close?
Family?
“You know I drive the van to school I don’t know why you wouldn’t have just asked- you looked like a drowned rat by the time you rolled in, by the way.”
She groans.
“Listen, just because I’m so busy with my very successful and cool societal club-“
His dumb nerd game.
“And a lucrative business-“
Dealing pot to the other nerds at school.
“- doesn’t mean I can’t give you a lift sometimes. Y’know, Sinclair would have my hide if he knew I was letting you skate home in the rain like a sad little orphan.”
Her breathing pauses. That’s what she is, isn’t she? A sad little orphan? Sure her mom’s there but she’s usually not *there* and Max knows she’s trying her best and only fell off the wagon a couple times- and God, Lucas would think she was so pathetic if he saw her now. So stupid. Who wants to get back together with the local pity-case? Who can’t do anything on her own without falling apart, not even a little head cold.
“He’s been asking, y’know. About you. As if he thinks I, in all my glory and busy, busy life, have time to play matchmaker to the local freshman.”
If Eddie sees her crying, he doesn’t say anything. He knocks her ankle with his heavy-ring clad knuckles and she pushes her feet into his leg, like a pitiful excuse at trying to push him off the couch.
She doesn’t want to push him off the couch.
It’s quiet for a minute, Max’s feet all but halfway in Eddie’s lap as he watches the TV, occasionally tapping his knuckles against Max’s blanket-covered leg to a rhythm she doesn’t know.
Max opens her mouth, dry and weak, to speak. She doesn’t, at first, she just lays there with her mouth open, feeling the presence of Eddie at her feet, here. She closes her mouth, tries to swallow, and opens it again. She wants to say that she can’t believe Lucas would want to be around her, that Eddie would give up his night just to watch her, that Will’s twenty-third offer to play dungeons and dragons was genuine. That Dustin’s invite to dinner at his house was something she could accept. That El would need her when she’s not breaking up with Mike. That anyone needs her. That she deserves any of it. She’s drifting away again, but before she does, she speaks, slow and croaky.
“Next time it rains. I’ll find you.”
She can’t see it, but even with her half- floated away brain she can hear the smile in Eddie’s voice.
“That’s all I ask, Maxie.”
She falls asleep.
#I have such a head cold I feel like garbage it’s 3 am here you go#sthings#stranger things#max mayfield#stranger things fic#Eddie Munson#he’s just a good brother with no siblings so he’s everyone’s good brother
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Whoops Game Grumps quotes
Crash: Inside, we're all a bunch of sadists.
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Bob: No matter how hard you work and how big a celebrity you become, you'll never be as famous as cheese.
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Lily: And then.. *pulls the cord on the Beyblade* ..you let it rip!
Lil Coding: I got it! *tries to catch it as it spins off the table* OWW!!!
Lily: Why would you try and catch the spinning metal blade from another country?!
LC: I thought it was like a dredel— Yeah, I really should disinfect this cut..
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Mia, to Tulip: Wouldn't it be funny if you... lose a family member? Maybe two?
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Mario: I'm the video game boy! I'm the one who wins!
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Laharl: You can't open up the story of my life and just go to page 738 and think you know me.
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Bob: I've got.. no money.
Lily: Why?
Bob, muffling his voice: Because I spent it all on gambling...
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SMG3: You've gotta draw the line somewhere, you've gotta draw a fucking line in the sand, dude! You gotta make a statement! You gotta look inside yourself and say, "What am I willing to put up with today?
SMG3: NOT FUCKIN' THIS!!
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Zack: Listen to your elders or whatever.
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Abyssal: I'm making lemonade out of a bad situation. You know what I'm saying, ohh gotta add the sugar. Gotta add the goddamn ice cubes!
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LC: Dremind me to get my bag then.
Cody: Dremind you?
LC: Yeah, dremind me.
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Tartarus, showing Olypmus around TOTK: I just like walking through the world, man.
Olympus: I love it too.
Tartarus: Look at all this stuff we're explorning! *seeing something move out of the corner of his eye* What was that?
Olypmus: Explorning?
Tatarus, leading him over to what sees to be a deactivated Captain Construct: See, I wouldn't-
Tartarus, as the Captain Construct snaps and locks onto them: OH GOD ITS ALIVE!!!
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Ash: You speak Fran-ques! (Français)
Tulip, as she laughs: What????
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Shantae: Okay, so. Tulip, can I share something with you from earlier today?
Tulip: What is it?
Shantae, pulling up a chat box: Well, I sent you a text early in the morning.
Tulip: Yeah?
Shantae: Because we needed to figure out some stuff for the upcoming meetups, what we're going to do, and all that. And so, I was so, I was like, "Do you have any preference whether we do it this meetup or the next meetup?"
Tulip: Mhm.
Shantae: Your response..
Tulip: *already laughing*
Shantae, trying not to laugh: At 9:30 in the morning; "Motherfucking Jesse Eisenberg Jesus Christ fuck dude motherfuckin Facebook movie bullshit Jesus can you fucking believe this shit"
Shantae: No punctuation. Random capitalization. So I respond, "I have no idea what we're talking about right now"
Shantae: 45 minutes pass, I get a text from you; "God damn created Facebook then fucking lawyers and shit right fucking Winklevoss twins god damn rowing the boat fuck yo shit I can't even fucking believe this shit have you seen this shit fuck I just watched this shit fuck Jesse Eisenberg man"
Shantae, as Tulip is on the floor, laughing: I respond, "Tulip, you're scaring me." An hour passes.
Shantae: You respond; "Motherfucking Spider-man Spider-man you put in the time fuck put in the time motherfucking built shit with this bare hands fucking best friend shit Jesse Eisenberg I'm very tired"
Tulip: *losing her shit laughing*
Shantae: So I'm just like, "No problem, Tutu. I'll let Ash know, and we'll do most of the talking for you today."
Shantae: Immediate response. I'm talkin' like 5 seconds later.
Shantae, barely containing her laughter: "No man I'll just talk about the Facebook movie all day shit man you have to be so interested in the shit I have to say about the Facebook movie fuck dude I just watched it a year and a half ago fuck Jesse Eisenberg man he fucked over Spider-man crazy Winklevoss twins rowing Trent Resin or did the soundtrack fuck this guy who invented Facebook I don't like dying I can't think of who the fuck invented Facebook All I can think is who played the guy who invented Facebook who the fuck invented Facebook"
Shantae: And then, in all capital letters, two hours later;
"MARK ZUCKERBURG."
#admin: crash#bob bobowski#oc: lily#code: lil coding#oc: mia#smg4 mario#laharl#smg3#smg4 zack#admin: abyssal#oc: cody#program: tartarus#program: olypmus#ash ketchum#avatar: tulip#shantae#incorrect quotes#i swear to god I made a post one time about how Ash and Tulip would bond over inventions and all that and like. it was mentioned how she ->#would get along with (I think) Celmont and Sophocles. and i wanted to do a quote about that but like i cannot find that post#(also for. other reasons too. glances at Tulip and Celmont possibly)#(possibly. i am currently on nightquil and fighting sleep so take whatever I say with a very very very very microscopic grain of salt)#But i SWEAR i made that post??? and i cannot find it???? im going insane or tumblr's search function is ass#probably both
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Oh Teddie. Buddy. I saw how you sucked face with Kanji, you can't fool me.
Rise, do you..... not..... have a gaydar? Rise, do you not know? What else don't you know, like, do you not know about Chie and Yukiko? Oh, girl. Are you our token straight? I think she might be.
Also, I don't thing i can find the caps, but Rise constantly negs Kanji in combat. She can't seem to have a chill interaction with him. It's funny but also a bit aggravating. Like, can you kids play nice?
What am I saying, of course not. These kids are incapable of it lmao.
This dumb fucker hurled himself in on purpose knowing we'd bail him out, I just know it. If smug was a motorcycle, he's a fucking Knievel.
Naoto's little corner of TV land is a secret laboratory out of some Man From UNCLE classic spy stuff.
It has, without a doubt, the worst exploration music in the game so far. Jesus christ.
ALSO TEDDIE IS... IN A CHEERLEADER UNIFORM. okay. sure. I got cool clothes for everyone. I like Kanji in the Tatsumi Textiles work clothes, and Reverie is dressed as an ouendan member! OSU! goddamn i love those games.
Cuties. Everyone is adorable.
ALSO CHIE CAN DROP BY MID-BATTLE TO SLAM HER SCOOTER INTO AN ENEMY AND KNOCK THEM OUT OF THE MATCH? Amazing.
oh my LORD.
Naoto's Shadow is kind of amazing. One, the VA performance is great, swinging between a very sad child constantly on the verge of tears to a VERY over the top theatric rendition of a mad scientist. The oversized floppy sleeves are a fabulous touch on the physical design. This one is something special compared to all the others.
pops gum loudly
This bit is very good.
Admittedly, it's very interesting to reach Naoto and his shadow after hearing about the whole thing secondhand for, at this point, over a decade. I'm not going to bring anything new to the topic and, frankly, I'm waiting to see how Naoto's social link plays out to get a full read on what's going on here.
Because, obviously, surface level read of the whole this is more than moderately disappointing. The gender essentialism and the repeated idea that you cannot change your gender is more than a little eye-roll-inducing. And it chafes pretty badly against Kanji's entire SLink, which I finished after this dungeon and will recap later but does revolve around eschewing the simplicity of labels.
I'm kind of struggling to pin down why I'm not that mad at this handling. Part of it is obviously that I've set my expectations low for Persona as a whole so that I can have a lot of pleasant surprises when it exceeds those expectations.
But also, the entire Naoto thing is a very sticky situation. Because I think that the Western audience for these games doesn't understand the gravity and density of the sexism in Japanese society. And I'm not an expert in this! But lets say that I do know a thing or two from a friend who does understand it. And it suuuuuucks. Naoto is entirely right to be torn up about this duality.
The people he works with would 100% absolutely no question discard his opinions if they saw him as a girl. Yep. I fully believe that and the weight of that anxiety on Naoto is crushing, clearly moving him to tears. But on the other hand, presenting as a man to avoid that pitfall, the other anxiety of "mimicking those same men" and having to justify their bullfuckery is also incredibly heavy.
Naoto has no clean solution. And if we posit that his reason for being a guy is rooted in that fear, that's... a bad reason to go fulltime Guy Mode. When you opt into your gender, it should be out of love for the thing, in my opinion. There should be something like relief in "yes, I am this gender!"
I don't see that here. But, on the flipside, as soon as this fight is over...
I could reach through the screen and slap you, Rise. This stung me like hearing someone getting misgendered. It fucking SUCKS. Not just everyone swapping to "she" but the feminine diminutives, that's genuinely hard to hear and I personally hate it.
Anyway, back up.
I love this moment from our other team member who thinks a LOT about gender. Kanji being like "listen, just let this shit play out so Naoto has the healing process we all got too, we'll handle the battle part." LIKE!!!!! Fuckin'.... queer solidarity means saying yes, you will beat the shit out of the superpowered facade of a friend's gender demons. THAT'S what it means, baby!
ah shit out of images again brb
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