#how the fuck am I your target audience
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Can someone please explain to me why I’m getting Archer ads
I’m not a guy
I’m not gay
I don’t read gay fics
And I don’t download dating apps
Don’t understand how I’m apart of their target audience?!?
#rants and ramblings#how the fuck am I your target audience#I get being supernaturals target audience#emotionally unavailable teenager girl with no social life no boyfriend definitely believes in spirits but also has no faith in humanity#yeah I get exactly why I’m supernatural target audience#but not archer the new gay hook up app for men#like how the fuck#how the actual fuck#what the hell#tumblr can you fix the fucking adds please#I’d rather not get ads for gay hook up apps and match doc come but with your links instead of interests I read smut not have sex#why do we hide the best part of these posts in the tags#tumblr tags#hidden#ranting#fuck dating apps#also fuck daylight savings#oh an while I’m at it - fuck hook up culture in general
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hey i want to talk about how you should be promoting your work as an erotic author/illustrator
i'm writing this up because the marketing aspect of my work as an erotic author/illustrator is a science to me, and also because i'm the guy who gets unreasonably annoyed when i see other creators not properly advertising their work. you presumably want to make money off your work. this post will be written under the assumption you want to make money off your work but are doing a bad job at it. it will be very confrontational. if you read this and feel attacked you're right and i am attacking you.
this is geared toward selling erotic comics/writing/books/art as products. i will probably write more than one post about this subject so if i didn't touch on something you want to know more about, comment/send me an ask and i'll keep it in mind for the next one.
i will start with my first and least specific but most important point:
DON'T GET FUCKING CUTE
hi are you paying attention. i'm gripping you by the sides of your face. do not get fucking cute with what you are trying to sell. you are not a big enough property to get cute, nobody LIKES it when big properties get cute, and you are selling porn. you have to own this. you have to be up front about this. don't be tongue in cheek, don't be all teehee i wonder what this could be~, don't be secretive. you are selling a product. you have to fucking act like it. you are an adult selling pornography to other adults. i am GRIPPING your HEAD you NEED to understand this.
and to be clear when i say 'cute' i mean coy. i don't mean cutesy, as in the aesthetic. you can be as hello kitty pastel ten emojis a post uwu as you like when you're building your audience and generating hype. but when you start trying to sell, don't be vague, don't be sarcastic, don't mislabel your work as a joke and assume everyone is on it. because they're not.
you must always assume 75% of the people seeing the thing you are advertising have no fucking idea who you are. and that includes a huge chunk of the people who already follow you. they do not know who you are or what you've been working on for two months or why they should care about it. they just got here. somebody just reposted it. they are seeing it for the first time. most people are only looking at social media for a tiny chunk of their day. they are not keeping up with you. you cannot get cute about what you are trying to sell because nobody knows what it is until you tell them.
okay are you still with me. we are going to talk about clarity now.
YOU GOTTA TELL ME WHAT IT IS
good lord the amount of times i have gone to buy somebody's comic or book and had no idea what's actually in it or what it's about. who are the characters? why should i care about them? what do they do in it? what is the premise of this thing you want me to spend $5 on? why would you not tell me? i'm shaking you again. please i have to know what i'm buying i only have so much money to spend on porn.
porn, arguably more than any other genre, relies on knowing exactly what is in it. you do not want to surprise your readers with a kink they were unaware of! and on the flip side, you do not want to miss out on your target audience! if your book contains a hot spider babe laying eggs in an elf, you have to say so. not just so people who don't want to read about eggs know it isn't for them, but so the people who are egg crazy can see that and go "oh fuck YES i love EGGS here is my $5 and an extra $2 tip for catering to me specifically". a contents/features list is as much an advertisement as it is a warning!
as for re: who the characters are and why should i care, i'm sorry but you need to learn how to write sales copy. you have to write blurbs. you have to get good at the shit that goes on the back of a book. we all hate it but we have to do it. i want to know who the characters are and what the context is. i, personally, am not interested in contemporary stories as much as fantasy and historical. please tell me what genre this porn exists in so i know if it aesthetically appeals to me. pull some books off your shelves and see how they do it. hell man go look at mine.
while you're there, note that every single book of mine has a sample of what's in it. this feels like such a no-brainer to me but again! the amount of times i have gone to buy somebody's work and they don't show me what their work looks like! you gotta give me the first page or two! just enough that i know if i like the way your writing sounds, or the way you draw your comics! i don't know you! i am not going to trust that you're good at what you do just based on a cover. the cover is to get me to this step, it is not the only step. you have to show me that you're worth spending my money on!
to put it less cynically, you want to catch my interest. you want me to go 'oh i want to see more of this', you want me to go 'ahh i want to know where this goes!' you need to get me invested and craving more. earn my $5!!!
YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT EASY TO GIVE YOU MONEY
hey go look at your bio right now. go look at your pinned post. do you have a link to your patreon there? do you have a link to your itchio/gumroad/whatever? do i have to click more than once to get to the places you want me to go to give you money? why? why are you making me click twice? have we learned nothing from every website making you click an extra time when they make some stupid UI update and how much it pisses us off? i have already given up, i have forgotten you, i am not giving you my $5 today. put your links in the easiest places to get to them.
god literally as i was writing this post i went to go find somebody's itchio to see how they described their work and it was not anywhere on their profile. grabbing you and shaking you PUT THE LINK WHERE I CAN FIND IT. don't make it hard! make it easy! i am a dickhead sitting on the toilet scrolling, saw your post, and was interested enough to read further. but you made me go to your bio to find your linktree and oops i have already gone back to my timeline to look at the boobies in the next post. stop wasting precious bio space on DNIs and put your fuckin links there!!!
this is more for the twitter people, but: just put the link in the damn post. just say the word commission. just say it's for patreon. "wuh wuh the algorithm" it is not the damn algorithm it's that everybody hates advertising and nobody wants to retweet ads. putting slashes in the words doesn't do anything and you look like a fool. i have posted so much art that says it's 'a commission for ___" and it did exactly as good as any other art despite having the word commission in it. and by doing the slashes you just made it impossible for anybody to search your account for your commission information (which should be at the VERY LEAST in a post under your pinned tweet if you're not actively posting about them being open).
okay that went on a tangent i'm going to back to the point of putting the link in the tweet. put it in the first post. not in the first reply. don't tell them to go to your bio. put it in the post people are actually going to share. it's fine to put more information in the thread but people are only ever going to share the first post. so put the link there. you have to make it easy. putting links in tweets can hurt you algorithmically, even in the replies. so you're better off having it in the post that actually gets seen and shared. i don't want to open the tweet and scroll to get to your sales page where i ASSUME you will have put all the information anyway. put it in the tweet that just got retweeted by itself onto my dash!
also you have to share it a ton of times. i repost my shit every few hours when i'm trying to push a new product. as i said before people are not 24/7 looking at their timelines. they missed it the first time. they missed it the second time. they didn't get paid yet that week but they were after the eighth time and you reminded them again so they finally bought it. that i will still get sales every time i repost a book ad weeks after release says there are always people who missed it, or who only just showed up.
abandon your pride and shill. shills pay their bills. anyone who gets annoyed about it isn't giving you money in the first place. don't worry about looking like a sell out. don't apologize for plugging your own work. post about it often, post about it in different ways. post about it. post about it. you are not going to make money if people don't know you have something to sell them. if you want to make a career out of it, you need to act like it.
I DON'T HAVE A FOURTH POINT
kisses your forehead. i'm sorry for yelling at you. i've been making and publishing and selling adult art for the past two-three years and have got myself to the point where it pays my rent, and i got there by paying attention to what does and does not work.
please do your best to make money. i want you to make money.
as i said above i plan to write more posts on this subject, such as cover design, how to actually write sales copy, and best practices with running a patreon, but if there's things you would want to hear more about leave a comment or send an ask! i will probably be less aggressive on future topics. these are just things that have grinded my gears for a grip.
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https://at.tumblr.com/jaggedandweak/intuitive-eating-is-crazy-cuz-thats-just-eating/ejyfgzeyvkgn
yes but without restricting or binging, someone w BED might be full but still force themself to eat everything, and someone with another type of ed might stop eating even if they r still hungry 🙏 but eating intuitively let’s u eat what u want whenever u want and stopping when ur full and satisfied 🔥🔥🔥
i know it’s a useful phrase for people to eat healthily it just seems redundant to me cuz like i am in a place where it’s obvious to me to do… which i guess to point out is kind of almost flexing or rubbing it in .. which isn’t to say that i haven’t had unhealthy eating habits lol i guess what i’m trying to say is that the phrasing seems to me to indicate just eating normally as another dressed up diet which i know is the opposite of the intention. like i know it’s just saying to listen to your body but my immediate response is that i’ve had enough of so called content creators preaching to me about diets and so when they refer to intuitive eating it triggers disdain bc it sounds like another unhealthy complicated thing in a fancy dress.. this doesn’t make sense LOL am sorry i know it’s a good phrase for some ppl but to me it just overcomplicates things
#diff things for everyone I guess#for me it’s like I have been in a good place with food pretty constantly but like every now and then it’s like… Wellllllll#but I would see videos about intuitive eating and they’d be like LISTEN TO YOUR BODY! listen to when your body doesn’t want anymore#and I personally believe that eating past being full once in a while is very good for the soul.. cuz like… duh#and then after having seen those videos I’d be like Well fuck.! is this intuitive im not listening to my body say no!#like I knowwww I’m not the target audience for this phrase really.. so it doesn’t concern me idrc#ok I can’t ever articulate myself oopsie sorry and also sorry if I ever offend u or something I just say what I think and am confused by#i had another thing I was thinking of with regards to ur last sentence about what intuitive eating let’s u do but every time I typed it#i forgot where in my sentence I was#TLDR I acknowledge that recognizing your body’s needs and putting a name to that recognition and how u act on it is Helpful🔥#however for me personally it does not make sense hence I am posting on my personal tumblr blog about it 🔥#thank you for explaining though I did think about it and considering my long and huge response I think u can tell I have learned and formed#new opinions !#ask#food#<- idk what else to tag but lmk if there’s anything
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and you know i gotta say. the vast majority of the people losing their shit this weekend made it very clear that they do not understand the difference between "artists who want a measure of comfort in their lives" and "the billionaires actually being targeted by phrases like eat the rich." that is such a weird thing to be so proud to announce to the whole entire internet.
it's also extremely weird to behave as though any individual is entitled to an artist's work for free. or that the audience should be the final say in determining what an artist creates. there is a major difference between the betrayal of an artist who produces art and then banks on their social capital to engage in harmful, violent, bigoted behavior (like jk rowling) and the "betrayal" of an artist who decides that they should be or need to be compensated for their work. the latter isn't actually a betrayal at all. it's just a shift.
the thing is that the watcher boys didn't invent capitalism, they didn't invent the streaming model, they didn't invent youtube or patreon. they aren't getting 100% of the money from either. their merch doesn't magically appear as if made by elves while they sleep. their videos don't happen out of nowhere and without incurring bills. they have a business which employs people, and sure, you can say they employ too many people, but do they actually? a bunch of randos on the internet don't actually know that. they don't know these job titles, or how necessary it is to have everyone there. it's pure speculation. the entire company exists within a system they did not invent and are trying to stay afloat in said system while a bunch of assholes on the internet berate them for not acquiescing to their every whim at the expense of their artistic integrity, their ability to compensate their staff fairly, and their ability to keep making art.
and jumping from "i want to continue enjoying this artist's work for free" to "i think people should be fired and the remaining employees should be given greater responsibilities and more tasks to complete" is wild to me. there's nothing leftist in that and so trying to leverage leftist jargon to prove some sort of moral superiority is fucking wild, it's disingenuous, and it's sketchy as hell. you're allowed to be disappointed. you're not magically exempt from being told you're being an asshole if you decide your disappointment entitles you to take part in asshole behavior.
"but we don't want something heavily produced and we don't want these shows" then don't watch! that's it! don't watch! you are not being held hostage and forced to engage with this content. you have the choice not to. throwing a tantrum and launching racist vitriol at steven lim and demanding he step down as CEO shows a level of entitlement and childishness that, frankly, i wish they could have ignored, but they're both kinder & more patient than i am.
anyway congratulations to watcher on their new streaming service and their gorgeous new website, congratulations to the boys on a new step in their careers and on achieving something they've made clear they've wanted for ages, thank you to the boys for all their hard work and for sharing their creativity with us. thank you too for taking such a big and genuinely brave step to no longer be beholden to major corporations and advertisers so you can make the art you want to make. thank you to steven lim for taking so many steps back to keep the company running and for doing your best in a shit economy and while being targeted by this kind of nastiness online. and thank you to the entire team at @wearewatcher for continuing to do amazing work despite being treated like shit by the fan community at large on the internet while you're trying to make a living and create art. you all deserve better than you've been shown of late and i hate that such an exciting moment got overshadowed by so many temper tantrums.
because the whole fucking point, the dream, is getting to make the art that matters to them, without being held back. i'm sorry y'all don't want the heavily produced and high quality shit but your preferences as a member of an audience are not the law by which artists should abide. they are artists and they are free to, and deserve to, make the art they want to make.
#watcher#watcher entertainment#could this rollout have been handled better? sure! but for the love of god the way y'all have been reaching to demonize them#steven in particular#it's frankly pretty horrifying#like y'all actually behave that way? and are proud to have a record of it?
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I unfortunately saw something I didn't want to see and that was my last straw. I'm fucking doing this.
Let's establish this first. Alastor is stated in the show to be asexual that is not up to discussion. He is also very heavily implied in the same conversation to be aromatic. 'An Ace in the hole' being used in context of him being with Charlie is also implying his aromanticism.
VIDEO
If that's not enough then here is Viv speaking about his romantic orientation. It's pretty clear despite the fact that afterwards she said it's okay to headcanon whatever (it's not but I will get o that later) that he is written purely as an aro ace character.
On top of that going by Alastor's interaction with Angel from the pilot and the first episode it is clear that he is sex repulsed. Not only that but on the fandom website he is stated to be touch averse with two sources which you can check out on the website.
Hazbin hotel wiki, Alastor page
Now we established that Alastor is canonically Asexual, Aromantic, Sex Repulsed and Touch Averse
As I also am all of the above I'll try to explain everything to the best of my ability as simply as I can.
Aromanticism and Asexuality.
I'm probably targeting the audience that knows those terms but regardless I will explain it anyway.
Aromantic - people that experience little to no romantic attraction towards any gender
Asexual - people that experience little to no sexual attraction towards any gender.
Little to no
Asexuality and aromanticism are spectrums in which people can feel certain attractions towards people but those attractions are less occurring or are defined by personal connection.
Diagram from AVEN website
However some people are at the end of the spectrum, they never felt attraction and that's valid. Alastor was stated to be aroace he wasn't written as demi or as gray he was written as aroace as in the end of the spectrum. His repulsion and not giving shit about romance or sex speaks for itself.
Representation
I do understand that everyone wants to be represented but it's so important to understand that aroace people are one of the most underrepresented queer groups in the media.
And I'm not here to scream about how I want my fav character to be just like me I don't care for it I'm way too confident in my orientation to rely on that however I'm tired of explaining to people what asexuality and aromanticism is just to receive 'are you sure' or 'you'll change your mind' or 'its not real' or the community favourite 'you'll find the right person' no I won't I'm not looking thank you very much (I just smile and nod to be polite and I'm sick of it).
'Harmless' buts like: 'He might be on the spectrum', 'AroAce people can still feel attraction' hurt the final outcome for all the people on the spectrum not only strictly aroaces because it allows people to write one shots with 'Demi Alastor' that falls in love in 2000 words because he is 'demi' (spoiler alert: they don't understand what that label means). It's just a cover, an opening, sneaky way to disregard his orientation, feel good about themselves and move on. Newsflash there is no moving on for aroace people it's our life.
Shipping
Shipping is just harmless fun right? Usually yes but not in this case. In the same way its not okay to ship gay characters with genders they are not attracted to.
It's erasure and since there is much less people identifying on aro/ace spectrums then there is gay or bi people our voices are being silenced. Not to mention that gay people received support from entire LGBTQIA+ community over the years in contrast to aro/ace specs who to this day are told that we are 'not queer enough' or 'not oppressed enough' often by other queer people.
And finally... FINALLY we get cannon Aro/Ace character that is clearly not interested in romance and sex. Character that beats stereotypes of boring and timid aro/ace people and what's the first people do? They ship him. Alastor's storyline provides so many points to be explored like 'what is his backstory', ' what's about his deal', ' how does he fit in in the found family trope' , 'does he care about hotel guests' yet people choose to write about the only thing that he is not interested in. As a heavily repulsed person that used to be horrified about the fact that I'll have to fall in love with somebody at some point before I found out what aro/ace is I find it repulsive and trust me he would too.
But Viv said it's okay!
Its the same point once again. What if Viv said that it's okay to ship gay Angel with woman. She doesn't have authority to say shit like that.
Queerplatonic relationships
I can't tell you not to do it I don't think he would be necessary interested in it but for fuck sake do your research and try to understand what queerplatonic means before you use it as a cover to shamelessly ship him. Respect the fact that he is sex repulsed and touch averse and you're fine.
Why can't you just avoid it?
First of all I shouldn't have to. Alastor's orientation should be respected in the fandom like any other orientation is. Second of all I've tried. I tried to only look up AroAce Alastor tag I've blocked over 80 people on tumblr alone (I just counted) to avoid to see anything that could trigger me and I'm not talking about slightly shippy posts or fanarts I'm talking about full blown disregard towards his orientation. Guess what it didn't work!
Archive of our own where do I start. I've used this website for over a decade and I could probably count days I didn't go there on my fingers. I'm fluent in AO3 I know which tags I should block. I know how to skim thorough the summary and tags to see if I'm interested. I've seen shit I'm a shipper I've been on ao3 for ten years but never had to mentally prepare myself to face queerphobia as I click on the tab.
Just use aro/ace Alastor tag.
I do and let me tell you people can't tag for shit or they just pretend to be clueless at this point. Besides see this?
there is more ff with Alastor/reader (disgusting) than there is Alastor with his canon orientation and to play the devils advocate for arophobic people there is more Angel/Alastor then his stated in the show sexuality. I understand that fandom goes back before the show was aired but Viv confirmed his orientation back then too.
Summary
I could go on and on bout different issues and maybe I will in the future but I'm not wasting anymore of this weekend on it. I'm ready to answer any questions as long as they are respectful.
I'm aware that he is a fictional character, it doesn't affect him in any way whatsoever but it does affect aromantic and asexual people keep it in mind.
If there are any mistakes grammar related I'm not sorry I'm fluent in English (not my first language) but I took 3h nap in between and I'm sleep deprived.
Have a nice day.
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To be deleted. Or not.
“YoU’rE sEeKiNg aTtEntIoN fRoM oThErS”
Yes, you fucking ogre, I am.
But not from you. You know who I seek attention from? Other girls. Who notice make up and how hard it is to get eyeliner wings to match. Who love how my eyeshadow is blended and ask what I use to get it so smokey. Who notice outfits and tell me how great certain colors look on my skin. Who notice my nails and love how glittery they are.
I don't even care if they're saying it for the sake of saying it without meaning a damn thing.
A girl gave me a compliment? I will be giggling and kicking my feet.
Mission successful. Goal achieved.
Rest assured, you were not the target audience and it is not your attention I seek.
Tf you gonna say anyway, *snort* boobies.
lower your voice, I swear.
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please tell me i’m not the only one who thought these jean lines were corny as fuck when i first read them. like we spend the entire game in the mind of a very mentally ill and depressed man, and ngl based on the target audience of this game i’m gonna assume a lot of people have first hand experience with depression, and he’s like erm. sorry i didn’t want to stick around during your mental health crisis, i am DEPRESSED. sorry i don’t think your joke is funny, did i mention i have CLINICAL DEPRESSION. i dunno it just reads to me like he’s trying to make harry feel bad for having to put up with his shit but it’s just soooo corny to me 😭😭
also idk something about jean’s ableism throughout the game towards harry and how he specifically phrases it as “clinically depressed”. dunno what exactly i’m trying to get at but it’s floating in my brain and i can’t put it into words rn
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coffee caramels. spencer reid
this is my submission for the cm meet cute (or not) challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins ! i did VERY loose research on the stuff spencer sprouts off on because i am not our boy genius so sorry if there are any inaccuracies ':( this is my first time writing for spencer but i literally love it so much and i'd love to write more so plz flood my inbox with requests for him plzzz 😭
pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid
prompt: character sits next to a stranger in the theater, but the two end up bonding when there's a technical glitch.
warnings: slightly grumpy!reader and sunshine!spencer my fav trope <333 confident reader, reader makes the first move, spencer being a bbg and blushing a lot ;)) all the good stuff
word count: 2.7k
you arrived at the theater ten minutes early, bee-lined to the popcorn section and asked for extra butter. you loaded your oily popcorn up with coffee caramels and chocolate-covered coffee beans and bought a large coke. you walked in the theater, confident and fully armed with enough caffeine to hopefully keep you awake during the entire thing. you have tape in your bag to peel your eyes open just in case things go south, but you're confident enough to believe that it won't.
because it can't.
"aelita," your professor had said on friday, "is a russian phenomenon, and it is one of my top favorite films. considering how you are all in a russian literature class, i can make the safe assumption that you are all interested in russian culture."
now, not only were you in a russian literature class as an elective like two-thirds of your class, you were also a russian literature and poetry major. how you ended with that major baffles you and there hasn't been a day where you wanted to choose another major, but there hasn't been a day where you weren't depressed about your poor decision-making either. it's a battle you fight every day.
"aelita was first screened in 1924, and this year, next week, there will be a worldwide re-screening of the film in its originality, no edits, completely authentic, except with added subtitles for those who need it, of course," this was when your professor got very stern. "i want all of you to go and watch it. if you don't want to, fine, but there will be an assessment grade on this movie. this is not optional. i believe that the content of this movie is very true to our..."
at that point you had stopped listening, because you knew what your professor wanted you to do, and you dreaded doing it.
two hours, silent, black and white, russian film with subtitles. and you have to hang onto the movie's every word.
not your ideal saturday night plans, but for your academic career, you were willing to take that leap; looking like a sore loser at the empty theater with black framed glasses on instead of getting fucked up in someone's bathtub. it's fine. the partying was all up to the business majors anyway.
when you walked into the theater, it was, understandably, vacant, save for a couple men and women with graying hair or bald scalps and bad backs. you were clearly not the target audience. none of them had snacks on them either, and you felt awkward being the one responsible for the strong aroma of butter and coffee that stuffed the place the moment you walked in. a gentleman coughed in his hanker-chief and flared his nostrils. you were intimidated already.
you tracked down your seat and decided to not let any of it distract you. you needed a good grade on this assessment. you had already bombed your previous test on the imperial era; you don't need another bad grade stacked on top of it. you're acing this test, no matter what, and you're going to absorb this movie so well that it might as well be your favorite.
as you waited for the film to start, you munched on several of the coffee caramels, the caffeine slow to kick in. you shrugged it off. there's a whole bucket of sugar to fuel you through the film.
in midst of biting into a shelf of a chocolate-covered-coffee-bean, you heard a light thud and a hiss, and the quiet muttering of "i'm good, ow." an old man by the stairs called out;
"you alright, son?"
"yes sir," the man said. despite being alright, he was limping to his seat, and you watched him attentively, for there wasn't much else for you to observe. he limped closer and closer to you by row, ticket in his hand and checking the letters on the rows. he stopped at your row, and then walked crookedly and settled down in the seat right next to you.
you chewed on your popcorn as you directed your attention somewhere else, your determination slightly deflated. the film was late into starting, but you were still going strong.
"oh wow," you heard the man mumbled next to you, and looked over to see what he was talking about, nosy. but he was looking at you.
"what?" you said indignantly, immediately dropping the oily popcorn in your hand and wiping at your mouth, feeling oddly self-conscious. but mostly irritated. you'd say you hid your whiplash pretty well when you saw how pretty the man was when you looked over at him. you were so smooth with it. "chocolate on my face?"
"what? oh, no," the man breathed out a small laugh. he's got a soft, shy voice that got your insides feeling like broken tomato bits.
"then what?" you demanded, but not too authoritatively because you didn't want to chase him away. you kept it cool and in control. totally. it was hard to find eye candy in quantico, and the last place you would expect to find someone so pretty is in the theater for a fucking silent film.
even though it was dark, you could still catch the bright blush that crept up the man's neck, but it might be because he felt hot under all those layers. seriously, he was dressed like your grandpa, sweater vest, tie, collared shirt and all, but it was tied together in some kind of way that made it work, and it was the way the man carried himself that made him look youthful in all those ancient clothing.
"nothing," he ducked his head away, "i was just talking out loud."
you didn't have to be sherlock holmes to know that he was lying. "you liar," you accused, wiping your hand even more aggressively over your face. "i do have something on my face, don't i? just tell me if i do!"
"you don't have anything on your face!" he said, an indecisive and uncracked smile playing on his lips. you grumbled and turned back to look at the screen, still waiting for the film to start, popping candy in your mouth. in was silent for a merciful while, until the man said, "did you know that dmitri shostakovich conducted the music for this film and during its first showings in leningrad since the film was silent he came personally and played the piano whenever the soundtrack would be playing?"
you hummed. no you did not.
"i was surprised when i saw you, you don't look over sixty at all," the man continued. you didn't know how to take this piece of information as a compliment or an insult. "whenever i come to these things, it's only me who doesn't have grey hair. well, some people dye it, which looks pretty obvious because you can't really hide age, y'know?"
usually you'd be annoyed. very annoyed, in fact, you'd switch seats to be away from the guy. but this one's got a nice voice, and the moment he sat down you caught a scent to him immediately, that old cashmere and cotton scent that comes from old, thrifted clothes that you'll find dug deep somewhere in your grandmother's basement or in vintage stores, and sugar cookies and mint and coffee. it's a good smell, is all. you weren't being creepy about it.
"i'm not over sixty," you assured him. "just scraping twenty-two."
"oh! i'm twenty-two too!" the man said excitedly. he had child's glee to him, which you found more endearing than annoying. you didn't know why. you didn't know why you were still sitting with the man instead of scurrying three rows away like you would have normally the moment any stranger tried to attempt small talk with you.
maybe you were a changed woman.
"how crazy," you mused. you didn't sound half as interested or excited as the man did, but he had most definitely got your undivided attention. you nature tells you to not show it.
"how did you hear about this movie? i tried to get some of my friends to watch it with me, but none of them were too interested...except emily, she's usually more interested because she can speak russian but she got plans this weekend," his face fell into a thoughtful frown at the end, and the clockwork in your brain started to turn at the mention of 'emily.' was that his girlfriend? special lady? you shouldn't be googling, then.
"my professor created an assessment for this movie," at the man's inquiring look, you explained further, "it's for my russian lit class."
his eyes shone like a fucking diamond at that, as if russian lit was the most exciting thing he had ever heard of in his life. you could tell that you were looking at the kind of guy who would decline a party full of seniors to go read a dictionary at home. "is that like an elective you take? 'cause it's a subject that fascinates me a lot, but the demand for it is so slim that--"
he was cut off by the movie finally starting and flickering to life. you turned away immediately, eyes focused and attention zeroed onto the introduction screen. screw the pretty boy for now, you thought, you might as well pack your things and go back to your hometown if you fuck up this movie's assessment. it needed your attention.
black and white and grimy, a pretty font wrote 'aelita, adapted by alexei tolstoy.' but as soon as the film started, the picture quickly collapsed, blurring and then fading into black. with the audience being so small, there wasn't much commotion but whispers of confusion began to arise as the lights began to bleed more yellow, lighting up the theater more. it was as if the movie was over.
"sorry folks," a voice came from the grainy megaphone above all of them. "some trouble with the tape. we are trying our best, but not sure of our luck. all tickets will be refunded if bought online or you bring your ticket to us for a mark so you can present your current ticket right now at the next showing. thanks for your patience."
you looked exaggeratedly around, and the man in the sweater vest next to you looked equally as disappointed.
"my professor is not going to believe me," you muttered under your breath, but the man caught it anyway and chuckled quietly. you looked down at your still full bucket of popcorn and your large coke. you glanced over to the man next to you, not too smart things lottering around in your head. you travel through the subway, and the ride to your street is not until two hours. you weren't going to spend it morosely eating popcorn in the waiting lobby.
"is emily your girlfriend?" you asked suddenly. there was no point in being shy. the man's mouth unhinged from his jaw immediately, and you stared at him. his cheeks quickly stained an innocent pink.
"what?" he squeaked, his voice a higher pitch, caught off-guard. "no! no, she-she's my coworker!" he sounded almost offended.
this took you by surprise. you didn't know people who were close to their coworkers existed. "so you don't have a girlfriend?"
the blush on the man's face kept getting brighter and brighter. you bit your lip to keep from smiling like a fool. with how endeared you were by him, it's strange to think that you don't even know his name yet. it was rare for you to really be so mindful and think such soft things about somebody, especially to a stranger.
you were a changed woman. but maybe it's because of the coffee caramels messing with your head. sugar and caffeine tend to do that.
"no," the man said, then cleared his throat. he was fiddling with his fingers, an obvious stim. "no, i don't have a girlfriend."
"sweet," you grinned, "then no one would mind if i take you on a date, would they?"
he choked and got engulfed in a coughing fit, bending over in his seat. the red of his sweater vest nearly blinded you but you patted his back supportively. when his coughing ceased and he sat back up again, his eyes avoided yours for a while as he fought to keep the redness in his face down before he looked at you again.
"so?" you raised your eyebrow. "the night doesn't wait, pretty boy."
the nickname just slipped out of your mouth, and you cringed at the weight of it. how out of pocket. you were going to go home and contemplate this conversation later. but right now, you were trying to take out probably the sweetest looking boy you've ever seen, and that was a more important matter as of.
"okay," he said, and that was that.
"okay," you repeated. "let's start with finishing this, yeah?" you looked down at your bothersomely big bucket of popcorn. "we can walk to the park and eat it and feed it to the ducks."
"actually, it's not safe for ducks to consume popcorn because it causes digestive issues especially if consumed in large quantities and disrupts their natural diet," the man recited matter-of-factly, blinking at you obliviously as if he just didn't acted like a fucking android. you huffed out a laugh. handsome and smart. pretty much a package deal.
"the popcorn will be just for us then," you promised, standing up. he followed suit, as a lone line of people started to exit the theater. "i hope you aren't a serial killer in disguise," you said jokingly, but not really, because that was a genuine threat. he laughed. it was a sweet, syrupy sound that you could soak up and not get sick of for a long time.
"that's ironic," he mumbled, and it flew past your head, you being too busy maneuvering out of the rows.
"what was that?"
"nothing," he smiled, bright and easy. the initial nervousness was already beginning to melt away. when you were side by side, his hand accidentally brushed yours and when you looked up at him, he was already looking another way, pretending to be distracted by the movie posters but the red in his ears and neck gave it away. you smiled to yourself and grabbed his hand, holding your bucket of popcorn in the other.
"i forgot," you said, suddenly. his head whipped around to face you, but not before lingering his gaze at your intertwined hands. "i didn't get your name."
it was a foolish thing to say, you were holding a man's hand and you were pressed up side-by-side against him and you don't even know his name. he smiled softly, though, like he didn't mind. "i'm spencer reid."
"i'm y/n y/l/n."
"hi y/n," spencer said. you exited the theater and he started slightly swinging your joined hands. you laughed, the popcorn and candy in the bucket rattling and threatening to spill but you didn't care. "i'm a little disappointed," he said, pouting a little bit, bottom lip jutting out. "i was excited for the movie."
you breathed out an incredulous laugh. what a guy.
"i wasn't," you said, honestly. yours and spencer's arms were still swinging, and you resisted the uncharacteristic giggle bubbling at your throat. "rather be doing this instead." unexpected date at the park with a pretty boy in a red sweater vest or a boring silent film? the answer sounded pretty obvious to you.
"hm," spencer hummed, amused. "i guess i can catch the movie some other time."
"you can catch it with me," you blurted, and it sounded too early to say. you haven't had a proper conversation with the guy yet, you didn't know what he does and how he is, you didn't know whether or not he has a cat or a dog or a parrot or a ferret or if his room is kept tidy or messy, and you didn't know how much you were going to like him once the night is over. asking for a second date when the first one hadn't even started felt like too much, but it also felt like the right thing to say.
and if it's right, it's good enough for you.
spencer smiled shyly. when you turned right on the street, he pulled you back by your hand and redirected you left. "let's go the scenic route," he said, casually, and you could tell by the magenta tinge in his cheeks and the way he was firmly looking forward, avoiding your eyes that he wasn't feeling as casual as he sounded.
"want some of my popcorn?" you offered, feeling the large bucket was burdening you.
"oh, no thanks," spencer said. "i'm sure the pigeons will appreciate it more than me."
"does popcorn ruin their digestive system and disrupt their natural diet, too?"
spencer popped a large grin. it sat beautiful on his pretty face. "you listened," he said happily, and it felt like a large airbag had just inflated in your lungs. "no, i think pigeons are too used to picking our food, especially those in the city," a long pause, and "in fact, pigeons have a stronger digestive system than most birds due to adaptation, but the strongest out of all of them are vultures, whose stomach acid are so strong it doesn't get sick e eating rotten and bacteria-infested meats."
you hummed. you wished you had paid closer attention to what he said, but instead you paid attention to the smooth sound of his voice and how nice it sounded. well. you'll get there one day.
#i didnt mean to finish this that quick but i just saw the prompt and got so inspired i went a lil crazy#mentioningmargins#spencer reid#criminal minds#cm#dr spencer reid#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fluff#fluff#meet cute#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid oneshot#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fic#my works
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There's a reason I always moderate comments but i approved this one so people can see how truly vile it gets sometimes. I'm not arrogant. I don't think the way I write is better at all. Exploring them on an authentic level means exploring this, or any, version of them with wholehearted passion, not that this is the authentic interpretation of them. Writing intense stuff isn't a brag, it's a warning so people can be prepared for stuff like arguments and confrontations. I always over-warn for CW stuff so that, again, people are prepared. I never once have asked people to read it. It's just there and I've tried my best to a) write something i loved and b) thoroughly warn those who might read it. Any interpretation of the characters is valid and worth exploring. It's so sad to see a reeled off list of all the way Steve "should be" and the implication that nothing but strict canon adherence could ever be a passionate, worthy exploration. It's... only fanfic? It's not real. They're not real. Nothing is real and everything is possible and that's supposed to be what's fun about it.
I write the characters very intensely, so yes, they are often out of character, sorry for... warning about that? I write different backgrounds for them and play with the negative space of possibilities and potential and i do this with authentic curiosity and passion because I love doing it and i get very into it. Sorry for warning about that too, I guess? When I first started writing in this fandom, some people pointed out to me that I could CW warn for them being OOC and that was new to me, i didn't think I had to warn for that. I thought people would read the tags, like in other fandoms, and understand that the story would do different things with the characters but it became clear that this was actually solid advice as this was a fandom obsessed with "canon adherence" and policing. So I thought I would CW as thoroughly as I could so no one would be shocked or disappointed and then maybe they wouldn't leave an essay of hate in the comments.
But ultimately, people like this would only be satisfied if I deleted everything and stopped writing. I barely participate in this fandom as it is beyond answering asks and writing. I don't rec my own work. The thing i don't ever want, and this is why it was worrying seeing something like YD becoming "popular", is for people to feel like they *should* read my work without having gone and looked for it via the tags. Without having found it naturally, just by browsing and thinking "that's definitely for me". I've only ever posted for small rarepairs in the past so a couple of comments on a fic always made me so happy. I write for myself and the few others in the world who might like it. I have never written for an audience. If you don't like something I wrote, it's not for you. Genuinely. Move along to the next, no? That's what I would do.
This was so spiteful and targeted. YD is so old at this point, I just don't understand people who do shit like this. I don't bother anyone and I try to be here for anyone who needs me. I CW as thoroughly as I can. I don't think I'm better than anyone. I think every single iteration of these characters is worthy and valid and what matters is how fun they were to write, for the author. I had so much fucking fun with these stories that seeing this miserable little rant seems pointless to me. I don't care if you didn't like it. I don't care if it wasn't to your taste. Writing it was what I wanted. Sharing it is secondary, always. It's fanfiction, written for free in my spare time. I didn't take up space, I didn't trample anyone. There is no reason for this beyond spite.
I am sorry about the vest/jacket mixup, however. Truly, genuinely from the bottom of my heart devastatingly sorry about that. I know it'll take time for people to forgive me and maybe no one ever will, I have to make my peace with that.
Anyway, thanks for loudly projecting your feelings onto me and my work.
💜💜💜
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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER ELEVEN — ALL TOMORROW'S KEGGERS
PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT
summary: after you visit an old stomping ground to pad out your college resume and eddie agonizes about the what of what are you, you both return to the place where all this mess began--a classic harrington rager.
content warnings: written in the immersive second person (you/yours), oc has a name, background and she/her pronouns but no physical descriptions. era typical misogyny, homophobia, general bad bitch scheming. mentions of drug dealing, sexual situations and strong language. minors fuck off.
word count: 8.7k
Dear reader,
A while ago, I mentioned that thing that Joan Didion said about staying on nodding terms with the people we used to be.
Lucky for me and my once-fervent need to be inviolable from all angles, I have a couple of versions of Lacy I can choose from.
Depends on what I need from her.
The hot sprawl of the community hall drags your sense memory kicking and screaming back to age sixteen.
Scarlet nails tugged a rough line through your scalp, elevating your hair so high it might as well apply for zoning permission. An acrid blast of Aquanet settled right in your bottom lashes. Your mother loomed over your shoulder in the mirror, her cigarette ashing into some poor bitch’s retainer case.
“The way they run these things nowadays… it’s a disgrace,” she tutted, but not to you, “These girls are animals.”
That’s gotta be a fucking fire hazard, right?
“Well, if Lacy’s an animal,” a flame haired Ann Perkins guffawed, yanking a backcombed rat of your hair upwards—ow, “she’s a goddamn gazelle, Glory.”
“First kill?” You didn’t miss the smugness curling around her Elizabeth Arden lips, hunching your body glittered arms inward.
“No—god, no, I just mean with how graceful she is. My Carol, bless her heart, she’s got the coordination of her father after a slab of Old Milwaukee. You remember I told you about trying to teach her baton?”
“She sent it flying through the neighbour’s windshield,” you giggled fondly, recalling Carol telling you how much of a stupid cooze her mom was for trying to teach her in the first place. ‘Throwing some stick around—who does she think I am, Lassie?’
“Don’t smile,” your mom slapped your shoulder sharply, “It’ll smudge your gloss.”
You scrubbed it off in the bathroom moments later, reapplying a layer of scarlet lacquer you knew she’d call whorish. Too late.
Knocking back a swig of Diet Coke and two rainbow pills, you took the stage to claim runner up in the Hawkins division of the American Teen Princess pageant, meeting Gloriana’s seething scowl from the audience with your own Vaselined failure of a smile.
The lipstick had lost you the crown, of course. That was the winning theory. ‘If you’d have just done what I told you…’
The chemical sting of Aquanet still hurts your eyes, but you’re not the target this time.
See, a portfolio of writing is one thing, but the other thing that college applications generally look for is community participation. Volunteer work. Charity grubbing. And gracing Eddie Munson’s lunch table with your occasional presence apparently doesn’t count.
Just kidding. Kind of.
Point is, you needed something quick and dirty, yet passably prestigious, with people who would bend to your will. And there’s no one more malleable than insecure high school girls competing in a beauty pageant in small town Indiana.
“Now, Lacy, we are delighted to have you here helping out,” says Claudia Henderson, a one time multi-title holder (just short of Miss America apparently—‘But then they stopped giving homely girls a pass; poor Claudia never stood a chance,’ your mom had told you) and the kind of kindly woman that loves to clutch your arm while you walk.
Ordinarily, you’d be repulsed by such a gesture but you’re desperate.
Before you get a chance to gush falsely, tell her how grateful you are for the opportunity, Claudia cuts you off.
“But I do hope that this isn’t some covert effort by your mother to get back in our good books—because, golly, well, that bridge is burned!”
Of course. Your mom had attempted to sabotage Tammy Thompson’s performance portion by mixing a laxative into her milkshake, because a shit show like that would make your little poetry reading look positively Carnegie worthy. But she hadn’t covered her tracks well enough and got sniffed out by the pageant committee. So had Tammy, poor thing. Horrible day to wear white chiffon.
Incredible that it was that they were still hung up on, and not the… everything else you and your family had going on. You do a decent impression of cringing, looking at Claudia with mournful eyes.
“Claudia, I swear, this is all me,” you assure her, “The time I spent doing pageant prep was just so formative—I think I would’ve been a lot worse off facing, well, certain challenges without it. I’d really like the chance to give that back to the girls.”
Admittedly, your hours spent in front of the mirror training your face to look earnest for the interview portion hadn’t gone to waste on the stand during your father’s trial.
“That is just incredible to hear, sweetie. And between you and I, you’re really saving our keisters because the girl we had helping our hopefuls out with speech prep dropped out last minute!”
That’d be the current debate team captain, Kate something-or-other. She was easy enough to take out—posing as a concerned member of the local Christian youth group, you’d placed a call to her ultra-conservative parents about her hanging out with Billy Hargrove. Which was total bullshit, of course. Billy wouldn’t approach an ex-or-current band geek with a hazmat suit on. A shame, really. The band kids were the only niche that could rival Billy’s baseless horniness. His dream girl could be hanging out behind a trombone someplace, squeezing her knees together.
Anyway, did you feel great about selling Kate out like that? Honestly, you didn’t care about it too much one way or another. The maneuvre felt very classic Lacy, which was in part a little shameful and in part incredibly satisfying to know that, when it comes to manipulation, you’re still batting at a professional level.
Claudia wheels you and your elbow around the room, the oxygen thick with sweat and body spray and pageant application forms. A couple of the would-be queens catch your eye–homely girls, as your mother would call them, who were duped into their well-meaning parentals or sisters or guidance counselors into thinking that doing the pageant was a great way to make friends. A boost to their self esteem. A chance to really show the town what they’re made of!
Someone should tell them to run, but it’s not gonna be you.
“Oh, Lacy!” Claudia suddenly half-shrieks, halting you with a sharp tug, “Meet my special little guy! This is Dustin, he goes to Hawkins Middle. I like to bring him around to meet the girls so he learns how to treat a lady. It’s so important for boys, don’t you think?”
Yeah, start the little lotharios young. You tilt your chin in acknowledgment of the kid, who squints at you from under the rim of a ball cap. Claudia’s attention is diverted by some other poor bastard helping to organize this dog and pony show, but she keeps her hand firmly on your elbow. It’s starting to feel a little like you’re being led around the prison yard. You attempt a tight smile at her son, who’s still looking you up and down.
“Hey, I know you!” he barks– seems like lack of volume control runs in the family, “You’re Nancy’s friend. You slept over at the weekend. I’m Mike’s friend? I ate the green peppers off your pizza slice…? Not ringin’ any bells? Really?”
“Oh, right,” you lie, having no recollection of ever meeting this child, “Pleasure, sure.”
The way he’s surveying you is a little much. “So, what was up with that guy?” he asks you, tone dropping conspiratorially. You don’t know why, but you feel like middle schoolers shouldn’t be able to do that.
“Excuse me?”
“Me and the guys saw some scary dude climbing out of Nancy’s window. Is he–”
What’s up with kids and just having to say any old thing? What happened to being seen and not heard? What happened to being intimidated by your high school elders? If his mother wasn’t standing right next to you, you’d flip that little propeller cap off his head and tell him to go fetch.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The kid cocks his head to the side. “Positive? Because it sure looked like–”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. –Justin, wow, you’re such a card, ha ha ha,” you slip your arm out of Claudia’s as subtly as a woman breaking into a cold sweat can, “Claudia, I’ve got to dash unfortunately, but you’ve got my number! Let me know when I can come and meet with the girls, won’t you? I’m so excited.”
You’re so absolutely fucking not.
Footsteps burn a hot trail through that creaking hall, not quite avoiding a couple of stares as you flit past. Of course, since Ray’s great return brought a whole new batch of grist for the Hawkins’ rumor mill, you’d been subject to more whispers than usual. Any move you made was in some way looped back to either groveling for the town’s forgiveness, assuming your father’s criminal crown, or generally being a case for pity or ridicule. Sometimes both, if people were really creative. Stood to reason that the only person you want to see is someone who’s lived with notoriety like that for most of their life.
Ivana has parked across two spots in front of the community hall, her green Buick gleaming under an unseasonable glare of sunlight. It’s still far too cold to have the top down like she does but she does and she sits bundled in the front seat. A leopard print fur coat, a cigarette, a pair of sunglasses perched in her platinum beehive.
“Christ, girlie, I thought they’d tied you to the stake in there.”
“My escape was narrow, as always,” you smirk, sliding into the passenger seat and tugging your own coat around you a little tighter. “What’s up with the exposure?”
“Feeling the wind whip your face is good for you, especially when you spend most of the day craned over books like you do.”
“This coming from the owner of the biggest bookstore in town.”
“Only,” Ivana corrects you, as she so often does, “Only bookstore in town. You saw what happened when B. Dalton tried to muscle in on my territory.”
“You admitting to knowing something about that mall’s fiery end, Ivana?” Horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia come to mind, but Ivana just cackles loudly and tears out of the parking lot at breakneck speed.
The frigid sting of wind on your face does feel fantastic, you have to hand it to her. Resetting your base temperature from boiling, where it’s rocketed between school and home and Eddie and everything. Much as it’s thrilling, exploring this new aspect of your… dynamic with him, on top of everything else, it’s a lot.
You’re not quite ready to classify your feelings about Eddie without your chest feeling like it’s going to cave in. Every other conversation winds up with your hands all over each other, clumsy in the communication of your unrepressed passion. And it is great, don’t let yourself be misunderstood, you crave it when it’s not happening, and boy do you beat yourself up when you stop it from going all the way but…
The tape keeps getting tangled. Like you’re playing the right song at the wrong part of the movie. It keeps coming out warped and rushed, and you keep feeling like somebody is watching you two.
You two don’t belong shoved into clandestine corners, making out on the sly. You’d been hiding the things that you care about in places like that your whole life. Your books and records under your bed, your clothes in the back of your walk-in wardrobe. Your thoughts in your journal. Your real face from your fake friends.
Eddie’s like a great, flowering plant that has spread his curling vines into every facet of your life, taking root right at the center.
He may not know it, he may be playing the part of being very understanding but he demands light and care. And dirt.
It scares you.
But that tearing breeze settles your nerves, and those are rarely settled around Ivana herself. She has a preternatural way about her. She knows just when to step out of the shadows and twist fate so your path gets a refresh. First, your job at the Bookstore. Now, letting you into her inner sanctum.
Brambles clatter against the green paintwork of the car as you careen down a backroad off of Holland. Gravel sprays as Ivana hauls you up her drive and you catch a fresh smell– to your immediate right, you’re looking out on the still, chilled expanse of Lover’s Lake. You breathe in that post-winter thaw, curling your wistful hands over the passenger side door and she seems to notice.
“Hell of a view, right?”
The slam of Ivana hip-checking her car door closed is the loudest sound out here.
“Peaceful,” you remark, following her up the sagging wooden porch. Another look over your shoulder. You were used to seeing Lover’s Lake from another part of the embankment, usually crowded with cars and beer coolers, bodies in bathing suits baying for attention. You’d been one once, trying desperately to look comfortable in your sweltering skin only to sneak off and take shelter in Main Street Vinyl.
The frigid water seemed more inviting right now.
Another house, this total slouch of a place, stares right at you from across the lake.
“Nice neighbors?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Ivana says, shoving the ancient front door open.
Following her inside, you have to suppress a gasp.
Ivana’s house is no mansion, but the way she’s filled it makes it feel like one. Under vaulted ceilings, everything seems to be cast in a rich, aquatic shadow. Tendrils of greenery embrace each corner and even hang from the ceilings. Threadbare rugs of once-moneyed origin muffle you underfoot. Chairs of velvet sag and every single goddamned surface is covered in tchotchkes, magazines, scarves, photographs. Even the Steiner piano. You catch a glimpse of the pictures in gilded frames as you slowly follow Ivana toward the back of the house–Ivana with equally glamorous looking friends, dancing at what you’re sure is Studio 54. Ivana standing next to Andy Warhol, a disgruntled looking Norman Mailer lingering in the background of the shot. Ivana on her wedding day. And second wedding day. And third wedding day.
Your chest throbs furiously.
You hear Ivana creek up the stairs and you’re not quite sure what the proper procedure is here– do you follow her? Would she push you back down the stairs if you tried such a thing? She’s always seemed like the type. Fiercely private. Only sharing the tiniest tidbits of this rich meal of a life she lived before she came back to Hawkins.
“Come on, girlie. I ain’t got all day.”
You take your opportunity and scarper up the stairs behind her. Eyes flit over even more photographs as you ascend, a smile of disbelief crossing your lips at the sawn-off shotgun mounted on her wall. Like she’s Annie Oakley or somebody. She could be. It’s evident to you now that Ivana has been just about everyone there is to be. It ought to intimidate you, really, bearing witness to someone who’s so successfully lived life before you’ve even begun to, but it doesn’t. The closeness, clutteredness, coziness of this house lulls you into a funny kind of serenity.
“I just don’t get you, Ivana,” you say, not entirely wanting to catch her in earshot as you float into her bedroom. Dark and plush, like everything else. A light comes on in her overstuffed closet.
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Of course, she hears everything.
You approach the heaving wardrobe, hands running along silk, chiffon, velvet. Broderie, brocade, lace.
“How the hell do you go from having a full life like this,” you grip the sleeve of what could be one of Ivana’s three wedding dresses, “and end up back in East Jesus, Indiana? I mean you’ve–you’ve been everywhere. You’ve done everything. How can you stand it here?”
Ivana tilts her head at you from where she sits on the ottoman at the end of her bed. Canopy, naturally. She looks at you as if really taking you in for the first time. You shift a little, from one foot to the other. It doesn’t feel probing and accusatory, not like how your mother looks at you. More like she’s reading your palm.
“I wanted to come home,” she says, simply. “Had my fill. Got tired. Wanted to remember what fresh air felt like, and realized I preferred it to car horns.”
“But why not, like… upstate New York? Somewhere actually scenic and peaceful, why Hawkins, Indiana?”
“I wanted to come home, I said. Now,” she gestures to the masses of clothes, “You’ve got ten minutes. One outfit. Dig.”
—
“This is, like, beat for beat my worst fucking nightmare, I want you to know that.”
“You know what, shoot me down but I think you wanna go to this–I think you’re getting nervous because of how excited you are!”
Ronnie Ecker aims a finger gun right between Eddie’s eyes. “Name yourself, body snatcher. Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my best friend.”
She’s got him point blank on that one. He’s acting a little out of sorts–but, in his defense, he’s having, as Rick Lipton might call it, a total wig out. Eddie’s been invited to Steve Harrington’s kegger under absolutely no pretense (but he’s bringing a pocketful of drugs anyway, of course). Eddie’s going to see the (ex) most popular girl in school there, which’d be you.
And Dio willing, you two are gonna disappear into some side room where he’s gonna trace his leaking cock against every inch of your silky, perfumed skin while you hiss his name into the air like it’s the only word you deem worthy enough to speak.
It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s casual.
Eddie tries to shake that thought right out his head under the guise of turning to the mirror and fixing his hair. Fingertips raking into the waves, an attempt to make ‘em look less… or more… he’s got no idea. He’s got no earthly idea. So he huffs.
“What have I got to be excited about?!” Ronnie sighs dramatically, thunking herself into the nearby armchair in Eddie’s room that’s covered in clothes–outfits he’s tried on, like a different jeans-and-t-shirt combination will actually make a difference. “Don’t pretend like I’m not hauling ass to the first party of my high school career so I can be, like, a freak diversion while you two sneak off and–”
Amazing how Eddie’s managed to keep this secret from Ronnie for this long, but she’s got it pretty much sniffed out anyway.
“No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”
“You, Eddie Munson, you’re gonna stand there, preening yourself in the mirror like a fuckin’ peacock telling me the eye contact you two have been making with each other since you ‘made up’ has been completely Christian-minded? Smell test certified?” Ronnie spits. “I just got into New York University, you little bitch! I cannot be fooled! You boinked and it’s scrawled all over your face in her lipstick!”
“Dude, do not say boinked–”
“You’ve greeted her carnally!”
“--who are we, Sam and Diane?”
“If everybody knows your name, man!”
Look, here’s the thing.
You and Eddie have been making out heavy, stolen moments in crooks like the newspaper room after hours, under the bleachers, the decommissioned bathroom, the driver’s seat of Eddie’s van, grinding it out harder than a couple of drumline dorkos from band which has led to Eddie wrecking a couple pairs of boxers a lot sooner than he’d like to. (Which you hadn’t laughed at him about–you’d liked it. It was so fucking hot that you liked it that just the thought of you liking it makes his breath snag if he thinks about it too hard.)
But. Skin-to-skin contact has been… frustratingly minimal, since that night in your bedroom.
See, it’s like, you get there. Eddie’s lips are edging south of your collarbone, his fingers digging into the flush of your tits through your bra and something snaps in you. You go from rolling those rapturous hips into him (god, fuck, don’t–) to tensing right up, looking over your shoulder, expecting to see a door creaking open.
Fear freezing the edges of your features, even if your touch is still hot on him.
“We should–” “... yeah. Yeah. Of course, Lace.” Eddie’s trying really hard not to be an asshole. But it’s hard when… you’re hard. And you, you get him fucking full mouth salivating, forged in the flames of Mount Doom hard. Those tight little skirts you wear are so much more enticing now that he knows what the heavenly enclave feels like underneath them.
Bu-ut.
Your paranoia is working overtime.
Your paranoia is making his paranoia work overtime.
Because, what if after all your dancing around each other, you don’t actually want him and you’ve got no idea how to let him down gently?
Which, Eddie reassures himself, does not track for you. It’d be pretty damn easy to think that your edges have softened with the events of the past couple months, but he’s had a front row seat to how you’ve shed your old edges to reveal different, weirder, more jagged edges. Edges he’s had a pleasure acquainting himself with. You’d have no problem telling him to take a short walk off Sattler’s Quarry if you wanted to.
Eddie adores that about you, the poor sucker.
Anyway, Ronnie Ecker. Dead to rights. Like always.
“If I tell you…” comes the measured grit through his teeth. “... you have to swear, Ronnie, I’m so goddamn serious–”
She hitches forward in her seat, eyes blazing. “Dude. Scouts. Whatever.”
Eddie’s shoulders drop and it all comes out in one big exhale as his rings drag down his cheeks, “GoodbecauseI’vebeenwantingtotellyousobadohmyGOD. Like, oh my god.”
“So full pen or–”
“Be a gentleman, Ecker, Jesus! But yeah, home fuckin’ run.”
“Good?”
His eyes careen back in his skull and he pitches his palms out like a Pentecostal preacher. “Words… evade. Infernal choirs sang. I left a part of my soul in her–”
“Nope, too much!” Ronnie blanches, waving her hands in the air.
“Okay, okay, okay, but Ronnie– you can’t say shit to her. Promise me.”
“Why? We’re friends too, unless you conveniently forgot again.”
“No, I know that, I just–” Eddie swallows, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. His voice comes out small. “I don’t wanna scare her off. She’s fragile.
“She’s fragile? We’re talking about the same Lacy Doevski here, right?”
“Right, the one whose dad just got out of lockup. Fra-gee-lay,” Eddie emphasizes, notes of Old Man Parker, “It’s just… easier like this, right now.”
“Well… is easy what you want?” Trust Ronnie to come through with a gut punch out of left field.
Eddie’s mouth bobs open to fish out some bullshit answer, but not until his bedroom door flies open.
“Goddamn, kid, you gotta get the maid in here.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Al Munson props his hip against the doorframe, sucking all the air from the room. He looks better than the last time Eddie saw him, at least, not like he’s three days cokebent and clammy. More like he went someplace and got a shave.
“If you really didn’t want me comin’ round, you’d tell your uncle to start lockin’ the door. Now, you got something belonging to me– that Stooges shirt, where’s it at?”
A hot line of panic flares up the back of Eddie’s neck. Stooges shirt, darkened on the shoulders from droplets from your wet hair. Stretched over–
“I’unno what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Yes, you do, Eddie,” his dad says, crossing the bedroom’s threshold. Al’s got springs under the balls of his feet, moving with that irritatingly happy-go-lucky effeteness. “It’s my lucky shirt! I need that thing–”
“Hasn’t done you a whole lotta good so far, Allen,” Ronnie mumbles from where she’s bunched up on the armchair.
“Ronnie,” Al’s eyes narrow; they’ve never liked each other because Ronnie’s too goddamn smart for her own good and therefore uncharmable, “How’zabout that for a breath of stale air. Get up a sec, would’ja?”
“C’mon, we’ve gotta go anyway.” Eddie jerks his head toward the door and Ronnie scuttles out ahead of him. He pauses for a breath, watching his dad rifle through the rejected shirts slung over the armchair. “There’s nothing in here worth stealing, by the way. Just in case things have gone so far south already that you’re diggin’ in people’s pockets for spare change.”
Those cut-and-paste Munson eyes survey Eddie and he feels his fist flex. Al’s been a loose cannon lately.
“Big night?”
“Party.” He should know what that means.
“Well, Ed,” Al closes a few steps between them, and Eddie resists the urge to back up. Or wind up. His voice drops so that Ronnie doesn’t catch it. “When you’re ready to graduate from sellin’ ten spots at parties, you let me know. We got something prestigious brewing. Could be the makin’ of you.”
Eddie can’t help but laugh, mirthful from his back molars. “Graduation’s a little ways off for me, Dad.”
He catches up with a tutting Ronnie, slamming the front door behind him and heading for the van.
“Seriously, dude, you got a case for a restraining order the way that motherfucker’s conducting himself lately.”
“I got a crowbar and a map of the Indiana Dunes that’d do just about the same thing, I just need a free weekend.”
“Hey!” a voice calls from behind them, and Eddie and Ronnie swivel toward it.
No stemming the smile that peels across his face, heart thud-thudding back into motion. A soothing cool comes over him at the sight of you, settling him right back into his body. You, dressed to the nines. You, coiffed up like you’re hellbent on making an impression. My little cold front.
“Shotgun!” you chirp, skipping toward the van in your spindly little shoes. Both Eddie and Ronnie are rendered speechless for a beat or two.
Shit, you look good.
“There’s only one fucking passenger seat!” Ronnie protests.
“Fine, Ronnie, I’ll sit in your lap– is that what you want?”
Eddie lets you two nonsensically bicker as he guns the van to life, sweeping out of the park in a thunderous roar. He’s trying to stay tuned into the conversation you’re having, he really is, but the way you’ve got your shoulders thrown back and cleavage thrust out, Ronnie squished beside you, is focus-stealing.
“Wait, you’re volunteering at the beauty pageant?” Eddie finally clues in, “Sorry, Lace, there’s no way that throwing glitter on bimbos in bathing suits counts as community service. Otherwise, I’d be ve-ry committed to my community.”
“Right?! Like, how did I get stuck with helping out Granny’s retirement home friends? I could be checking chicks for visible bra straps but I’m trapped with a bunch of senile losers that smell like clove suckers.”
“It’s not just an ogle-fest, you knuckle-draggers,” you roll your eyes, “There’s an entire interview portion, too. You know, where the judges have to pretend to care about what these girls have to say– and it’s my job to make sure they don’t sound entirely braindead.”
“You love an insurmountable challenge, huh, Lace?”
“Never tell me what I can and can’t mount, Munson,” you purr–he’s almost sure he hears you purr. The way you look at him over the center console, eyes all a-felined, does the job for him.
Ronnie keeps her mouth shut, and he silently thanks her for it.
Festivities are fully in swing as you all pull onto Harrington’s street–plus the festivity-specific problem of there being almost no parking anywhere. Cars of your classmates clog the tree-lined streets, along with the vehicles of the wealthier Loch Nora contingent.
Eddie slaps his hands against the wheel. “How the fuck does he get away with this shit?”
“Senior year pass,” you remark, “Plus, Steve’s always-AWOL parentals. Somehow, his shitty home life gives way to an endless well of sympathy on Richie Rich Row here, so he kind of gets carte blanche.”
“The world’s luckiest latchkey k–woah!”
Reeboked feet have to slam down hard on the brakes, as Eddie almost takes out Robin Buckley, hunching her shoulders and marching toward the Harrington’s porch. The screech of the tires almost sends her leaping out of her skin.
“Watch it, asshole! Pedestrians still exist, you know!”
“Sorry, Buckley!” Eddie calls out down the window wound low, “For what it’s worth, you’re blending into the tarmac just great!”
Robin scoffs and continues stalking. Your head snaps to Ronnie.
“Ron,” you simper, “Why don’t you go make sure Robin’s not suffering from post traumatic? I would be, if I almost got mowed down by this decommissioned tank.”
Her brow screws up like she’s about to answer, but genius little you, this works on a couple of levels. For one, your insistence that something will happen between Buckley and Ronnie if you keep pressing their heads together like Barbies, and for two… Half a second alone.
Half a second is all Eddie needs.
“There’s no way I’m gonna remember where I parked if one of you isn’t here,” he tacks on, as if he needs the support, “And she–” by whom he means you, “--has priors in this house. Off ya go, Ecker.”
Banished to the pavement, Ronnie snarls something about hurrying back, which you promise her that you will. Eddie doesn’t promise anything. If he had his way, he’d rare right out of Loch Nora and keep driving, you to his beautiful right and watch as moonlight started to pool in the window over your skin. Just keep turning the wheel, so he could keep looking at you.
You point out a spot a street over and Eddie kills the engine.
“Hi,” he rasps, angling his torso toward you. He doesn’t stem his smile.
“Hello,” you say in return. Your neck rolls against the headrest. You’re looking at him in a slow drip through your bottom lashes.
Eddie has to remind himself to breathe, and his first intake is kinda ragged. It makes you laugh, this little gaspy sound that sounds like a prelude to something else. Your stare breaks, gliding to the dashboard.
“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
“Let’s shall.”
Eddie snaps back to life, dashing out of the driver’s side to help you down from the passenger’s. Your fingers give his hand a little extra squeeze and he takes this very, very liminal opportunity to hold you at arms length, pirouetting you under his hand.
“Sorry. I’m sorry! I had to!” he faux-apologizes. “Gotta test the durability of these shoes, in case you need to make a run for it later.”
Your laugh comes out uncorked and full-bodied and it makes Eddie feel like his head is levitating two feet above his neck.
“Relieving yourself of your hero duties already, huh?”
Silk spills over your curves, skirt billowing around your thighs as you move. That makes him feel very much in his body. You look ravishing, your hair crashing into a wave as you come to a smiling stop in front of him.
Eddie presses his mouth to your fingers, clasped around his hand, and hears the bubble of your breath hiccup.
“Not by a long shot.”
A warm berry encases your lips that he wants to see smudged. He wants to wear it on his collarbone like a second chain.
He wonders if he knows you look like you’re trying to get ravished.
Of course you do. There’s not a single thing you’ve ever put on your body that wasn’t on purpose.
Which, if Eddie considers it, now includes him.
You both barely remember to unweave your fingers as you approach Harrington’s house.
—
A meticulously curated outfit makes all the difference, especially if you’re reentering society. And you are, in a manner of speaking.
Returning to the scene of the crime, the inciting incident that saw you in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van the better part of a bottle of vodka deep and a bruise blooming. Bridges actively aflame between you and those you once considered your closest friends.
They’d given you the matches though. Flicked them at you, expected you to do nothing.
It occurs to you now, as a lingering touch stays between your and Eddie’s pinkie fingers and you cross the porch, that you hadn’t so much as looked in the rearview mirror to assess the damage. You looked through his windscreen as he drove you home.
“Divide and conquer?”
“I’ll find you.”
Eddie used to exist to you as an eyesore on the peripheries of parties like this. Here, where you always felt you were sitting alone on the observation deck, watching everyone else have fun and learning how to mimic it for your own gain. Patching yourself together. You felt him leering over your shoulder sometimes, separate from it too.
Now, he’s the boy spinning you around on the pavement, looking at you like you’re a whole person.
So this should be interesting.
The two of you shove past a couple of clumping bodies on the doorstep, eyes already starting to dagger in your direction. Into the foyer, towards the kitchen, those looks become more and more and more focused. Feels like you’re wearing piano wire for a choker.
‘What the fuck…’ ‘Remember the last time she was here?’ ‘Woah, smackdown rematch. Somebody get Carol.’
Eddie gets a little closer than he needs to, feigning a stumble into you, just to brush against your hardened shoulders and whisper, ‘Head up, queenie. It’s not like they’ve got a guillotine,’ before he disappears to make rent.
The smile you’re about to sneak to him dies on your lips as your name rings out from somewhere in the milieu, someplace near the kitchen.
“Lacy!”
All that cruising for a parking space and you hadn’t locked eyes on a Ford Cortina, had you?
The tardiest student enrolled at Amherst or wherever half-jogs toward you with a smile that makes your stomach lurch. Cold sweat starts to prick against your hairline. Excuse me?
“Oh! Hi!” you hit a higher octave than you were intending, for sure, you can tell by the look on his face. Eyebrows all shot up. “What the… fuck are you doing here?”
College guy shakes his head a little, confused. “You mentioned you were gonna be here.”
“...and you took that as an explicit invitation?” You’re still technically dating him, dumbass. Smile. “Just kidding! It is. Good. To see you.”
A cursory squeeze of his bicep. Christ, you’re bad at this when you’re not prepared. Extra bad at this when your first thought, when you’re doing bad, is where’s Eddie. When did that symbiosis develop exactly?
“Listen, can we go somewhere?” Oh, Jesus. “Talk? I tried to call your place a little earlier and–” Oh, Jesus! This guy looks at you with earnest eyes that you couldn’t tell the color of if you had a gun to your head. Bodies jostling around you, you make the choice to drop in and act a little left of sober.
“That sounds ah-mazing, but I do have to pee, so,” you shoot him a glimmering smile which ain’t takin’. “Grab me a drink and I’ll find you? Grab me a drink and I’ll find you.”
Bolt! You’re stepping over knees as you weave your way up Harrington’s impossible staircase to the second floor bathroom, downing a shot from a tray on your way. Five minutes inside Mrs Harrington’s immaculately designed proto-modern lavatory should give you enough chutzpah to take on the rest of this night, right? Maybe a fully clothed lie down in the jacuzzi tub.
The ten-girl deep line outside the locked door says different.
From the seventh spot, Carol Perkins cranes her perfectly coiffed strawberry head out and locks eyes with you.
No guillotine, huh?
—
Eddie’s gotta wonder, what the hell the Harrington household looks like when it isn’t throbbing with mainstream radio rock and gyrating teenagers. The house is a showroom of suburban perfection, but whenever Steve throws a party, it goes full bacchanal.
Tonight Eddie intends to take full and rapid advantage of the skewed consciousness of his classmates and copious amounts of jello shooters.
Like, yeah, Harrington might have graciously invited him and not directly asked him to peddle his wares by the pool like a fucked up candy stand, but you gotta seize opportunity wherever you find it. People see him here, they know what to do. They know his purpose.
It’s not as if Eddie’s here to mingle, okay?
Do what they expect of you until you don’t have to anymore.
The short term objective? Empty his stash, stuff his pockets and steal away with you into one of the billion bedrooms this mini-mansion holds. But, much to Eddie’s chagrin, that means fighting through the din of Cyndi Lauper and body odor first.
Conjured by his very words, Andy Sweeney swings right into Eddie’s path and yoinks the beer that Eddie was reaching for. The kid doesn’t even look beyond the brim of his baseball cap to notice he’s standing there. He’s too busy jawing with some other basketball tool.
“Lissen, man, say what you want,” Sweeney burbles, “but Princess Trailer Trash is still totally bangin’.”
Eddie’s ears immediately tune right into their garbled conversation.
“Pssh, dude, I don’t care what anyone says, she was frigid then and she’s frigid now. No way some overgrown virgin like Munson is splittin’ those knees open.”
“Still… bet she misses the finer things in life, y’know?”
“Tchyuh, like you, y’mean?”
“Nah, rich bitches like that get a wettie over the dumbest shit. Hey, how many glasses of Cristal does it take for Lacy Doevski to spread her legs?”
“I’unno, man, how many?”
“Well, if the first one has her face down in the pillow, how’s she gonna be able to tell?”
Bile scorches the back of Eddie’s throat. He doesn’t even mean for it, he actually means for a lot worse, but his hand goes right out and grabs the scruff of Sweeney’s shirt. The despicable little dirtbag. He yelps, a sound pleasing to Eddie but not quite pained enough for what this motherfucker deserves.
“What the fuck, freak?!”
Breath forces itself hard through Eddie’s nostrils. That they think they even have the right to talk about you like that makes him want to leave an Andy Sweeney-shaped hole in the Harringtons’ marble countertop, with some blood and teeth and viscera to match.
“Interesting observation, Andy. It’s incredible to witness how the minds of the shrivel-dicked work,” Eddie seethes, “I personally like to enact my violence face up. Seen Billy Hargrove lately?”
Sometimes, Eddie forgets that he’s actually scary looking. The hair shrouding his face, the big hulking rings, the unsuspecting strength he’s gained from hauling around kegs and amps and the weight of the world… Sometimes, it takes a stiffened flash and a sudden flash of fear in someone like Andy Sweeney’s irises for him to remember.
Sweeney stammers something between a no, please! and get off me!, fighting his own piss-pantsery in order to keep up appearances for his bros.
Eddie grabs the Miller High Life from his hand and shoves him back toward his friends.
“Champagne of beers. You understand.”
Sweeney spits, like physically spits at him. “Fucking loser!”
“Says the guy threatening to roofie a chick!” Eddie barks. “God, I know that your line of work doesn’t exactly require neurons but I’m begging you to rub your remaining ones together and see if it sparks some self awareness, Sweeney– go on, try!”
—
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here.”
“Praying I don’t get a UTI, like everybody else in line.”
“You know what I mean, bitch.”
A category five sigh rolls your shoulders forward, hunching them further down the wallpaper you lean against. Carol has stepped fully out of the line, looking viperous but keeping her distance. Like you might have the good sense to strike back this time.
“Oh my god, Caroline, it’s a kegger. I don’t think you need to RSVP.”
“There’s a strict no freaks policy,” Carol The Bouncer says.
A one noted bark-laugh comes from the fifth position in the line. “Yeah, I think we’re getting a little lenient with that one these days.”
From the mouth of Robin Buckley, who stands there like she did at the last party, against her will but as living proof that even the worst people you knew might not be as bad as you thought.
I know Steve. He’s not exactly made for this crowd either.
“Stay out of this, Lesbo Baggins!”
“Hey!” You force your stiletto off the wall and lose your place in line, since Carol’s begging for it. Fuck that. No more shrapnel. “Leave her alone. This is between us, isn’t it? You and me?”
“And the rest of this town,” Carol’s upper lip curls.
“Refresh my memory,” you say, and the choking vice of Carol’s overly familiar body spray is threatening your jugular. You used to come home from her place reeking of the stuff; the kind of smell that transfers, and carried with it characteristics that you were once proud to have rub off on you. The misery, the misanthropy for everyone but your pocketful of someones. And you and Carol didn’t even like them, most of the time. United in smarting bitterness, the way that girls who want more but can’t seem to get it always are. “What’s the problem, Care?”
“The problem,” Carol snarls, “is you, Lacy. Think just because your daddy’s out of prison that everyone forgot what he did? What you did? I’m watching you, trailer trash.”
You’re close enough that you can see the clumps in her mascara. Why hadn’t she separated them with a needle like you taught her to? The Audrey Hepburn method. It had always freaked her out, you sitting there with a pin that close to her retina, but she’d never looked better.
Doomed to fail, without you by her side.
Spine straightening, you draw yourself over her. In your heels, borrowed from Ivana and gilded with her hardiness, you make Carol look small.
“Yeah?” your voice drops to gravel. “You like what you see?”
—
Brainless Hawkinsite pieces of shit can’t so much as muster a response before they lurch for Eddie. Who the fuck knows what cursed or blessed him with rhythm, but he dodges around the bustling kitchen island with relative ease, before he nearly knocks Steve Harrington himself straight through his own plate glass patio door.
“No runnin’ indoors!” Steve slurs in his face, so close that a fleck of saliva goes straight up Eddie’s nostril. Gross. He’s found a home in the welcome bosom of the jello shot, that’s for fucking sure.
“They started it!”
“I don’t give a fuck! Finish it!”
Gruffly, he casts an eye around the kitchen for those rogue ballsacks– they’d scarpered, probably spooked by the bellow of King Steve. Whatever.
“My attackers seem to have dematerialized, you’ll be delighted to know!”
“Why do you do that? Why do you talk like such a fucking weirdo, man?” Steve asks exasperatedly, clutching onto Eddie’s shoulder a little too roughly for his liking. Not that he’s keen on Harrington pawing him at all. “Like what d–... ughh, forget it! List-en! Where’s your weirdo girlfriend?”
“Ronnie’s not–”
“Who the fuck is–” Steve’s whole pretty boy face screws up and he lets out a genuine groan of anguish. “No, asshole, where is Lacy at?”
“How should I know?!”
“Because your nose is permanently wedged up her ass!” Steve yells, but something draws him back. “Or it should be!”
Incredibly puzzling wording. Eddie shakes his head, wide eyes bewildered at exactly what the fuck Steve wants from him. With a scoff, the man of the house walks into the body-to-body wedge of his hallway and runs, from what Eddie can see, right into…
Your little college boyfriend.
Now… what the sweet and levelling fuck…
Eddie Munson’s activating Shadow Arts, he guesses, because he dips as close to the two of them as he can get without being accused of tailing Harrington this time.
“...hey man, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”
“Haha. Good to see you too, Stevie. Quite the turnout–you the big man on campus now or what?”
“I don’t know, it’s a party. I’m personally having kind of an evolution moment of my own. So. Fuckin’. Whatever.”
“... right.”
“How’s… fuckin’... whatever needledick school it is you go to?”
“Tch, man. I made it about a heartbeat and a hangover through the first semester before I dropped out. Came home around Christmas, much to the disgrace of my parents… But I’m havin’ an alright time, if you catch my drift.”
“Huh?”
“Y’know. High school girls. You can tell them anything, am I right?”
Shit.
Know what, though? Eddie, as he sees it, would be well within his rights to yuk it up at this pernicious turn of events. He’s had a bet running (with himself) that this eyesore in beige you call a college beau, with his ugly fuckin’ car and his stupid collared shirts and his Waiting for Godot or whoever, wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. And not just ‘cause of jealousy, no! Not entirely. Well, okay. But, riddle him this– instead of snorting it up good, thrilled to be able to rub your nose in it, that rotten coil of anger started shifting in his belly again. Why do you think that is?
It’s simple. Eddie knows it’s simple. Because Mister Faux Ivy League has wasted so much of your time.
Time that should have been yours and Eddie’s.
He’s gotta tell y–
“Hey, man. How’s it going.”
“Agh!” Eddie yelps, as running right the fuck into people is apparently the flavor de nuit. Ronnie stands, stockstill and deadpan, behind him. Flanked by Tommy Hagan and Billy Hargrove.
Eddie makes an exasperated noise of confusion, not even dignifying this apparition with a question.
“They wanna play beer pong,” Ronnie monotones. With a glance down, Eddie can see that her front overalls pocket is filled with empty beer bottles. Apprehension swipes at him. See, his good friend Ronnie? She’s a competitive drunk. She, drunk off Jeff’s dad’s scotch, once trash talked Keith from Palace Arcade to such an eviscerating degree that she got a lifetime ban and he left to work at Family Video. Over a game of fuckin’ Tron.
“We wanna play beer pong,” Hagan echoes.
Hargrove sucks on a cigarette, having finally regained the ability to open his eye. Tragic. “Pong.”
“Why?!” Eddie asks, but more like begs.
“Because they insinuated that I would lose.”
“And we’d like to give the future valedictorian a chance to prove us right,” Hargrove drawls, looking as if he’s trying not to admit to himself that he has to look up to address Ronnie. She’s got a head and a half on him, at least. So many complexes in such a roidy, mulleted package.
Eddie sees that his cheque is signed.
“... Fine. Your funeral.”
—
“All I see is some ex-relevant ex-cheerleader in somebody else’s moth eaten clothes.”
“This is Italian silk, you JC Penney clone-ette.”
“Oh, Italian like a meatball sub or Italian like the mob your dad is part of?”
That sets your teeth on edge. God, Ray Doevski wishes– at least there’d be some valor to it then, capos and all. The reality feels far less shrouded in intrigue. Grimier, somehow.
“Carol, you had the jump on me last time,” you grit, “but I’m stone cold tonight. Either see yourself down the stairs or I will.”
“Are you threatening me, freak fucker?”
“You’d love that, bottom feeder.”
“Lacy! Stop right there, y–”
Earrings clinking as you snap your head around, you watch as a thoroughly ossified Steve Harrington almost brains himself on the top step. Neither you nor Carol nor anyone else reach out to help him, caught red handed in the prelude to a catfight.
“Finally, Jesus!” Carol whinges, “Steve, she’s totally trespassing!”
Panic spikes across your shoulders, quills on a porcupine–are you actually about to get escorted off the premises? That’d be embarrassing, being double-shunned at an open-door Harrington kegger. Eddie hadn’t even managed that dire of a social faux pas and here you are, about to do it for the second time.
“Ow! Shut up, Carol!” Steve decides to steady himself by closing the span of his big hand around your elbow; you both stagger under his wheedling. He’s got a bottle of vodka, cracked, wedged in his other palm. “You and I need to have a little chat.”
And before you can make any attempt to yank yourself away, make a run for it in these stilettos you certainly cannot confidently lift knees it, Steve is pulling you in the direction of his bedroom. A choir of middle school-aged angels that all look like you are singing somewhere as Carol and every other girl in that bathroom line save for Robin enviously glare after you, but you can’t hear it due to being plunged into one of the deeper circles of hell.
“Steven, listen–” You’re not even entirely sure where the full-Christian-name-address comes from, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind when you yank your arm free. “I wasn’t trying to start anything. Not really. I was just…”
Click. Steve locks his bedroom door and turns, staring you down. Well, the best that a drunk teenager with drifting irises could stare one down. You wonder how many Lacys he sees right now. You should ask him to count them, finger on his nose.
“You and I need to have a little chat.”
“You said that already,” but you can’t tell drunk people nothin’.
A remorseful edge around his attempt at a come-hither stare is making you feel a little icky, dawdling on the burning balls of your feet. He looks really bad, actually. The picture of someone trying to sift horniness out of grief or whatever. Steve thrusts one hand through his already scuzzed-up hair, the other jerking the bottle of liquor towards you.
“Have a drink, Lacy, Jesus. Relax, for once.”
You accept the bottle from him. Mostly because it looks as if he’s going to crack you over the head with it if you don’t. The vodka sears going down, same as last time, but there’s not the same urgency to meet everyone else on a level of functioning normal, party girl cool. If anything, the urgency lies in taking the edge off being here.
Particularly in Steve Harrington’s bedroom.
Once upon a time, you’d have mown down half this town in your sporty little Porsche to be sitting right where you’re sitting. But now, under the weight of your own self and Steve’s breakup with Nancy, you’d rather be anywhere else. Anywhere.
“Sit down,” he tells you.
Your eyebrows draw in on instinct, very who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?
Steve scoffs, like he forgot to put on his concerned pantomime. He makes a pretty good go of it, slurring. “Please, Lacy.”
Your knees acquiesce, sinking yourself down onto his checkered bedsheets. The combination of that and the checkered wallpaper is creating an incredible cresting wave of claustrophobia.
“Listen, if this is about Nancy, if this is some harebrained attempt to marionette me into getting her back, I–”
“This is about you ‘n’ me, actually.”
Nope. Opposite day. Fucking Twilight Zone.
“No, it’s not,” you outright refuse. The mattress sags as Steve takes a seat beside you.
“Well, why can’t it be?” Steve’s eyes trail a sticky line up your bare arm as he lies back and props himself up, low on his elbows. However, it’s not eliciting the same amount of alarm that it would if someone like, say, Billy Hargrove were doing it. He’s pathetic, and not in a way you find enticing. “You ‘n’ me, it makes sense. Doesn’t it? Don’t you want it to?”
“No!” You balk with a little more fervor than a then-wounded looking Steve deserves.
“Why not?!” No one says no to the king, of course, especially when he’s this soused.
“Because…” You shake your head, legs crossing on Steve’s bed. A different draft of you, the idea of a girl you had long since scrapped screams at you from somewhere in the very back of your head. You’re ruining it, Lacy–everything we’ve worked for! “You don’t want me. You just feel sorry for yourself. And I’m…”
But luckily, he doesn’t catch the trail-off.
“I’m about to make you feel sorry for yourself,” Steve railroads you.
“How’s that?” Another slug of vodka…
“Well,” he struggles to keep himself propped up, “my girlfriend Eddie and your boyfriend Nancy? Recreationally copulating. How d’ya like that.”
… comes right out your nose.
author's notes: so i once again scrapped the idea of a mega chapter because i wanted to give you guys something in case i have to disappear because i start my new job tomorrow! sweating and pissing and crying. but being able to afford to move out soon will be good. anyway, i love writing a good party scene so expect this to leak right into chapter 12 too. onto the fun stuff:
- naming carol's mother ann perkins is a not-so-subtle nod to parks and recreation but the characterization couldn't be further off lol
- attention all american teen princesses, i found drop dead gorgeous in full on youtube
- the debate team captain in question, kate something-or-other, is in fact the very same kate that appears in rebel robin as robin's now-ex best friend
- doctor, she's self-referencing again, this time about the time ivana threw an olive at norman mailer
- i had to look up the origin of the term 'boinked', and it turns out it comes from cheers! congrats sam and diane
- boners forged fire to table straight from mount doom
- fra-gee-lay. it must be italian
- that's two for one LOTR references if you count lesbo baggins
- i am once again pretending to understand things about dnd
- i can't mention *jeff bridges voice* TRON! without watching clips of jeff bridges doing things. it's so cliche to cast him as my reefer rick but bitch the heart wants
that's all for now, folks! thanks again for reading and pls do reblog and comment and send me asks and things to keep the spirit of this silly little story alive. we're amping up. love u hellcats x
#published by powder#eddie munson x oc#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson x f!oc#eddie munson fic#e. munson by powder#l. doevski by powder#hellfire & ice#in progress
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Let’s Be Honest He Appeals To Women A Different Way
People call Oda Oda sexist, but in my opinion focusing on his target demographic isn’t bad. Girls aren’t excluded but I think it’s good he’s not automatically pandering to them through romance because in my opinion if he did those elements would feel forced in this show. And I think unintentional pandering to your unintended audience tends to be better than when you intentionally do so and it could potentially turned off that segment.
The most obvious attraction that women have to this series is the dilf hot males, especially the villains. Seriously, it’s really the most unintentional of pandeirng that Oda creates these types of villains and the female audience eats it up. While most shonen series focuses on hot young men, this series give attraction to old men as well and we female fans are eating it all up.
And again the female characters, despite the criticisms of same character mold I do think when it comes down to it excluding romance has helped. Seriously, while on the surface level the latter three are attractive and used for fan service, Oda does his best to also flesh out their characters. For instance, Nami and Robin are different types of smart guys on the crew and are critical to helping Luffy on his journey by traveling safely through the world and knowing the secrets about the messages of the Poneglyphs. In my opinion, it makes them stand out to me because they serve more than fanservice but also as people who have their place in the story. They might not get as much fights, but they manage to be strong female characters in their own right.
Another is Vivi who isn’t the strongest fighter but has the strongest spirit and has taken on evil organizations and now the government itself to stand up for what she believes is right. Vivi might not be an official member but she is in spirit a close secret ally of the crew and her presence really brought a great dynamic from the crew that makes them all still miss her being around.
And finally Big Mom why is she on this list, because interesting enough Oda could have just made her a one dimensional fat fuck, but instead he made her a complex character even though she’s a villainess. And even though everything she’s gone through is not an excuse for her behavior, it still makes her a compelling character to read because again someone like her ended up this way because so many people wanted to use her and enable her worst qualities for their selfish ends. And in the end we have a woman who not only can’t emphasize with people and feels entitled to everything due to how she was taught to see the world. In my opinion Oda, didn’t have to do this but I am glad and it makes antagonists like her very happy to see.
And again even though One Piece isn’t about romance, it really gives compelling canon couples some spotlight. Seriously, one of them is Capone and Chiffon, who you wouldn’t think make a wholesome couple but they do. He seriously showers this woman who was so abused by her mother for what her sister did and adores the son they have together. He even goes up against her brother who was going to kill her even though she pleaded to leave her. This guy really does love his wife and would anything for her like a real man would. And again in my opinion, lovey dovey romance is something Oda will never do but I admit I think any woman would want a man like Capone to stand up for her like that. And in my opinion, if you ever see a married couple in this franchise you will bet your ass that married couple will have something deep and lasting. With exceptions being Yassop and Big Mom herself.
#one piece#one piece oda#oda#big mom#vivi#king the wildfire#sir crocodile#doflamingo#charlotte katakuri#nico robin#nami#capone pez#capone bege#charlotte chiffon#charlotte linlin
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Who wants a really sad Leverage headcanon?
Was re-watching the Gimme a K Street Job -- Season 5 Episode 5 -- and a couple of things stood out to me.
1) Nate says "Let's go steal some congresspeople", and then sends everyone on the team (except Parker, who's being a cheer coach) out to con one of their targets. But it feels like there's a profound mismatch in who gets which mark.
For the "not like other girls" feminist congresswoman who's inclined to dismiss cheer as worthless and demeaning, you need Eliot to come in looking like a man who very much knows what does and does not count as a sport, and be his tiny angry respect-women-juice self about how regardless of what you think of their choice of clothing they are working as hard as any other athlete and they deserve safety as much as anyone else.
But instead they sent Hardison.
For the "Yes I am very busy and important; admire me" chairman, you need Sophie, who is better than anyone else on the planet at making you feel admirable when you're doing what she wants, and scummy and low when you're not doing what she wants.
But instead they sent Eliot.
For the "Look I am trying, but I need corn subsidies or I won't be able to do anything else" newbie congressman, Hardison could happily have gone on an infinitely recurring series of fetch quests until he sees the place where they loop around and bottom out and every problem solves every other problem.
But instead they sent Sophie.
2) Eliot struggles the most, so Nate works with him the most, but he doesn't help him out hardly at all; he just keeps saying, "So what's your next play?" and then revealing that he's already anticipated Eliot's next play and has all the materials in place to enact it. And of course, they do eventually get the dude on board, and it all works out, but afterwards, Eliot tells Nate, "I trust that some time soon you'll tell me why you had me slogging through all that when you already knew how to hook him."
And of course, knowing what we now know about how season 5 ends, it makes sense that Nate is trying to train the OT3 to work without him, looking for his replacement.
Except.
If the plan is to fuck off into the sunset with Sophie, then why did he throw Sophie into this uncomfortable not-my-wheelhouse scenario?
No, Nate's preparing the entire team to carry on without him. He's forcing them to learn how to plan, learn different ways of approaching problems, to think about bigger pictures and approach them strategically.
...
I think Nate just got the first diagnosis of the disease that's finally going to kill him. And again, we -- the audience -- now know that he's going to live for many years after that initial diagnosis. But he doesn't know that, at this point. He knows he's tested positive, and he knows it's eventually going to kill him, and he has no idea how long he has.
And in some sense, it doesn't matter how long he has. Three months or thirty years, that kind of revelation makes it stunningly clear that taking care of the people you love means making sure that they can take care of themselves.
So that's what he does: he throws them into new, uncomfortable situations where they'll have to grow and support each other without him, so that no matter what happens, they'll be able to keep going. Because he's not a nice person, Jimmy Ford's son, but by God does he know the importance of protecting your family.
#leverage#nate ford#nathan ford is not a nice man but he's the only thing standing between us and jimmy ford's son#headcanon#spoilers#leverage spoilers#leverage redemption spoilers#gimme a k street job
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what am I? The devil's advocate?
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!
THE GIFT OF APPOLLO STRIKES AGAIN FOR ME SPECIFICALLY CAUSE I CALLED OUT THIS CANCELLATION THE MOMENT FOREVER GOT CANCELLED!!!!!
Its just so easy! So simple! Of course a male musician is gonna get cancelled and so few listened to me cause you are dumb children because obviously its children who make up the majority audience of a Minecraft roleplay server!!! Ha! At this point its comical! I'm busting a nut on how funny and predictable this all is. Haha, ah sadge. Oh noooos! Are you all gonna burn your merch and delete your art cause you're afraid that u are supporting an abuser creep. Ah waaaahhhh. Like i havent heard that tune the past two months, sing another one. Bitches.
Pft, you all are so pathetic and funny, at this point there really just must be this shadow group or whatever that is trying to destroy the qsmp from the inside out. Like really? Two months, three major creators of the qsmp are targeted by cancellations, and there is plenty of drama in between. So obviously suspicious and coincidental. And it happened so fast and so many people just dogpiled on the accused, i would have to say its almost organized. And that there is just so many jumping the gun, ready to tell these creators to kill themselves, you guys certainly have numbers, holy shit. Ha! I wonder if Forever actually finds and sues that first anti, that he'll be able to figure out who these people are because isnt this also just so conveniently timed? Each cancellation one after another. There is so much drama clouding the qsmp community that how could it not be schemed out at this point? I already predicted that with Forever's downfall and now with attempts I. Cellbit and Wilbur, Im starting to have an inclination that someone approached these girls.
With cellbit's ex it would be easy to deflame him, but i wonder how they got to this sherby whatever. Maybe cause he chose his career over her like i've heard in her video. But being exs is already hot opportunity for scorn of any kind, so its quite easy to jump on one or the other when one of these two accused the other. So really the motive could be anything at this point. anything she said or not said or those requests she asked of him and he never fulfilled. And to me she never delved too deeply in to what those requests were either. Which ok then. Fine, keep your secrets.
But biting is so fucking weird to accuse someone as abuse. Especially physical. Like just biting? That's all. Not that if its true that's not bad, but it would make sense that he was physically violent in any other way at least once. Like hitting, strangling, anything. But no, biting is the best she could come up with when it comes to physical. Mental and emotional abuse is a tricky in cause its not visible and it will always boil down to a he said she said type of shit but if there is no physical text or people witnessing their conversations then good luck with that.
But firstly, if she wants the whole world on her side then physical evidence should be so easy in this scenario. Like as easy as pie! If he bit her so badly every day where he tore skin, or whatever, then damn weren't they in a relationship??? Did they not take couple pictures? Wouldn't these pictures show the obviously horrible bitemarks? That is the first actual physical evidence that she could show that would be so easy to solidify her stance, but no, just hearsay. And nothing like texts either! Maybe a text to a friend complaining about how bad the bitemarks are. But no, nothing. No slideshow of evidence at all, just saying it happened, because words are all she needs to win the internet nowadays.
And then there are her complaints about him financially taking advantage of her, like girl, receipts! Show the receipts at least please, god damn it! Or again, these supposed texts to your girlfriends that he is taking financial advantage of you!!! Anything at all. The male accused is always expected to provide evidence that he did not abuse his ex but the girl isn't expected to show physical evidence that he did it, come on!!!
And I mean the biting in itself is so strange too. Cause like- how did it even start? She says he did it out of nowhere and my brain cant even wrap around that there was no pinpointing starting point. Said that it was a normal affection thing that his parents said was normal. If his family actually said that at all. And that he just randomly introduced it to her like ... Huh? Nothing she could accurately point to and say then, thats when it began. No sexy time or sex or whenever. Just he walked up to her in the kitchen one day and took a bite, huh? Like as far as im aware, to me (and a mutual of mine who pointed this out more accurately) their situation just sounds like a bdsm thing that went south. These two were not on the same wavelength, realized that and went their separate ways. Maybe he didn't follow the safe word every time, maybe she was also mutually into it like Wilbur said. Maybe they just changed their minds on things. Who knows! Not us, that's for sure. Not that their love life should be any of our business, but she yelled abuse so...
And the fact that she acts like biting is such a weird foreign kink. It's tame is what it is. More tame then the feet kinks in my opinion. But if what Wilbur says it's true and it was mutual, 😮💨 then fuck, man.
And why would HIM leaking past conversation be power over her? Wouldn't any mutual conversation or evidence they have over each other, negatively effect him in a bad light? Would it not be good if one of these parties showcased a lick of evidence to evidentally prove her right??? Or would it be like Cellbit and explain thoroughly how not everything she said is the truth?
Who knows. There is probably some truth to what she said like he reiterated. About being a slob and that biting happened. But the invasiveness of the bites and the violence of it might not have been accurate. But he needs to absolutely admit it or she needs literally any physical evidence at all to give weight to her claims. But there is nothing because of course there isn't. She could so easily expose him if what she says is true... So why didn't she in her video? If that is what she wants? But then if it is just to bring awareness then she did so in a selfish manner that is only accusatory and not grounded. Ground me Shelby. Show me the bad boyfriend he is. SHOW ME.
But she won't. Will she? :/
Anyway. The qsmp. 👏👏👏👏👏
Like in the past two months, creators have been cancelled or dropped from the qsmp one by one and damn, quackity must be super evil or one unlucky son of a bitch to have hired all these secretly maliscious people. My goodness gravy gracious, how impressive!
I mean come on, really. Like really. Have we not overheard this tune by now? Male creator gets cancelled cause of something to do with a woman, is rushed to answer and is (luckily for cellbit he had an essay on why he was innocent so people are fifty fifty on him at least) then dogpiled by the people waiting to rip his apology or response apart. And then it doesn't matter what they do, anything they do will be seen in a bad light and no one will take into consideration on their stance at all and turn on the male creator. Its crazy how the pattern keeps repeating itself and keeps being successful because everyone is afraid that they are supporting an abuser pedo whatever and have all this time.
It actually makes me sickly relieved that no matter how Forever managed his initial response, he was doomed from the start.
And i mean these younger streamers certainly think they're smart by immediately turning on Wilbur's obviously curated damage control lawyer made response, but ha! That will bite them in the ass soon too. When its their turn. Because its going to be their turn. These cancellers don't care at this point who you are, they just want to see you fall, which is what i predicted and shouted to the heavens months ago! That they should have stayed as a community instead of turning on each other.
Like they think they are so smart responding this quickly, cause the quicker your response to injustice, the more innocent you are 😇. Because if they dont respond immediately (literally hours after the fact), then they will be treated like creators such as Phil and Tommy; be treated like shit and accused for supporting an abuser by the hysterical masses. Because that's who you are if you are against whatever the ex's name is or dont speak up about it at all. And like dont speak up immediately too. You have to have a quick response or there will literally be a ripple effect of cancellations cause if you dont say anything then you are a bad person too. And all i hear from the social media smucks are Wahhhhhh.wahhhhhhhh you're bad if you support so and so! But i already made my side so im a good person wahhhhhhhh
And no, im not even enteraining shit like this anymore when she goes "uwu, i'm finally coming out on social media to spread awareness that my famous ex boyfriend (and it is ALWAYS at the height of their popularity, remember that) used to abuse and bruise me." Like sure- the benefit of doubt for the female victim blah blah but she's like- "oh but this is based on my experience and I'm just here to spread awareness. Anyway, I'm going to hang out with my friends now after dumping that clusterfuck on the internet. Bye~." Like everyone in their collective minds won't go after him and demand answers then judge his response and then turn on him anyways cause lemme be honest, when has an internet open apology ever worked? It never has. And now she has put the spotlight on him, his pr team is scrambling for an escape, he's probably messaging her behind the scenes going what the hell, and his family and friends who wont actively denounce him will be sent death threats. Just like Forever. Forever mi amor. Ah. I miss you bibi.
Anyway, girlie knew she was setting the hounds on him and acted like she didnt. Like she was just going to say her piece and dip. Like the internet wasn't going to explode. Like what the fuck? Whatever her intentions were, whether she was abused or not, she wanted this. She didnt want to get him before he got famous or even during dsmp. She wanted to do this now. For some reason it had to be now. I guess in her mind the bigger they are...
It's always the same.... goes on social media. Verbally accused with no physical evidence. Leaves. The man is left flounder in the mob of social media. Repeat.
And damn, this really makes me doubt Cellbit's ex now like- im starting to really not believe any of them anymore. Cause these cancellations are just all so convientely timed!!! Forever at the height of his lore, Cellbit's weird ex comes out of nowhere with a heavy hitter accusation, but thankfully my guy predicts this and was able to deflect that one with his PHYSICAL EVIDENCE, and now Wilbur's ex is breaking out the easy 'he abused me~' song. Like why are you all still falling for this? Why? Why? Why? Why?!
And hell, i might be a hundred percent wrong, but you might be too, so might aimsey and ranboo and tubbo. This chick might be a sweet angel that didnt mean to release an innocent criminal accusation on her famous ex, oh no~ but like, i dont even care if im wrong and am acting like a jackass.
They cancelled Forever and my man was not a pedo. I stand by that. I'll stand by it until there is a literal mugshot of him commiting said crime. Or literally any lick or shroud of physical evidence! Anything instead of the basic she said he said nonsense. The Forever texts were gross but i've already determined what I have understood from that girl Sol's response. And I've explained it on my tumblr hear before. Right here :)
-https://www.tumblr.com/lovethatmakingcoffee/739974345599926272/part-1
And these remaining qsmp idiots can be cancelled for all i care at this point. For staying quiet and letting their friend fall into a pit of vipers. I think its hilarious if they all got cancelled. Ive already seperated art from the artist with all of them after what they did to Forever. The only one I didnt do that to WAS Forever.
But they let that shit happen, they let my man get labeled as a pedo, so they reap what they sow.
And yeah i may be a hypocrite and still post qsmp stuff, but like whatever :P. I lost my mind months ago cause of circumstances and Forever was one of the few things keeping me afloat. And i mean like- phaw, these content streamers are funny, what can i say. Even though i dont agree with literally any of the shit they pulled in the last couple of months, they get a hearty chuckle out of me and their character is fun and their lore is (less) interesting. I mean- they are likeable. Thats why they are content creators. Cause they got great personalities. Doesnt mean they are good people though.
And heh, the qsmp really will die soon, i mean really. Just look. Pacfit is cute but it barely holds much in the shipping department, the lore might as well be dead cause many have left or were cancelled or have to deal with the aftermath of their friends being cancelled or leaving. And just it looks like not many people are on and that quackity tried to commercialize it with purgatory 2. Bringing all these new people and having storylines abandoned left and right. Then forever got canceled and quackity chose to throw his friend under the bus (doesnt even matter if forever secretly asked him to) and protect his project which was his first mistake. Now all these creators are getting picked off one by one because of their past relationships. Insteading of standing unified together.
And i will laugh at all of you stupid fucks who whined and cried that ohhh noooo, my favorite creator is a bad person with little evidence, and just the one side talking about it. And it doesnt matter if Wilbur said that was a consensual kink they shared and they met on www.bitemynipple.org, he will be framed as the bad guy, with whatever she said. My god. The fact that everyone takes this shit at face value and dont question anything, and quickly announce that they hate the guy to prove that they are a good person is insane.
Like holy shit, tubbo, ranboo, aimsey, and others. You jumped on him so quickly and literally ranked and ripped apart his apology like it was supposed to win some literary award, the fuck? Why are you so weird?! It's obviously a PR curated response and you are treating it like it is his actual words! The fuck?!
And then y'know, i think there are people who never really were fans and are just part of that well orchestrated alleged anti group that took down Forever and are using what wilbur's ex said to fan the flames. Loudly announcing, 'IM DELETING MY STUFF AND YOU SHOULD TOO UNLESS YOU ARE A BAD PERSON!!!" you want to talk about manipulation? That certainly looks like manipulation to me. Pathetic. Guilting people before the final verdict. My braincells are dead on the floor cause of youm And then the rest of you all roll over, bend your back and just take it. Well lube up your stupid little holes.
But honestly, i called this shit so hard. I more so guessed a fan would damn him later, but its an ex girlfriend who felt like it was a great idea to air out their personal lives to the voyeuristic eye that is the internet. Just peachy. Like this is your own personal shit, and again if there aint even a police report talking about their domestic abuse, i wont take this seriously. It a photo or a screenshot of a text about it. ANYTHING!!!!! The fact she just discreetly brought it up out of nowhere to bring 'awareness'. She knew what she was doing. And if her intentions were to tear him down cause she was angry at him or get her noticed because of his popularity or to use him to lift her agenda of this so called awareness then ok, i guess??????
And what's with this bullshit of not knowing that wilbur is manipulative? That is literally is one of his number one character traits. You can think of it negatively or positively, but unless you are new here, that dude is a manipulative hussy. Like this is a well known fact, how are any of you surprised at this? Its like saying the sky is blue. I mean- if by anything dsmp wilbur is the most manipulative lil bastard ever, obviously he is leaning into a character trait he already knows and has.
But go on, hm, cry. Write your little announcements that you always knew he was a bad person uwu and that you are deleting all your content of him. Go on and do it. Delete your art and fics that you worked so hard on just cause some drama is happening where there is no hard evidence so far except what she said and he said. Heh, I dont stan him. I aint saving this shit. If the art gets deleted, oh well! Too bad, so sad. Thats on all of you who wanted to panic, act out like toddlers and delete your art. Go on. Delete it. Feel sad. Boohoo. Waaaaaaaahhhh. Ask no questions and just side with the 'victim' who conveniently brings this up now.
Who knows. Maybe I'll act up too. Maybe i'll draw Wilbur getting eaten out and bitten and sensually gang banged. Maybe I'll draw art of tntduo chewing on each others' cocks. Bite bite bite. Maybe I'll just make a lot of wilbur biting art just to spite everyone. Who knows?!
Maybe i will also keep the wilbur soot tag alive, like i am doing with the forever, sugarduo, and the 4halo tag. Because you stupid ass bitches just squeal when these creators arent perfect when someone drops dirt on them. Well newsflash you dumb fucks, they all have dirt on them.
Also my next guess on who the cancel qsmp victim will be ... Fit. They havent got anything on Philza yet to my surprise. Maybe the man just surrounds himself with loyal people outside of minecraft server cause obvs those people aint loyal as shit 🤣. And i dont know much about fit outside of qsmp, like i feel a lot of us do. But he totally fits the qualifications. He's a man so he's an easy target. He's older so he has a 'past tm. And he is seen as otherwise good and another pillar of the qsmp. So if he is taken down, many shall follow. It would be another good shock to the community to destroy the server like these antis want. And yeah- i actually think this all stems around the qsmp. Aint no other Minecraft servers are having this level of drama right now, so why is it qsmp that are getting all these leaks and drama bombs at ... At the height of their popularity? I wonder. Or maybe i already know.
But all these pr disaster drama landmines, i even made a funny theory joke in my head that what if the ringleader to these alleged anti groups is actually a pr manager of one of these groups? And thats how they have been destroying everyone from the inside, collecting some OLD dirt, and being able to maybe connect or approach these exs. But that's just a funny theory i have. Like could you imagine???
Could you imagine?
And damn, i just wonder if there is a content creator policy that if one of them is being attacked than the rest have to dogpile on them no matter how they feel or what they think about the situation to save their own assets and finances? Do you think? You think that's in their contract? That would be absurd and hilarious. Imma piss myself from laughing. Look piss.
And no, i will not talk nicely about this. I never should have. You guys all deserve to be spat on and talked shit to. And i mean all. Im talking about everyone. All those that fall hook line and sinker. Dumbfucks
Will i respond to anything from this...? Mm maybe. Probably not. I don't really care what happens :P sucks to suck
(Also yeah this was barely edited, eat my ass)
(And I mean, damn if I'm wrong I'm wrong, but you fucks turn so quick when yeah- there is no physical evidence that she could easily provide)
(to reiterate for those who don't want to read the finer details. I totally think everything that has happened so far as been to rip apart the qsmp and think all these ex girlfriends as well are too conveniently timed. And whether or not they are telling the truth, there are and will always be antis lying in wait to shame and guilt everyone to damn the male accused while no physical evidence is brought forth and that they pressure people to delete their art and fics. Gross)
#Wilbur Soot#Drama#Discourse#Shubble#Shelby#Tubbo#Ranboo#Aimsey#Forever#Foreverplayerg#Qsmp#Quackity smp#Dsmp#Dream smp#Tommyinnit#Philza#Fitmc#Quackity
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Promotion
Summary: Chef Julian Slowik sets his sights on making you something more than his next sous chef.
Pairing: Julian Slowik x Reader
Word Count: 1,710
Kink Prompt: Power Play | Dom/Sub
Warnings: Slight dubcon/coercion, power imbalance, dom/sub tones, hints of (and obvious) sexual harassment.
A/N: I wrote this for me. I am the one who wants to get fucked by Ralph Fiennes's character in The Menu. I am my own target audience.
Standing tall and silent to the side, Chef Julian's all-seeing eyes burned holes into the back of your head. He watched every move you made like a hawk. He made his way around the kitchen slowly, making sure everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to. You were leaning over the counter with tweezers to place the garnishes around the plate before you when you felt his presence behind you. "Good steady hand." Julian compliments coolly. "Thank you, chef." You respond without stopping or taking your eyes off the dish in front of you. It's a miracle you didn't jump when he put a hand on your hip. His hand stayed on your hip as you put the tiniest pieces of the dish into place, even going so far as to step up until he was pressing himself against you, making sure you felt his erection. A shiver ran up your spine as he leaned over you, further pressing his hardness into your backside. You didn't object at all at the contact, you'd seen what happened to the people who rejected Chef Slowik and you were determined to not end up like them. "When dinner finishes and I dismiss the others, stay in the kitchen." He orders. "Yes, chef." You say with a slight tremble in your voice. All the other chefs were too busy focusing on perfecting their own plates to pay any mind to the suggestive position Julian put you both in.
Dinner proceeded as usual, without further contact from Julian. Once everyone was fed and sent away, the rest of the staff began returning the kitchen to its spotless state, wrapping up at 2:30 in the morning. "Everyone can leave. Get some rest before tomorrow." Julian dismisses before turning his gaze to you. "Except you." Now that nobody was busy, you felt everyone's eyes on you as they filed out of the kitchen, leaving only you and Chef Slowik in the pristine kitchen. "How long have you been cooking?" He asks you. "Since I was a child, chef." You answer. "It was my duty as the oldest to take care of my siblings when my parents couldn't or wouldn't." "Do you enjoy it?" He questions. "Immensely, chef. What started as my duty became my passion. I can't do anything besides cook." You answer calmly. "That's not entirely true. You can follow orders better than the others. You can present better than them, you can work harder than them. I believe you are better than them." Julian states. "How would you like to be my new sous?" He offers. It's a miracle you manage to keep your jaw off the floor when you answer him. "That would be the opportunity of a lifetime, Chef. I'd be honored."
"I expect more from my sous than the other chefs, you know." He warns. "I expect my sous to follow my orders to a T, to go the extra mile to make sure Hawthorne runs smoothly, to do as I say without questioning or arguing with me. Do you think you can do that?" He asks, stepping up to tower over you. "Yes, Chef." You say with a nod. "Then get on your knees." His voice was atonal, devoid of any emotion, almost to the point of being robotic. He said it like it was any other order in the kitchen. There's only a split second of hesitation before you sink to your knees before him. "Do you know what I want from you?" Julian asks, tilting your chin up to meet his dark blue eyes. "You want me to prove I'll do whatever you ask of me, regardless of what it is, Chef." You answer. "Smart girl." Julian hums in approval, running his thumb along your bottom lip in a silent quest for access. Your lips parted just enough to take his thumb into your mouth before wrapping your lips around it. He watches intently as you suck on the digit, only to abruptly pull it out after a few moments. He kept a close eye on your hands as they undid his belt and zipper, fishing his rock-hard cock out without so much as a single tremble.
Julian's breathing catches slightly in his throat when you lean forward and take the head of his member into your mouth, moving slowly just like you had with his thumb before he took it away. With a steady grip on his base, you began slowly bobbing your head, taking him into your mouth little by little. His eyes fluttered shut with each. A small groan escaped Julian's lips when he felt his head hit the back of your throat. "You can do it." He hums when you gag around him, and the way he says it makes it sound like more of a general statement, a fact even, and less of an encouragement. When you didn't move fast enough for his liking, he frowned. "You will do it or you won't be in my kitchen much longer." He said more firmly. You give a slight nod and take a deep breath through your nose before taking his length into your throat. You bobbed your head and relaxed your throat, taking in more of him with each bob of your head until your nose touched his pubic bone and you gagged. Julian let out quiet noises as you worked, bobbing your head along his length with garbled noises, letting your tongue trace the vein on the underside of his cock. This continued for a few minutes before he tangled his fingers in your hair tightly and pulled you off of him.
Lust entirely darkened his eyes when he tilted your head up to look at him. "Get up and bend over the counter." He says in the same voice he'd used to send you to your knees. You wordlessly scramble to your feet and turn around, but he stops you from bending over. "Undress first." You don't trust your voice to speak for you, so you just give a nod and strip down to your underwear. A small, genuine smile crossed his features as he watched you. "Perfect." He mutters. He easily maneuvers your pliant body until you're bent over the counter. "You'll be a good sous... but an even better partner," Julian says as he runs his hand down the curve of your spine until he reaches your ass. "P-Partner?" You question, your voice faltering when he pulls your underwear down until the flimsy fabric falls slack and drops to your ankles. "That's right." He nods, stepping up behind you and teasingly running the head of his member through your wet petals.
"Do you want to know why I've picked you specifically?" Julian asks, dragging his tip through your folds until it catches on your entrance. "Why-" Your question is cut off when he leans over you, slowly pushing his member into your waiting opening. "Because you're obedient and eager to please," Julian whispers, kissing the shell of your ear softly. "I picked you because you are submissive." He states as he bottoms out. "You crave having orders to follow, being told what to do, and I'm going to be the one to give that to you." He husks as he slowly begins to thrust his hips. He talks over your moans. "You aren't just like the others, you're more special than them, more talented, more intelligent, more devout. You are better than them." He says as he thrusts into you. You gripped the edge of the counter as his thrusts quickly went from slow and easy to fast and almost punishing, each one forcing a moan out of your throat. Julian tangles his fingers in your hair and turns your head to the side enough to press his lips to yours in a heated, commanding kiss, biting your bottom lip slightly. That hand stayed tangled in your hair, holding your lips to his while the other left your ass to give your clit some rough attention. He angles his hips some until he finds your G-spot, reveling in the louder moan you let out.
"J-Julian..." You stammer breathlessly between your moans. "Not yet." He hisses as he bucks his hips into you, furiously chasing his release. The edge of the counter was beginning to painfully dig into your hips with each rough snap of his hips. The closer you get to your impending orgasm, the more your vision blurs and fills with stars. The combination of Julian's thrusts, his attention to your sensitive clit, and the way he tugged your hair was quickly bringing you closer to the edge you were determined not to fall off of just yet. Every movement of his was hellbent on seeing if you could follow his order. "See? You crave not disappointing me." He whispers smugly in your ear as he nears his climax. "Go on, pet, let go and come for me." Julian orders. It sends a chill through your body as you cave beneath him, letting go and moaning out his name as white-hot bliss overtakes every fiber of your being. Julian falls over the edge right on the tail end of your orgasm, letting out an almost primal-sounding moan as he buries himself to the hilt before filling you with his release.
His grip on you loosens when your orgasms subside. You shudder some at the feeling of his spend dripping down your thighs. Julian smirks at the reaction while tucking himself back into his pants. He grabs one of the nearby dish towels and almost gently cleans up the mess between your legs. "Tomorrow, you can move your things into my home." He states. "Y-Yes, Chef." You mumble with a nod. Julian cups your cheeks and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before planting another to your lips. "You will be phenomenal as my sous, as my partner, and as other things to come." He says with a smile. "Thank you, Chef Slowik." You say almost numbly as your mind processes everything that just happened. "Please, you can call me Julian when it's just us," He says jovially. "Thank you, Julian." You correct yourself. "Anything for you, my dear," Julian says with a smile, pressing another kiss to your lips.
I also wrote this for @bdffkierenwalker because she has been an amazing friend and always encourages me to write things that I want to write.
#The Menu#Julian Slowik#Chef Julian Slowik#Chef Slowik#Julian Slowik x Reader#Chef Slowik x Reader#Julian Slowik Smut#Chef Slowik Smut#The Menu Smut#Ralph Fiennes#Kinktober
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Hi! I just started following you and oh my god you JSchlatt fics are so good, I can’t get enough!!! If you’re taking requests right now, I’d like to ask for a little protective Schlatt! With the internet being what it is, I can imagine that maybe it wouldn’t be to kind to Schlatt’s SO. Or maybe you might have another scenario in mind? Again, thank you so much for all your writing, it makes my day!!! ❤️
i will shoot you dead ; (irl) schlatt x reader
summary : he couldn't give a shit what people say about him; what actually irritates him is when those assholes involve people that have nothing to do with whatever they're bullshitting about. he's made it a point not to involve his personal life, but when it gets leaked and his s/o gets targeted; he isn't fucking happy.
info : swearing, protective schlatt, pet names, she/her, afab reader, mentions of harassment and death threats, and fluff.
a/n : this was such a good idea i couldn't pass up ah, thank you so much for enjoying ! i am and attempting to post around every two/three days but school is just starting so i'm unsure how well i'll manage. to everyone else that requested, still working on it so apologizes that they are semi-late ! hope this also lives up to your expectations.
Being rich at twenty-three was a blessing and a curse, since he acquired all his wealth from being an Internet personality so to speak. Having what should have been a hobby bare so much fruit wasn't without its issues, and the drawback was most definitely the fame. People in his business, attempting to figure out his name and address, outraged from jokes and pretending that they understand him to a personal level; he was grateful for the normal ones, but one outspoken psycho made him rethink all his life choices.
It was never the audience's right to know or interact with his private life, to the creators that do let their fans have that window into their life was a privilege, not a right. So he never did tell anyone past his close circle of friends of his lover, Y/n, a blue collared worker not high up within her company but making good money to be independent. To Schlatt, she was his own little slice of heaven, always giving him the right kind of realistic advice while could always acknowledge and take in account his own feelings.
To some: she might be considered perfectly average, but he saw beyond the rest, she was more than just a pretty face anyways. He adored her ambition to work her hardest and larger than life aspirations. Despite knowing of the kind of money her boyfriend possessed, she never dared asked for a penny; he appreciated that she wanted her own individual success that came from her and not from outside sources. Being that she was also probably one of the most appreciate human beings he's ever had the chance to meet just added to her charm; she never let him so much as pay for a coffee without him hearing a thousand and one thank yous. She was his to love and adore, no one else should have been mixed up in their lives.
She had absolutely zero internet presence, and he liked it that way. Since she wasn't big into the public sphere she wouldn't be caught up in all the bullshit that followed him. Many people despised him despite not having spoken to or even knowing him beyond his flamboyant internet persona; it was fucking stupid, usually they never really bothered him no matter how much they so desperately wanted to cancel him and throw him off the internet. That's where he thought it ended, they despised him, they couldn't logically harass people that possible know him, right? Wrong.
'uh, schlatt? I'm getting a lot of emails about you coming to my work email. Did you tell people about my job or anything?'
Being that for almost the past decade most if not all of his friends had taken to calling him by his last name it eventually became used more or less so by everyone in his life more than his real one. It wasn't that his girlfriend didn't know his name or hadn't asked, she also enjoyed the sound of it and ended up being the default thing she'd call him.
The text itself was unusual, he wasn't even sure if he knew her work email let alone tell it to other people.
'What? No. I don't even know your email. What are they saying?'
'I have it in my LinkedIn profile, they're asking what's my relationship to you. Some are threatening to message my higher-ups claiming I'm a racist? They keep linking me back to Twitter. I can't work when my important emails are drowned out in this. I had one threatening to come where I work and hurt me.'
'Listen, sweetheart, I'm so sorry I really didn't think that they'd find you. I'll do my best to fix this, I'll come pick you up from work today too so don't leave the building until I arrive.'
A spark of rage ignited from within him, he was sure to be careful about not revealing her identity or even mentioning much about her. He knew how bad these people could get and how low they would stoop because they had no lives and just wanted to get the better of him; he wanted to protect her and now all he felt like was a failure. He was quick to log into Twitter and type in 'Jschlatt Girlfriend' and it was almost immediate that he found the thread of the asshole that went as far as to dox him and figure out who and where Y/n was. "He is a bad person that deserves all the things coming to him." It was written with such conviction, as if dragging unrelated people into a stupid ass controversy about another testing-the-line joke he told. He didn't care what they did to him, but threatening to hurt those closest to him struck a nerve that made him want to do some... Fairly illegal things to these people.
So he hoped that most people had some common sense left, screen shotted the thread and the text from his lover and was quick to make a comment about it.
Say whatever the fuck you want about me. But actively try to dox and threaten my girlfriend when she has nothing to do with any of this bullshit online and I will shoot you dead. Fuck you.
He knew these saggy fuckers wouldn't dare try anything, not when they'd know he'd be right there waiting for them. Was he serious when he said he'd shoot them dead? Only half so. He wasn't scared to use the firearm that he kept at home for protection, and neither was he scared to do what he needed to for the sake of protecting the only bright spot in his life. She didn't deserve this. He knew the hate for him could get damn strong, and who knows who amongst them would be crazy enough to act on those words. He wasn't going to test it and he would clearly set the boundary; don't fuck with him in real life, or you have to deal with him in real life.
It can be said he was not in a good mood as he waited outside the glass skyscraper building for his girl, since the few hours that he tweeted out about the situation public opinion turned more into his favour. Although he still had those that were adamant that he was said bad person, vast majority agreed that the original poster of her information was the biggest asshole. The thread was deleted but he saved all the screenshots and had the username burned into his mind, may god save that asshole's soul should Schlatt ever get his hands on him.
Once he saw her exiting the azure-tinted building he was quick to slip his phone into his pocket and get out of the car, running up to the door to greet her. A sheepish smile graced her lips as she gave him a soft wave, he noticed how she wore his favourite blazer and skirt set and how gorgeous she looked in it, but a more important question left his lips first. "Are you okay?" A worried one captured her features, "yeah I am, you look so stressed out. I'm sorry if I worried you." He shook his head and took hold of the hand that reached up to cup his face, "don't apologize, if anything I should. Being involved with me got you in this." A sympathetic look flashed her features as he walked side-by-side with her, a soft smile growing to her own face.
"Don't beat yourself up about it, I reported it to HR and although it took a while to explain they made sure to notify security about it and I had one guy follow me around when I went out for lunch, he was nice about it too. I had to ask help how to set it so they'd all go to spam but we worked it out eventually. So, please, don't worry too much; I'll be okay I promise." He looked down to see her reassuring smile, he knew she'd worry more over him than her own safety. He knew working himself up was an overreaction, he doubted anything would happen; but should something do he wouldn't ever forgive himself. "So, don't shoot anyone?" His eyebrows shot up at this, "you saw my tweet?" Last time he checked this girl had an issue figuring out how to change her profile picture on instagram.
"Well, other people did. A lot of people caught wind that I was getting death threats so I ended up having to explain who you were and they found your Twitter. Please uh, don't kill anyone on my behalf?" An airy chuckle left him, as he knelt down to kiss her temple, "and leave you behind to go to jail, toots? You're gonna have to try harder than that if you want to get rid of me." Seeing his ease and cheeky grin come about, a sense of relief washed over her. "So then, you wanna go out to–" "no." "Huh, why?"
She separated from him for just a moment so she could get into the passenger's side of the car. "We can go out when this whole thing blows over. Until then I don't want you running out of sight." It may have sounded slightly demanding, but she knew that his anxiety must have been through the roof; overthinking was one of his flaws that they worked through together. It wasn't like it was all that big of a deal, chilling out at the apartment sounded just as nice. "Movie night then?" Her enthusiasm was infectious that he couldn't help but break a smile. "Yes, please."
#schlatt#reader insert#schlatt x reader#schlatt x y/n#afab reader#chuckle sandwich#jschlatt#irl people#schlatt imagine#schlatt x you#jschlatt fluff#jschlatt fanfiction#jschlatt imagine#jschlatt x you#jschlatt x reader#jschlatt x y/n#jschaltt#jschlatt fanfic#schlatt fanfic#schlatt fluff#schlatt fanfiction#x reader
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Not a huge hazbin shipper but did U see the sneak peak? Charlie and Alastor in her bedroom… him being so comfy on her bed. Context? We dont speak cuz I can’t hear her over my blush
LKJFSDLKJHfL KJH DSLKJ FlkjDSHF klj<ds lkdfsah LKDJH lkdsH LKSD JHkdsjhks dfj g.yx,nv,mcnb öaoweri ht
LOSING MY FUCKING MIND OH MY GOD=??????
I NEED TO. BE NORMA L ABOUT FTHIS.
I might get back to this ask again and add to it with a reblog later when I've calmed tf down, for now you get incoherent and poorly formatted rambling under the cut to underline how hard this threw my brain for a spin just now skdjksdhf
[distressed ape noises]
not even bc of the ship potential of it (tho it was fucking potent I'm ngl) it's more how much he's seemingly working towards proposing a binding deal at last??
my god he's so scary good at manipulation
I am in DISTRESS to try and figure out how that's going to end up going holy FUCK
he's doing it all- the targeted jabs, kicking up some dust to get her mind back to the problem at hand, the way he's consistently only invading her personal space when he has an agenda, how he's offering up a seemingly personal detail about himself to soothe over her accusation of him not caring by neither confirming nor denying yet giving her the illusion of knowing more about him than before-
Like. The smile thing is as much advice as it is a hint about himself, yet also expresses absolutely nothing about what actually *is* going on underneath, it's only a hint about where to look - largely useless when one is as good at hiding their true intentions as he is-
sidenote how dare his spooky bitch ass be so comfortable rolling around her bed??
the trap has been opened wide this whole time, the lure is set; he has vital info that she wants- no, NEEDS, and he's about to deploy it when he has the most amount of leverage with it-
he just has to wait for her to come crawling and for it to snap shut around her
fuckckckckck the way this has me on my toes
THE THING IS-
This could all be genuine - we wouldn't fucking know! His true intentions are a mystery to us as the audience as of now; neither explicitly good nor bad - will she decline? be desperate enough to take it? Is there going to be an offer at all or is he just going to give the info to her and play the long con game of nurturing trust before striking even harder later???
LET ME DISSECT YOU AND LOOK INTO YOUR BRAIN I NEED TO FIGURE OUT WHAT YOUR FUCKING DEAL IS I'LL BE GENTLE I PROMISE-
He has so many aces up his stupid red fucking sleeves rn I'M SCARED, I'm SCREAMING
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