#a life ruiner and a murderer

[malka-lisitsa]

#dash commentary #havent you heard? #shes the devil #Selfish and incapable of love #Shes a bitch #a monster #a life ruiner and a murderer

[eddiessluttywaist]

as if (part 4 based on angst ending)

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES

summary: continuation of the angst ending of as if, moves away from how eddie has been acting just so you know 👀

pairing: ex-bully!mean!perv!soft!eddie munson x fem reader

word count: 10,964 words

content/warnings: swearing, mentions of smutty content MDNI (y/n is 18/19), bully!eddie, mean!eddie, perv!eddie, brief threats and violence, rejection, angsttt, depression, very brief mention of unhealthy eating habits, heartbreak, yearning, anxiety, arguing, crying, near death experience, regret, isolation and loneliness. i think that’s all pls tell me if i miss anything!

a/n: i’m sorry this took me so long skbvdjkk enjoy the suffering. credit to whoever owns/posted that picture ^ it’s not mine :)

part one - part two - start of part three - angst ending to part three

*

Eddie Munson is an asshole.

He’s a cruel heartbreaker, that’s for sure. He’s selfish. He’s mean. He’s smug. He’s ruined love for you.

As much as that sentiment reeked of teenage melodrama, it’s still true. He’s ruined mean guys for you cause you know what to expect from them, and he’s ruined sweet guys for you cause you know better than to know what to expect. Eddie is someone who finds a way to be so sweet and charming for that subtle kind of control, just to turn out to be an asshole through and through. Every nicety and moment of tenderness was only to keep you on the hook for a good fuck; and if things hadn’t spiraled into an apocalyptic shitshow, he would’ve been the one and only reason for your aching misery.

He’s a lot of things. You could go through a list of adjectives that would make your mother gasp and cross herself.

He’s a life ruiner in so many ways—but he isn’t a killer.

Despite how he treated you, you liked to think you still had a good sense of his heart—even if he refused to give it to you the way you would’ve so readily given him yours. He’s smug and rotten, but murder is not something he’s capable of. Some violence? Probably. Maybe. Given the right circumstances. But he wouldn’t kill someone. So you were one of the few who weren’t surprised when news came out that he wasn’t to blame for everything that happened. Sure, there were still plenty of kooks who remained certain that he used his “ties with Satan” to open up a portal to Hell, but as more and more came out about that lab near the quarry—the rarer those types became.

By now nearly everyone’s forgotten about him, or at least that’s how it felt to you. No one talked about him—they didn’t even seem to think about him—but not you. Despite everything, his memory seemed to live on in your head. On repeat some days.

Just to clarify: he didn’t die. His memory didn’t need to be kept alive because he wasn’t—he was pretty damn close when he was found (at least from what you’ve heard), but he wasn’t dead. However, that didn’t change the fact that the people of Hawkins liked to act like he was. He was nowhere to be found for starters, and everyone left in town seemed to appreciate things that way so they didn’t have to address him.

The turnaround was baffling to you. How his name never even came up, and when it did people grew uncomfortable and tried to turn the conversation elsewhere. Even you—someone who decidedly hated his guts months before the day Chrissy Cunningham was found dead—thought he deserved something better than becoming a banned topic after what this town put him through.

You could remember the day he appeared on the news like it was yesterday.

You had been curled up on one corner of the couch of the living room, your mother on the other end, and your father in his La-Z-Boy. It was pitch black in the room with the only light source being the colorful and fuzzy glow of the television. It was unfortunately your mom’s night to watch her program so of course you and your dad were already half asleep by the time her show was suddenly interrupted.

“What the-!” your mom had gasped. “I wanna know what happens! Oh those darn news… people…”

She had trailed off as the reality of the emergency newscast sunk in, no longer reaching for the remote but settling back into her spot instead.

You didn’t really know Chrissy. She was popular and well-loved, and had hundreds of friends. You definitely weren’t one of them, though. Whether it was secretly too beneath her deep down in her innocent demeanor, or if you simply weren’t interested in gravitating around her enough for her to truly take notice of you. She was a sweet girl though. She was a senior like you and the few times you two interacted, she was nothing but kind. And even if she hadn’t been, she still wouldn’t have deserved what happened to her.

You remember your mother nervously toying that necklace she always wore as she watched the news with big eyes. The way your dad sat up more and gave the screen his full attention. The tension and anxiety that made the air in the living room feel heavy; and when you thought your throat couldn’t get any drier and your heart couldn’t race any faster—Eddie’s picture was plastered on the television.

You remember the way your hearing seemed to turn into a faint buzz as the newscaster spoke of the victim’s body being found in his trailer.

“I always knew that boy was trouble.” your dad grumbled out, and you had to fight the urge to huff out a laugh and tell him he had no idea.

Neither of them knew what happened between you two or that there was even a “you two” to begin with. And you certainly wouldn’t have said anything that night because then they’d know in the worst way possible. Admitting it back then at the start of Spring Break would’ve been admitting how deeply you had fallen for someone who was possibly wanted for murder.

Even if it was never explicitly stated that Eddie Munson had shattered your heart (when you were completely falling apart just a couple months before your hometown did the same) your mom had been quick to notice something was wrong. Motherly instincts or something like that—or, y’know, just the fact that you were visibly a mess.

Even at that start of it all you didn’t want to talk about that one particularly miserable day. You would wait until it was late at night to cry into your pillow. You had briefly lost some weight since the whole situation had left you with a solid knot in your stomach, leaving you horribly nauseous and deadening your appetite. The fact that you were constantly lying about being sick to avoid school was what truly confirmed your mom’s concerns.

Sure, you could’ve had a stomach bug. Maybe that’s why you had been picking at your food at dinner. Maybe that’s why you looked so pale and tired all the time. But then throughout the school week you would keep saying you were sick, and with the state you were in she didn’t have the heart to tell you your temperature was perfectly normal. Besides, you never skipped so she wasn’t all that suspicious at first so she let you stay home. You kept lying, though, and she finally felt she had to ask if something was going on at school.

You remember that time when boy problems still mattered so vividly. When Eddie Munson was still a mentionable name, even if you didn’t act like it. When your mom was checking in on you because of him and because her main concern was still little nuances in your behavior.

“Is something going on at school?” your mom had murmured softly as she sat on the edge of your bed.

It was nighttime and the only light in your room was the faint and warm glow of your bedside table, giving a false sense of comfort to the room that was filled with memories of him. Some spots of your room still smelled like him—especially by the window where he would sneak in, and sit on to smoke. It felt like cold spots in a haunted house to you.

“Is someone not treating you right?”

“No, mom, really. I just don’t feel well.” you murmured, and she can’t help but notice how dry your lips look. That little scab where you had been anxiously biting and picking at the skin there—a bad habit that only ever flared up when you were distraught, even as a child. You certainly looked ill, but her instincts were pointing elsewhere. She insisted you drink some of the water on your bedside table before she continued.

“Well…” she had sighed, smoothing out the blanket resting over you. “Is… is it a boy?”

You remember feeling your heart temporarily stop before lodging itself in your throat. You tried to ignore that burning feeling as you avoided breaking down and confirming her worries. But fighting it off didn’t mean that lump wasn’t in your throat. It didn’t mean your face didn’t get all warm as tears began to prick at your eyes. You were oddly silent as you kept your gaze down and shook your head. You were sure you could’ve held those tears in too, but then she got you to crack with a couple simple words.

“Oh honey…” She murmured and pulled you into her for a hug.

You didn’t want to tell anyone. It was embarrassing. It wasn’t even embarrassing—it was humiliating, mortifying. So you weren’t expecting how relieving it was to sob and finally let someone know, even if you didn’t go into detail.

“I thought he really cared about me d-deep down-“ you had wailed as your mom shushed you in a caring manner and rubbed your back.

You still appreciate the fact that she didn’t push. She didn’t urge you to tell her everything, she just let you cry until you were spent and she left to soak a face towel in cool water so she could press it to your flushed cheeks. She held you and murmured reassuringly, especially when you spoke up again—your voice horribly broken.

“I-It’s not fair because he’s perfectly fine and I… I’m…” you choked up after your tone got high with emotion before crumbling again.

“I know, honey, I know… it’s never fair…” she whispered. “But you’re gonna be okay. It feels like the end of the world now, but before you know it it’ll be a little bit better, okay?”

She had pulled back to look at you and wiped the tears off of your cheeks. “And then it’ll be better after that, and even more after that. You’re going to keep healing, I promise.”

In hindsight she wasn’t wrong, but there had still been so many days where you wished Eddie Munson would turn up dead for what he did to you. And now you felt horribly guilty for those thoughts after he had been so close. Even though you still despise him deep down, you hate yourself a little bit too. For letting him in, in the first place. For falling in love and for admitting it. For falling apart because he didn’t feel the same. For wishing he would drop dead.

And there was another thing that burned away at you. Right next to the fact that no one mentioned Eddie, was the frustrating fact that Jason was still talked about and practically canonized. There were portraits of him and Chrissy in local churches and in Hawkins High and sure maybe he didn’t deserve to die, but why wasn’t anyone talking about how he put fire under that ridiculous manhunt? To urge everyone to find Eddie and do who knows what to him?

Steadily approaching a year since Hawkins broke open, you’re scowling as you walk past that portrait of him in school. Having to repeat your senior year after the disaster threw everyone’s educational progress off the rails, you had to deal with that picture a lot. You turn your gaze elsewhere as you head to your last class of the day, and even that little glimpse of his image sparks up memories of his crazed state.

*

Jason had an inexhaustible vengeance, and refused to let anything—or anyone—get in his way. He had to find Eddie. He had to make him pay.

You didn’t know it at the time, but he had been hunting down Eddie’s closest friends and band mates to get information out of them. That’s how he found you.

“Where is he?” Jason shouted in Gareth’s face as he gripped him by the lapels of his cut up flannel.

“I don’t know!”

“Where is he!?”

“I don’t know!” Gareth insisted before Jason hit him again.

While a restrained Jeff shouted at him to leave his friend alone, Jason tossed him into his drums. A cymbal crashed while the set dispersed in different directions and Gareth was left lying on the floor of his garage.

“It’s gonna be hard to play those drums with a broken hand!” Jason rose his voice again, holding Gareth down by his back and crushed his hand between his sneaker and the concrete floor. There was an audible crunch as Gareth cried out in pain.

“Dustin!”

“What?”

“Dustin Henderson!”

“What?” Jason repeated, urging him to clarify.

“Dustin Henderson!” Gareth shouted again, face twisting in pain. “Man h-he was- he was calling around looking for Eddie! Maybe he found him! Maybe he found him!”

“See that wasn’t that hard, was it?” Jason taunted, but kept pressing his foot onto Gareth’s hand before finally stepping away.

“O-or y/n maybe, I don’t know.” Gareth cried out, cradling his hand that was pulsing with pain.

“Who?” Jason’s brow furrowed as he looked back at him.

Jeff spoke up for him, repeating your name in a panic.

“Y-yeah maybe. I don’t know, I haven’t seen her around him in a while, b-but I caught them fooling around in Eddie’s van once,” Jeff rambled on “And he was constantly messing with her. He… he might be with her. Or she might know.”

The more he thought about it, the more Jason remembered the occasional moment where he would see Eddie tossing things at you in class or pushing up against you in gym. Back in the car, Andy and Patrick chimed in with other things they witnessed. Eddie feeling you up. Eddie shoving you or knocking your books out of your hands. Eddie harassed you constantly. Maybe even being tutored by you (according to Andy). If you couldn’t join them through a mutual hatred for the metalhead, maybe you could at least be forced to give more information—especially if you had some fucked up relationship.

*

You were home alone despite your mother’s insistence to join her or your father at work. With two deaths and a possible killer still on the loose, she wasn’t wild about you being by yourself. You convinced her you could take care of yourself, especially with all the baseball bats and heavy golf clubs she kept around just in case.

Considering everything, you shouldn’t have opened the front door when someone rang, but you were so shocked to spot Jason Carver through your peephole to think about it. You weren’t impressed, even when he flashed you his best smile. You were just curious why he was here.

“Well, I’ll be quick. I’m sure you have better things to do.” he said with a soft laugh which you were sure he thought was charming. You just kept scowling.

“Yeah. I do,” you said bluntly and there was a flash of anger across his face for a moment before he filtered it through a weaker smile. “What do you want?”

“I just want to know if you have any idea where Eddie Munson is.”

You can’t help but scoff at this.

“No, and I really don’t care about where he could be.”

You’re about to close the door, but he was quick to speak up again and keep your attention.

“I heard you tutor him-“

“Not anymore. Too difficult.” You interrupted, and he faltered for a moment before continuing.

“I’m sure. I know how he treated you. It… it’s horrible really.” He spoke softly and you hesitated for a moment, hand still on the edge of your door.

But then you realized something.

If he knew, then where had he been? Why didn’t he do anything? Even if you didn’t want anyone to interfere—not really. Not to mention after he broke your heart and all ties were cut, Eddie surprisingly let up on the constant harassment. It wasn’t fun anymore. Soon enough he had been avoiding you in the halls as much as you had been avoiding him, but that didn’t mean everything before that never happened. If Jason really took notice of your interactions, where had he been?

“I could tell even then just from how he acted with you that he wasn’t a good person. He’s not a good person. He’s a killer, and he can’t be out here loose in Hawkins ready to claim another victim.”

You stare at him in silence. Your lack of response is clearly testing his patience and he’s parting his lips to speak up again, but you cut him off.

“Why now?”

“What?” Jason laughed this off casually.

“Why now are you suddenly so interested in how he used to treat me?”

“Oh, well I-”

“No,” you interrupted bluntly at your swift decision and with no room for fluff. No matter how much you hated Eddie. “I’m not here for your senseless propaganda. Thanks.”

You went to slam the door, but he kept it open. It touches on a memory of Eddie doing something similar once upon a time to get to you while you were all alone in your bedroom. The only difference is this isn’t Eddie, and Jason is really starting to scare you.

You glance over to see the concern on Lucas Sinclair’s face—you recognized him from the occasional interactions he had with Eddie and then from all the excitement of that recent basketball game he won for the high school team. He was behind Jason, a little off to the side and you spotted the car in the driveway with a few others inside. The fact that he had others with him didn’t exactly comfort you.

“I just want to know where that freak is, okay?” Jason clarified with a smile as if it covered the fact that he was clearly unstable. You could see it in his eyes.

“It’s dangerous with him out there. I’m just trying to help my community.”

“Whatever, Jason. Like I said: I’m not interested in any of this. I don’t talk to Eddie anymore. I don’t know where he fucked off to.”

“I know you’re screwing him. Just tell me where your creep boyfriend is.”

This sudden flash of anger and the contents of his accusation shocked you, but you didn’t let it force your guard down.

“I’m not with him like that. Like I said: I don’t fucking talk to him. I don’t know where he is.”

Jason still wasn’t budging, and you’re suddenly grateful for your mom’s incessant worrying when he took a step forward. You grabbed the metal bat your parents kept by the door right as he’s parting his lips to continue speaking.

“Get off my doorstep. Get away from me. Or I’m using this, Carver, I swear to god.”

This made him hold his hands up in defense and start to back off again, especially as Lucas murmured a swift “C’mon, man, maybe we should just leave her alone.” A sad excuse for a kind smile curved up the corners of the blond’s mouth. It made you sick.

“Just trying to take care of my community. No need to get violent… I’m one of the good guys. If you’re sure you don’t know anything—I’ll leave you be.”

“Well I don’t. How many times do I have to say it?” You snap, gripping the handle of the bat a bit tighter.

He finally started to walk off with an okay okay, but then he turned to look at you one more time.

“Be smart about which side you’re choosing.”

At that, you slammed your front door and locked it. One of the good guys, you think with a scoff. Yeah, sure.

*

Currently on your walk home, your mind is still swirling with memories of last year. You understood the need to commemorate and show respect, but the constant reminders didn’t help to move on. You hated being here. You couldn’t wait to graduate and move as far away as possible. You wanted to forget about Hawkins. You wanted to forget about Eddie Munson. You wanted to forget how close the world had been to ending.

You happen to glance up as you walk towards your house when your steps become hesitant at the sight of someone sitting on your doorstep. It was no jock ready to berate you. It certainly wasn’t Eddie.

It was none other than Nancy Wheeler.

*

Eddie was miserable.

Actually, it was beyond just misery. He couldn’t even think of a word to describe everything he had been through and everything he was actively going through—whether that was because he always failed vocab tests due to lazy disinterest or because such a word just didn’t exist. The whole experience took a lot out of him—quite literal chunks out of his body, not just emotionally.

Besides those who had become closest to him, once everyone was focused on the next suspect no one bothered to check back in with him. No one apologized for literally hunting him down with plans of… god, he didn’t even want to think about what they would’ve done if they caught him.

After being resuscitated, he had to be holed up in some secure room of a nearby hospital while he recovered since Hawkins Memorial Hospital was too risky for him. As the days in the hospital went by painfully and with more and more news on Hawkins turning up on the small TV of his room, he wondered if karma was a real thing. He narrowly escaped death and an arrest for a murder he didn’t commit (really the only thing saving his ass coming from the insistence of his uncle and Chief Hopper when he randomly appeared back in Hawkins). It certainly made a guy think about what he’s done.

In fact, all the isolation gave him far too much time to think. Watching the news; constantly pressing the morphine button even though he knew it wouldn’t give him more; falling into pits of depression where sometimes he wished they never brought him back—those thoughts of karma came up. He would eventually brush them off as hippie garbage, but memories of you were sounding off like an alarm in his head. It wasn’t hippie garbage. The concept held some real truth to it, and he knew he deserved everything that happened after he had been so cruel to you because of some stupid, childish need for distance from any sort of vulnerability.

After realizing that, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He was stuck in Hell on earth with aching wounds he wished would heal faster and memories of a girl he should’ve treated better. He regretted how things ended, and wondered what it would be like right now if he hadn’t ended things with such brutal carelessness. You’d probably be right by his side and making it easier to get through. And when he thought about how much better it would be to heal with you here, something ached deep inside him that even morphine couldn’t touch. He missed something he never let himself have, and certainly didn’t deserve by this point. He knew what kinds of things mattered now, and it didn’t even make a difference because as much as it changed things for him that didn’t mean it changed things for you.

Then one night, it dawned on him that you might not even be alive.

He was sweating from all the pain and the drugs and the heat of mid September of ‘86, when it occurred to him that you could be gone. Having already established a constant pattern of thoughts that revolved around you, it wasn’t surprising that he was up at 2 AM with you on his mind but that intrusion to his pleasant memories or self-loathing put him into a panic. You could be dead quickly turned into you are dead, and he couldn’t handle it. How could he deserve to live, but you didn’t? Maybe because you deserved mercy and he didn’t. Either way, he ignored his crying nerves and scrambled for the walky talky on his bedside table.

He tried just about every channel he was allowed to use, but no one was picking up. Maybe they were sleeping, but he knew he wasn’t the only one in the group suffering from insomnia after everything that happened. Still, he wasn’t granted the peace of a response and he had to lay there just hoping for a chance to make things better—and worry that he wouldn’t get to.

*

The group that helped him through that horrific Spring break came to visit him when they were able to. It was typically at random, with the occasional stop at his request for certain food or begging for a distraction before he went insane. Lucas was the first one to answer when he tried the radio again early that morning, and he soothed Eddie’s anxiety with the promise of stopping by.

With Max in the hospital and still no signs of coming back, Lucas had his own need for a distraction. He trudged into the dull room Eddie was stuck in, and settled into the chair kept by the bed.

“Is she alive?”

Lucas blinked, wondering if maybe he missed something in his own fog of exhaustion and despair. Really it was because Eddie blurted out in mid-thought without the courtesy of some background, but he still grew frustrated with him. His face bunched up as he briefly bared his teeth in that split second of muted rage. One of his hands made a fist before he unfurled it to rub at his face and shake his head.

“Y/n. Y/n, Sinclair—jesus christ—is she alive?”

Lucas parted his lips and then closed them again, tired eyes staring over at the metalhead as he tried to get his mind to cooperate. Eddie nearly cracked over the hesitation, taking it as a sign that Lucas was struggling to tell him that you were gone rather than trying to remember who you were and if he had seen you around.

“Yeah. Y-Yeah,” he finally murmured and a heavy sigh exhaled from Eddie’s lungs. “I’ve seen her around school. She’s alive.”

“Jesus chr—she’s okay?” Eddie was rubbing his palms over his face again, bangs partially sticking up when he pulled his hands away to gesture with energy he didn’t have to spend.

“Yeah, man, she’s okay. I think—I-I don’t really talk to her, but she isn’t injured.”

Eddie sat with that for a moment, relieved that you were alive and at least fine physically, but his eyes were still sad. Lucas joined him in this bubble of misery, the silence tugging him back to thoughts of Max until Eddie finally popped the bubble again.

“Did… did she join everyone? Y’know in the Great Hunt for the Freak?” he let out a partial laugh, but it was hollow.

“No, she didn’t buy it.” Lucas shrugged and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs.

His eye stung for a moment, watered and then returned to normal. After that fight in the old Creel house, his eye was never truly the same. It healed enough that it wasn’t swollen and bruised, but it was still sensitive and it watered more often. Whenever it did, it made him think of that night and he felt as if he was being punched all over again. It made him think of Max. It made him think of Jason.

Although with the topic on you, remembering Jason made him laugh a little—a soft, amused chuckle breaking through his sorrow.

“Jason actually went to her house. I… I was still with him at that point,” Lucas flicked his gaze up at Eddie with guilt before looking back down. “He wanted to interrogate her about you. See if you were hiding with her or if she hated you enough to join him.”

Eddie swallowed, brows frowning as he waited for him to continue.

“She uh… she threatened him with a baseball bat.” Lucas laughed a bit more wholeheartedly this time.

Eddie’s head sunk back a bit in surprise, big doe eyes even wider and brows raised in disbelief. He said your first name to clarify and even though Lucas nodded, he said your full name with that same questioning tone.

“She threatened Jason Carver with a baseball bat?”

You were meek if nothing else, and as Eddie knew you—you were easy to break. Easy to bend and mold so he never considered the possibility that you were strong. That you could take care of yourself, and you weren’t as weak as you looked. But maybe it was fitting. You appeared delicate and fragile, but were tougher than you looked. Whereas he had that rough n tough, bad boy act just for it to fall apart when he found himself scrambling away from danger. He just hoped he wasn’t the reason you were surprisingly resilient—that maybe it was always there and he just never noticed.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t back off and she said she’d do it if he didn’t leave,” Lucas snickered a bit before his mood was sobered by the other side of this memory. “She uh… she was scared. He was scaring her, and I don’t blame her. He was scaring all of us…”

He was focused on his hands now, toying with them anxiously and he could hear the sigh of Eddie’s puffy hospital pillow as he settled back against it. He was letting it all sink in, and for a moment he wished he was the one to kill Carver instead of the cracking earth. You didn’t deserve the way he treated you, and you didn’t deserve Jason’s intimidation tactics just because you had been caught up with the likes of him.

He hated that you had been scared, he hated that it was his fault, and he hated how much worse he felt now that he knew that you stood up for him even after everything he put you through. Maybe not so much stood up for him, but you didn’t let yourself get dragged into the accusations and mob mentality even if you had every reason to.

This hurt worse somehow, and he was bound to a new bout of pain and suffering.

*

“I just miss her, I guess…” Eddie admitted to his uncle once the topic turned to you. He felt the urge to repent and voice how badly he wished you were with him right now, and his uncle was the only one he felt safe admitting all of this to.

“The girl that you were spending time with at home?” His uncle’s gruff voice wondered, and Eddie was taken aback by the question.

All he said was there was a girl he had a thing with, which he messed up royally, and he wished he could have another chance. Nothing else, so he looked like a fish out of water now and his uncle chuckled at his reaction.

“I may not be the smartest man around, but I’m not stupid,” he grumbled out, sat in the same chair Lucas had been. “I was aware of your uh… activities.”

Wayne scratched at his stubble, embarrassed to acknowledge just exactly what his adult nephew had been up to—just as mortified as Eddie was over having to discuss sex with his uncle.

“I found her panty things stuck to the inside of the dryer,” Wayne explained further. “And I ran into her one morning when I had just come home from the plant.”

You had been leaving Eddie’s room to use the bathroom early in the morning, not realizing he would be home from a shift. You hoped that with how tired he looked that he would think it was all a weird dream or maybe that he was seeing things. After all, you were back in that room in a flash. Fast enough to be a fleeting ghost, but he saw you and he clearly remembered you. Eddie was grumbling something to himself now about you being careless enough to get him caught, but Wayne was quick to shut this down. He wasn’t known to raise his voice, and he still really didn’t, but his tone was harsher now.

“No—don’t you go blaming that girl cause you insisted on keeping her a secret. Christ, boy—you know, I thought I taught you better.”

Of all the things he could say, this was the worst. I thought I taught you better. Eddie wished he could shrink down to nothing, and he looked down at his hands in shame.

“You should’ve treated her better. That’s on you.”

“Yeah…” Eddie laughed out bitterly “You have no idea…”

Eddie sighed now, hiding his face behind his palms.

“I’m so fucking stupid. I don’t know how I thought that kind of shit was important,” He rips his hands away to jerk them outwards in an exasperated gesture and looks over at this uncle. “It was fun a-and then it was too serious and I just— I— and now I don’t know why I was thinking like that.”

“Well,” his uncle started after a pause to think it over. “you may have been a grown man in the eyes of the law, but that doesn’t mean you were thinking like one. You’re still young. I…I’d like to think you would’ve learned these kinds of thing at a regular pace as you grew up, but—shit—between your parents and especially after all this-”

Wayne gestured out into the air with little energy to his casual motion.

“You’re forced into adulthood. That’s what shit like this does…”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Eddie finally admits in a rush after a moment of considering his uncles words. He was sure they had some truth to them, but he thought maybe his uncle was giving him too much credit. “I really cared for her— I still really care for her. I was just… I was being-“

“Stupid? Childish?”

“Yeah, yeah okay- geez,” Eddie sighs and looks down at his hands to pick at his nails. “Yeah… all of that…”

“Well… maybe if she really means that much to ya, then be honest. Try again. Really put some elbow grease into it, and maybe—if you’re lucky—she’ll forgive you.”

Eddie scoffs out a miserable laugh and gestures around him in a way that’s far more animated than when his uncle did it.

“Yeah. Cause I’m clearly so lucky.”

*

What made all of this worse was the fact that he couldn’t even reach out for months.

Being hidden away didn’t only mean a different hospital picked out by Hopper. It also meant no calls, no letters—nothing. He couldn’t risk being found by anyone who was still convinced he was guilty. Eddie insisted it calmed down enough to come back and he had healed enough for it, but Hopper was hesitant and ultimately unyielding.

“It’s bullshit. You guys even said no one mentions me anymore, and it’s not like I’m a suspect.” Eddie ranted to Nancy during her visit, Steve somewhere else in the hospital looking for food.

“I know, but you’ll still stand out right now,” she reasoned. “If you come back, it could stir something up again.”

“What, so I never go back? I have to uproot my whole shitty life because of rumors?”

“Eddie-“ she sighed.

“No, it’s shit. It’s all shit. If I have to stay one more second in this shitty fucking room, I’m gonna start climbing the walls,” he ranted with wild eyes. “I need to leave. I need to live my crappy life. I… I need to see y/n again.”

At that, Nancy perked up. It wasn’t out of excitement, but rather something blowing through her sideways at your name. Familiarity burned at her before it all went up in flames, and she was overwhelmed with memories and guilt.

“Oh my god… y/n…” She murmured to herself with an upsetting sense of nostalgia.

She completely forgot about you in the mess of everything. At first she had been trying to keep you from learning anything that could put you in danger—doing her best to keep it between her and Jonathan. She had already lost Barb because of her own selfish carelessness, she couldn’t let something happen to you too. Then it was all a whirlwind from there and you were suddenly caught up in a past that she forgot existed. A past where a shoebox was just a shoebox.

Her eyes grow sad, her mind filling with thoughts of how she could’ve ever possibly left you in the dust. Sure, you were a newfound friend in high school—whereas her and Barb had been friends for years by that point—but that was no excuse for letting leaving you out of the loop turn into completely leaving you behind.

She’s so caught up in her own regrets that she forgets about Eddie until he’s speaking up again and waving his hand in front of her face.

“Uhh, Wheeler? Hello?”

“Oh- uh… yeah, yes.” She shakes her head, her curly hair shuffling around with the motion, her brow frowning and her lips taut. “Yes. Yes, I know her. You know her?”

“Well uh…” he lets out a nervous laugh, suddenly fearful of the rage of an old friend. “We sorta… we had a thing going…”

He risked a glance over at her, and her expression was anything but sparing. She clearly wasn’t happy with how guilty he sounded, but who was she? She abandoned you for all intents and purposes, even if she didn’t mean to. And if she had been blind enough to never notice what went on between you and Eddie, she had no right to chastise him for it even if she did have the familiar urge to get up on her high horse.

“But uh… I kinda screwed everything up,” he muttered and was back to picking at his fingers while he stared down at them. “Like you wouldn’t believe. And I just… shit, I’m so sick of this place and waiting around.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie, but you can’t go back to Hawkins yet.”

“Yeah, I think I got that,” he snaps bitterly before cooling down again. “I just… I need to talk to her or something. If she could be brought here, or if I could meet her somewhere else. I need to fix things.”

After constant complaining and threats of breaking out of the hospital, Nancy eventually found a compromise to get him to shut up.

Steve came back around the time he had started rattling on again about how he was going to go crazy. Utterly confused as always, he was off to the side and watched as Nance did her best to calm Eddie down again. He occasionally broke through all the noise with his questions, only to get a searing glare from Nancy. At some point, he finally caught on (kinda) and only made things worse.

“Munson has a crush,” he finally said with a snap of his fingers and points at them. “That’s cute. Embarrassing, but cute.”

“I don’t have a crush, you idi-”

“Will you please stop?” Nancy hissed over at him, expression begging for him to keep out of it.

“Why am I even here?” Steve wondered out loud with a sigh and kept eating his suspicious hospital jello.

“Cause I can’t leave this fucking place!” Eddie reiterated, making Nancy groan over Steve agitating the problem that she was just barely starting to settle.

“I’ll- I’ll give her a letter!” she finally offered, cutting Eddie off mid-complaint. Her arms shot up with the raise of her voice, laughing with exasperation. “Just write down what you want to say, and I’ll give it to her!”

*

“What are you doing here?”

It came out harsher than you intended and even you wanted to flinch at your own words, but maybe it was justified. She completed cast you aside you when you lost a friend. You both lost a friend, and it seemed to make her hate you. Or at least that’s how it felt. Why else would she have avoided you? Why else would she have stopped talking to you?

“I guess I deserve that.” Nancy replied with a soft huff of a laugh, and a sheepish smile.

More news seemed to be coming up little by little about Barb. Once upon a time you thought it all came to a close when it was revealed that she died from a chemical leak, but now there was talk of things that a chemical leak would wilt in comparison to. Things that went on in your own home town that you can’t even imagine going unseen by so many. Or maybe they all saw, but curled up into their comfortable ignorance to avoid it. You couldn’t judge them—you did too. You believed every story you got, even if—in hindsight—they were obvious cover ups every time someone started to demand for better explanations.

You eye her cautiously, hoping your eyes don’t show the sadness that came with such hesitancy around someone you used to know so well.

“I uhm…” Nancy shook her head the way she always did when she needed to clear her thoughts, brows furrowed and nose briefly scrunched up as she glanced at the ground. “I had to bring this to you…”

She was looking at you again, gauging your reaction as she extended her slim arm to offer you an envelope. You’re toying with it in your hands, wondering why there was no name on the back and if you should open it now.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

You look up at her now, but remain silent. What was there to say?

“I should’ve never left you behind like that... Trust me, I never meant to. I thought I was protecting you and I was, but…” Nancy’s pouty lips scrunch together for a moment. “It wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t…” you concur, but your heart aches from the look on her face.

Sure, she hurt you but maybe you should’ve been grateful. Even if you wished she would’ve been honest with you, you knew how stubborn Nancy could be when it came to protecting those close to her. Instead of shutting her out, you extend an olive branch.

“Barb would be rolling her eyes at us right now, huh?”

Nancy stutters over her own disbelieving laugh as she glances at you through her lashes.

“Yeah, she would be.” Her nose scrunches again, lips bunched up a second time as her gaze grows sentimental. “She’d be telling us to stop being so stupid.”

“‘You both get perfect grades, why don’t you use your brains outside of school?’” You quote before laughing and she joins in.

“Guess we can’t say she wasn’t honest. She was always pretty straightforward with her thoughts.”

“One of us had to be.”

Nancy nods, and then let’s out a sigh as she rubs her arm and starts to move out of your way.

“Well, I should probably let you get to that-“

“Yeah, this letter that isn’t suspicious at all.” You joke, holding up the blank envelope and she laughs lightly before ducking her head down.

Figuring you were parting ways now, you turn around and open your front door, just to turn around in your doorway when you heard her suddenly chirp out your name. She hesitates again, but then finds her words.

“I… now that things seem to be going back to normal… I… I’d love to try being friends again. Maybe have a girls night.”

A smile breaks out onto your face, and you watch her defenses slowly start to melt away and smooth out the stiffness in her body.

“I’d like that.”

*

“What did she say? How’d she react?” Eddie asked over the radio, barely even waiting for a second to pass before continuing. “Wheeler? Hello?”

“Can I have a moment to respond?” Nancy quipped back, the crackling of the station breaking up her voice but not enough that he couldn’t hear her frustration. Not that he cared right now.

“What’d she think?”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” she sighed. “She didn’t open your letter in front of me.”

“Shit…” Eddie mutters, chewing at his thumbnail. He wanted—maybe even needed—the instant gratification that Nancy could’ve given him had she stuck around to watch you open the envelope.

Then again, maybe he was lucky.

“It— It’s whatever. I just hope it makes a difference.”

“What…what did you say to her in the letter?” Nancy asked now before shifting her focus quickly. “What did you even do in the first place?”

“Uhh, well let’s see,” Eddie looked up at the ceiling from where he was sat on the edge of his bed as his leg started to bounce. “I was a dick. Yeah… yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Don’t make me regret doing this for you, Eddie.” Nancy sighed and turned down the volume to her walky talky.

*

“I’m sorry, and I mean it. I’m capable given the right circumstances, remember?” the writing said, then there were a few words that had been crossed out and he followed those scratches of ink with a winky face, concluding with: “Leave that window unlocked, kay? I’ll be back for that necklace so keep it safe.”

Was the world falling apart all over again? Did you actually die and you didn’t even realize it? Everything seemed so unexpected and oddly… nice? Reassuring? Like Nancy showing up and apologizing. Or this letter you had open on top of your bedding.

It was part of a full sheet of paper, likely the bottom third of a page torn off. The handwriting and the comments throughout were enough to immediately make you think of who wrote this—even if he didn’t sign it. But what really confirmed it was the necklace with the red guitar pick hanging on it. You’re infuriated with the involuntary flush reaching your cheeks as memories rush in. All the times he was on top of you, that necklace hanging down and resting on your chest or nudging your chin and lips.

“God, you’re such a good girl for me.” you remember him groaning that one time he watched you sucking on the guitar pick, big eyes staring up at him while he fucked into you.

You had been folded into yourself on his mattress, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from each and every thrust that fed your greed for him but was inevitably making your body ache.

The pick that was now resting in your palm was suddenly just a thin slab of plastic. The more you thought about it, that’s pretty much all it tasted like it, but you remembered the saltiness of his sweat too. What made it so special in the first place was knowing it was his. It was such an integral part of him—it laid close to his heart where you wished to be, and it was cherished by him which you wished for yourself once too. That moment in his small bedroom when you let it slip past your lips, you hadn’t been sure how he’d react, and to be completely honest you were too fucked out to think at all. But he didn’t pull it away from you, he sunk into you with that shuddering praise instead.

The memory of his words was enough to raise your body temperature, but you fought off that familiar instinct to melt just for him. He’s an asshole. A cruel heartbreaker. He’s selfish. He’s mean. He’s smug. He ruined love for you.

Your stomach bends and curls enough to make you nauseous as the butterflies kick in—then why do I still want him so badly? You were so desperate to take every single ounce of attention—good or bad—that he gave you. Hadn’t you learned your lesson? Hadn’t you been practicing your borderline religious hatred for him enough for it to be real?

You’re not sure if it’s anger towards him or yourself for slipping so easily, but your blood is starting to boil. You remind yourself of all those games he used to play with you and the sentiment of him being a heartless, sadistic fuck plays on repeat in your head so that no softer thoughts can break through. Surely he was toying with you. This was a test of some kind, probably because he got bored and wanted to brush you off like some forgotten toy he wanted to use again.

You needed to prove to yourself that you can shoot him down. Stare into those gorgeous doe eyes and tell him to go fuck himself. Look up at him when he’s giving you that beautiful half-smile and moving his hands to hold your hips, and tell him to never talk to you again.

You needed to show him how it felt to be treated the way he treated you. Maybe it was childish, but some twisted part of you felt relieved at the thought of it. He deserved to have his hopes shattered when he thinks he’s getting what he wants, just to be shut out. He deserved to be humiliated. He deserved to be broken down so thoroughly just like you had been. To be broken down into such a fine dust that even when you were sure everything had been swept back together again, there were always going to be those missing bits and pieces that fell through the cracks or blew away.

As you’re toying with the necklace in your hands, you can’t help but think you’re being too immature. What about last year? Everything that happened to him? Maybe he’s been put through enough? Your brow frowns, and you’re internally cursing yourself for being so horribly incapable of making a decision.

Your hand shot up to cover your frustrated expression, a groan leaving your lips. You wanted to let yourself hate him so badly, but you wanted to feel loved by him so much it hurt.

You think it over for the rest of the night, laying in bed with your hands still clutching that necklace. You’re up for hours, only falling asleep when your body forces you into submission around 4 AM—nodding off and snapping back up just to nod off again. Your last thought is that you had to be strong—whatever that meant. You didn’t have to be mean, but you refused to cave and immediately let him have you in whatever way he wants.

He’s won far too many times, and now it’s your turn.

*

“If you get caught then I had nothing to do with this—got that, Munson?” Steve whispered as he glanced over at the metalhead, one arm still outstretched as he held onto the steering wheel.

Eddie was too busy taking in the sight of your house and breathing in the fresh night air. It never occurred to him before just how much he loved the smell of chill in the wind, like it might snow soon. Ever since last year he was realizing a lot of things he never knew he loved, and he felt both relieved and crushed by the knowledge. He was sure he knew himself before everything happened. He liked fantasy games, music, and indulging in that metal rockstar lifestyle even if it was just another fantasy he was playing into. He liked having all eyes on him as he made a scene in the lunchroom. He liked being the local anarchistic leader of fellow freaks, and ignoring any other responsibilities. He liked girls he could use like he was some big shot backstage after a show.

He thought everything was about prepping himself for that kind of life. He was comfortable being the asshole who never pulled his weight anymore than he had to if he wasn’t interested enough. He was comfortable being a runner because then he could continue living the way he was used to without anything to come in and hold him back, until his whole life fell apart. Then he was afraid for his life. Then he was afraid for that kid’s life—all of their lives, actually, not just Dustin’s. Then he was suddenly the person charging into danger to give someone else a chance.

And now he was alone. He still had his new group, but they could continue their lives while he was kept hidden away and all he had to do was think about everything he never realized he would miss. Something as simple as recognizing a familiar comfort in the smell of a soft breeze felt heart wrenching. Or laying in a hospital bed wishing he still had that one girl to love him made him horribly aware of how empty he’s always been.

“Hello?” Steve urged with an impatient tone.

Eddie glanced over at him and despite his frustration at the lack of response, Steve felt taken aback by the sight of him. Something about finally seeing him back out of the hospital made him realize just how miserable Eddie really was. Maybe it was because sadness made sense in a hospital, or maybe it was the way the moonlight hit his features the right way and he could see the deeper shadows of his face and his sullen eyes.

“Just… be quick alright? And I was never here.”

“Yeah, Hopper’ll have your head.” Eddie snickered quietly.

“I’m less concerned about Hopper…” Steve muttered as thoughts of a certain young woman being upset with him flashed through his head.

“Women, am I right?” Eddie asked playfully in a mocking manner to anyone who ever seriously shared that sentiment, leaning his body towards Steve before laughing as the brunet nudged him back.

“Will you just go?” Steve laughed it off, shaking his head and watched him finally clamber out of the car.

Eddie snuck to the side of the house where he could spot your window. It had been a solid couple of weeks since Nancy brought his letter to you, and he just wished you would let him back in. He huffed before forcing himself up to make his way towards the window, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his lips in concentration. He was understandably weaker since the last time he was doing this on a weekly basis, but he pushed through and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration when it wouldn’t open. You kept it locked.

*

Your whole body tensed at the sound of someone rapping on your window, hand clutching your blanket. It had been long enough that you thought he was never going to come and retrieve his necklace, and you were irritated with your own disappointment. Now you were struggling with the sudden surge of excitement lighting up your nerves, which was making a sour combination with all that built up anger towards him.

When you finally forced yourself to look over your shoulder, you weren’t expecting how badly you wanted to cry. You wanted to let him in and just kiss him. Kiss him until you could pass out from the lack of oxygen. Hold him to you and refuse to let him leave. He wasn’t allowed to make a visit like this and leave you again—physically or emotionally. You couldn’t handle it, and you were surprised at how all these feelings presented themselves.

“What is your problem?” Is the first thing to leave your lips when he’s climbing into your room, and you might’ve been more surprised by your words than he was.

“W… what?” he laughs off your question, shocked by you starting the interaction this way; although realistically he shouldn’t have been.

“Why are you here?”

“Well I…” he rubbed his arm once he was back to his full height, scratching a bit at his elbow. “I wanted to apologize-”

“Why does it matter to you now?” you interrupt, your anger surprisingly not faltering even when his big eyes flit up to look at you sadly like a dejected puppy. You felt so broken when you finally saw him again, you didn’t know where this was coming from. Why—when you wanted him back so badly—you were being so… mean.

“What? Did you develop a conscience all of a sudden? Get hunted for months and suddenly have an opportunity to stop and think ‘hm it really sucks to be treated like garbage, gee I wonder if this is how I made her feel’”?”

Eddie’s expression hardens for a moment, and it’s more familiar to you than any bit of softness he was showing you.

“Y’know, I wasn’t exactly treated all that great in school either. I can assure you, I already knew what it’s like to be treated like shit.”

“Oh so that excuses it then.”

“I-” Eddie huffs, letting out an incredulous laugh before trying again. “That’s not what I said. Shit— I just… I’m sorry, okay? I’m not trying to make any excuses. I should’ve been better to you.”

You stay silent for a moment, arms crossed as you watch how honest he looks when he’s all soft like this—with those puppy eyes hopeful and glossy.

“Why did you do it? If you really cared all this time why were you so hell bent on hurting me so thoroughly?”

“I never wanted to hurt you…” he mutters as he looks at the floor, glancing up when you scoff out a disbelieving laugh of your own. For once this kind of attitude doesn’t fuel his fire, but tamps it down. He felt awful, and what made it worse is he couldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe it.

“I… I thought you were cute before. Just in passing, y’know, cause you were still an underclassmen back then, but…” he glances down at his shoes. “I overheard you with your friends talking about me, and when the possibility of me liking you came up you jus’ laughed about it. Like taking an interest in me was that bad.”

His brow furrows at the memory, and just when you’re about to respond he continues to explain himself the best he can.

“I just… I don’t know, alright? It was stupid but it made me feel like shit. Like as if you would ever give me the time of day. And then it was like you were obsessed with me, and I just…”

“Wanted to make me hurt?” you question and he glances up at you briefly before nodding.

There’s a beat of silence, and he’s hopeful this is you letting everything sink in and understand where he was coming from. That you’d see his sincerity, and take him back because fuck he couldn’t stand being alone again.

“You took my heart and ripped it into shreds because of that?” you finally ask, tone sharp enough to make him cringe. “Because of something I said as a nervous sophomore who couldn’t fathom being liked? Or being seen as interesting? That’s what this is all from?”

“Well- I- but you liked the teasing-” Eddie attempted, and immediately regretted when he saw the fire in your eyes.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it!”

“I… you… you do it too! Sometimes we overreact! It happens!” Eddie finally snapped back, but tried to keep his frustration within a whisper the same way you were. “Sometimes you overhear a conversation and you make the wrong conclusion! Sometimes you don’t get kissed and you get upset! Sometimes you try to sell a girl drugs and end up on the wrong fucking side of hell opening up! Shit happens in fucked up ways! Things get messed up! I’m trying to fix how I messed up!”

He’s visibly distraught, and even though he knew this wouldn’t be easy, deep down he wished you’d melt into him like always.

“You don’t get to pull that with me, Eddie. I’m sorry about what happened last year. I really, truly am because you don’t deserve it—no matter how much I hate your fucking guts. But you don’t get to use it to distract me with it.”

“I’m not—fuck— I’m not trying to distract you with it! I’m just saying things get mixed up because of assumptions n shit like that. And I’m… I’m sorry I…” he trails off, letting out panting breaths. “You… do you really hate me?”

You hesitate, that broken look on his face almost getting to you, but you’re so sure you know better. You know how he can manipulate things.

“Yeah, Eddie. I hate you.”

He’s surprisingly quiet as he looks at you, an unfamiliar glittering to his eyes.

“And by the way, there’s a huge difference between you spending years hell bent on my misery and leaving me beyond devastated; and me giving you the silent treatment after you fucked me in the middle of the night and didn’t stick around or kiss me or make me actually feel cared for in any way.”

Eddie murmured your name, taking a step forward in a quiet plead for forgiveness. Mercy. Anything but this.

“No. I’m talking right now. Not you. So shut up and listen for once,” you choked out as tears filled your eyes, which felt oddly dissonant to your anger.

“I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. And I don’t want you back in my life,” You listed off with an attitude that surprised him, even if he deserved it. “I’m sorry that Hawkins has ruined your life, but that doesn’t mean you get me back just cause all of this has given you a fucking backbone and a conscience.”

Eddie’s lips part and then close again, feeling like a fish out of water. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do with that aching in parts of his body he didn’t even know could ache.

“Doll, please… I really…” he breathes in deep enough that it turns shaky and burns deep in his chest. “I need a chance. I need a chance to show you I mean it. That I did love you back. That I still love you. That I can make it all up to you.”

You dig your nails into your crossed arms, looking away. You know if you keep looking into those big brown eyes that look so desperate right now that you just might cave.

“Well… I don’t love you anymore. So don’t call me doll, and just leave me alone.”

Eddie rubs his hands over his face, reaching back to temporarily grip his hair to use up some of that rage on himself before he lets go again.

“What do I have to do? What do I have to do to get even one chance? Just one, that’s all I’m asking. It’s all I need cause I swear I won’t hurt you ever again,” Eddie pleads and he’s shocked by his own words, but he doesn’t regret them for even a second. “I-I’ll check in more on how you’re feeling. I’ll ask if there’s anything I can do better. I’ll meet your fucking parents. I’ll be gross and romantic and honest. Please. Just give me one last chance, and I won’t take it lightly. Just don’t lie to me if you still love me. Trust me, I know what’s it’s like to be scared shitless about letting someone in so you’d rather just lie. It’s not worth it.”

He notices that last remark sparks up your frustration and he clarifies speedily.

“And I know that me being like that is the reason you’re hesitant to let me in now. I know that’s my fault, I just… shit, I need another chance.”

The fact that he was so insistent and willing to grovel gave you some comfort, but you’ve learned to not get your hopes up. You stick to your guns, but not as confidently as before. And Eddie sees that.

“Please just leave…” you murmur, even if it’s burning away at you to insist that he go.

He groans, rubbing at his face again but goes to straddle your windowsill anyway.

“I really do care about you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

You started chewing at the skin around your thumbnail—a nasty stress-related habit you picked up from someone. You didn’t respond, just waited for him to actually go. You were too busy fighting your urge to crumble at his words that actually felt so sincere.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” You finally offer in a voice so soft you might as well have never spoken up, but it’s enough to ease some of that aching he felt.

“I’m glad you’re alive, too… I was worried you wouldn’t be. Bugged the shit out of Sinclair so he’d let me know.” he admitted with a soft laugh.

“You asked about me…?”

“Yeah… you’re all I’ve been thinking about.”

You bite your lip, swallowing when you realized just how tight your throat felt. You’re unsure of how to respond without giving into him, until you catch a glimpse of his necklace on your bedside table.

“Oh uhm… you came here to get this back.” you murmur, padding over to the nightstand to grab it and bring it over to him. Eddie stares at the pick in your palm before looking at you with sad amusement.

“The necklace wasn’t really what I was interested in coming back for…” he admits with a soft chuckle, eyeing you as his smile falters. “Keep it.”

“But it’s your-”

“Keep it. Please.”

The moment is bittersweet, and you’re thinking about what it would be like if you really gave him a chance to prove he’s being honest with you tonight, but you’re too fearful to take that chance. You do hold onto the necklace though.

“Good night, Eddie.”

*

taglist: @mynameismothra @angelina16torres-blog @tlclick73 @elvendria @psychospore @daisyridleyyyy @sidthedollface2 @kelsiegrin @swiss-cheeze @darknesseddiem @magnificantmermaid @hazydespair @bonehead-playz @stephanie-nicks76 @madaboutjoe @homiesexual-or-homosexual @neobanguniverse @prestinalove @galaxyfxcs @canyonmooncreations @hereforshmut @ediewentmissing @sadest-bookshelf @harlowsgirl @damon-loves-pie @stardustmunson @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @bitchyseawitch @littlered0000

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #as if eddie munson #bully!eddie munson #mean!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #as if angst #as if part 4 #as if eddiessluttywaist #eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson angst

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls: 3x8 Let The Games Begin (Aka Let The ShitCircus Begin) (Send In The Clowns) (Send Help) (Part 1)

You can read my thoughts on all previous episodes in my Pinned Post. Ladies and Gentlemens, do you know what time it is? it is officially Literati Kickoff Time.

To get everyone up to speed, in the last episode, Rory recieved a Public Dumping for the Ages, Dean has stepped down as Rory's Primary Male Life Ruiner and handed that crown to Jess, Shane has been eviscerated into a bloody pulp, Lorelai and Luke both missed the showdown at the DM and so Lorelai learned about this tea off-screen sometime between the last episode and this one. It's yet unclear whether Lorelai learned what happened through second hand gossip or if Rory dusted off her Season 1 Balls of Steel and had the courage to inform her mother that Dean was out and Jess was in. Episode Opener: we see Rory and Lorelai walking through town shortly after the dance marathon, complaining about their sleep deprivation and achy feet. ("At least you bitches still have your feet," says Shane's dismembered ghost, looking down at her new webbed swan feet).

What is this shirt? It looks like an octopus ejaculated on this shirt.

Hey baby hey baby hey! J: Hi R:Hey J:Hi Lor: Hi (Who told you you could speak? Butt out, bish) Luke: Hi Jess: Hi R: I have to get to school. J: Me too. R:Bye J:Bye. Bye. Lorelai: Bye (bish, I swear...) R: Bye Luke: Bye Jess: Disappears

Only THE CUTEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED?! That was so cute, they should be immortalized into a pair of Precious Moments figurines. The little plaque on the figurine would be titled "Idiots In Love." So naturally, a certain Grinch in a lavendar blouse has a problem with this and it only further reassures her that Jess is nothing more than A Sex Criminal (who would never murder anyone).

Yay. Lorelai and I are both crying on the inside over this development, but for vastly different reasons. Anyway, look at her hanging her head! This bish is in mourning! Look at how depressed this bish is! Hahaha! Get SAD, BISH! I WILL LICK YOUR SALTY, SALTY TEARS! Ahem. I haven't seen such a somber delivery since the medical examiner delivered the news to Shane's parents that he had positively identifed her mutilated corpse.

Who will visit my home and sift through my panty drawer now? Luke: What happened? Lorelai, somber as a funeral director: Jess happened. Luke, uncharacteristically giddy with excitement: Wow! WOW! This is great! Wow! Rory and Jess! Jess and Rory! This is great! Don't you think this is great! Honestly Luke and Lorelai reflect both sides of my conflicting feelings about the Literati Shit-Circus. Lor: "I'll tell Dean you said that." I'm sure you will before the next time you gargle his dick. I think it's the next episode where Lorelai tells Dean, "Just because you and Rory broke up doesn't mean we did." #Sick

MOMMY FAIL! Rory is 18. She's a fucking adult so leave her alone. Anyway, what does that mean? I think it's code for "It's about time Rory dated a boy who knows how to remove a bra.' Luke: I know Jess is tough (LOL, yeah, he's a real toughie, just look at that last exchange) but he likes Rory and Rory's a good kid. Her good will rub off on him.

You are so full of baloney. You're a Baloney Superstore. You are the Walmart of Baloney. Oh, this episode contains multitudes. Lorelai is insufferable on not just one but two fronts. Heavens to betsy. This is the episode where she has a shit-fit over Richard taking Rory to interview at Yale. One of the most ridiculous Lorelai tantrums I can ever recall, at least in the earlier seasons. Maybe not as insane as "I'd rather my child and I be homeless than accept a loan from my mother to save my termite infested house" but it's up there in the top 5 for me.

I am so brave. Ar FND, Richard invites Rory to embark on said Road Trip to Yale, which shouldn't be a big deal for a child with any other mother besides Lorelai Gilmore, but this is Rory so she is shaking lke a flu stricken chihuaua at the thought of her mother finding out she would ever deign to visit a school endorsed by her grandparents. She reluctantly accepts, then quietly pees her pants.

God speed, girlypop.

Fun with Product Placement time: Rory went to fetch a soda from the kitchen, and my immediate thought was: "These rich bitches better have name brand Coca Cola in their fridge, and not that odd Hansen's soda that Rory is always drinking", and they do. A real honest to god prominently labeled Coke can. Girlypop here is feeling the heavy weight of possibly displeasing her mother in both her romantic and academic choices. She has a lot on her plate right now. While the car is parked in the Gilmore Grands driveway after FND, girly pop musters up the courage to tell Lorelai "Grandpa wants us to go on a road trip to Yale" which causes Lorelai to huff and immediately exit the car. She begins storming back into the house, intent on demanding that her father explain this unbelievably callous and cruel attempt to brainwash her daughter into considering another school besides Harvvard. Rory stops her at the porch. where a lengthy argument ensues. Rory has to (once again) dig in her heels to defend her position against Lorelai over something so STUPID. I am really sitting here watching Lorelai and Rory go back and forth forever just because (ADULT) Rory wants to visit a college campus at the invitation of her own grandfather. Lorelai even calls Richard a "master manipulator" for this evil plot. You know what Rory, stop asking Lorelai for her input. Since you don't have a car, just hop on a bus to New Haven and just fucking go. After comparing the city of New Haven to leftover sludge at the bottom of a coffee pot, Lorelai decides she's going to accompany Rory on the trip anyway, even though its been made quite clear she does not have to go (just like the Sherry Baby Shower). In both instances, Lorelai's presence will ruin everything. Per @frazzledsoul: "Lorelai is so spoiled here. Imagine being a parent of a teenager and your worst problem is what Ivy League school your kid goes to." Amen. The rest of this episode promises to be a complete shitshow of epic proportions. At least the next episode is "Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving", one of the best.

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 3 #denise rewatches gilmore girls #let the games begin #ltgb #literati #jess mariano #rory gilmore #luke danes #send help

[meshlasolus]

CWM Oneshot: The Toil of Darth Vader

Hi, yes, this is my gift to you on may the fourth!! it is a sad and terrible oneshot surrounding anakin because i just felt like it.

Warnings: so much bro, just... so much. self hatred, depression, mentions of death and murder, mentions of self harm?? it's not traditional self harm but it still counts ig...

Summary: Darth Vader is the hatred that Anakin Skywalker exudes, but where does the hatred come from? (Obi-Wan is not mentioned in this, it's more of a little diddy about Anakin (Vader) and the women he used to have in his life, and the repercussions of not having them in his life.)

anyways happy may the fourth!!

He was the embodiment of evil.

His dark nature and tall stature made him the most intimidating creature in the universe. He dares not say human anymore, because that would mean he looked like one. He hadn't looked or felt human since the day his life ended.

He had glimpses of when he was alive before this, memories he wished he could burn like the skin of his body, torturous reminders of everything he had, everything he gave up. He knew it was all too late. How could he himself be redeemed when it was by his hand all redemptive acts were killed off.

He feels grief, and it fuels him. It fuels his anger and his hatred, and by this, he lives. Not as he wants to, but as he has to. He has to have power... but what is power without gain? The last ten years he stands to gain nothing for himself and everything for the empire. That was the plan all along, wasn't it? For Palpatine to use him as his primary enforcer and guard dog?

He knows all these things, and they plague him. He regrets his every move of every day, but he still goes on. He kills people, viscously, ruthlessly. Innocent people that should never know suffering, he inflicts terror upon. And he does it to punish himself.

He was meant to be the embodiment of good. The only thing that stood a chance in bringing balance to the force. The balance has not been made, and he wreaks havoc to make it worse. He does not deserve to, after all this time, make amends. He doesn't deserve his redemption. He wants to feel pain and suffering and hatred and malice for the rest of his life, because it is the complete opposite of what should have been. One wrong decision, and it cost him his life.

Everyone he ever loved. Everyone he ever trusted and wished happiness upon.

His beautiful wife, and the children that never were. His closest friend and sister. His padawan, an ally he looked closely after.

All of these are dead to him, though he does not know of Ahsoka. He assumes after everything that happened, being mounted on an aircraft with half of the 501st, she stood no chance.

He sees all three, visions of the force, often memories that refuse to leave his mind. Some are just hallucinations that he finds are both a comfort and torture to him. Comforting because, he would give anything to see their faces again, but torture because, he is the reason he knows he never will.

He sees Padme in everything that is beautiful. Every lush planet he visits with the notion of destruction, he stops to look around. See the frightened faces of the people who could be smiling. He sees the nature of these places and remembers how she used to look out at scenery that was similar. She had such a romantic way about her, with everything she spoke. Even in the senate, she looked for the goodness... always.

He wonders how she ever saw it in him, even from the beginning. He was always destined for this, for the cruelty and brutality. He thinks it, anyway.

He sees Ahsoka in people's humanity. In the aftermath of the empire's crushing stomps, there are helping hands willing to lend themselves to another. There are still good people in the galaxy, and he thinks it's up to him to ruin that, because he is the ruiner of goodness and peace and serenity.

Ahsoka would look at him in such shame if she even caught whiff of what he'd become. He imagines she would try her best to abolish every aspect of him, and she was right to do so... but still if it ever happened, he could not lose. He can't let himself have the satisfaction of letting compassion consume him. He's too gone for it.

He sees his sister in fiery flames, in things that burn red and hot and uncontrollable with passion... but whenever the fire burns out he remembers the way she did, her fire still burning through those that she carried to safety. He remembers his last exchange with her often, the look in her eye one of fear and distrust and complete heartbreak.

His best friend, his most loyal ally, even to the end. Amidst the wreckage of a burning Temple full of slaughtered Jedi, she came back to save him... but he'd been dead already. Anakin Skywalker died long before she did, and this creature, this thing is what remains.

He sees her the most often, sitting at the end of a dark hallway, looking at him with toil and anger. He finds himself speaking to the apparitions when no one is near.

"You must leave me," he pleads, the words always met with a reply in her own voice, though it's echoing and in shambles.

"There's no leaving what one has never arrived to."

"Will I ever know peace?" He sometimes begs, but he knows what the answer is, he created it.

"You will reap what you have sewn. I am only here to remind you..."

And still he suffers. These visions of her are never happy. He remembers happy things about Ahsoka and Padme. He curses his mind when he does, but it's still possible. He never manages to see a smile on her face like he used to. It brings him more pain but he uses that as well. He has endless fuel for power in the dark side, so long as he remains miserable and full of hatred.

He hates so many things. But most of all himself, and it will never change. He is not the long dead Anakin Skywalker, he is what remains.

The lord of a darkness that has consumed him whole, Darth Vader.

-

lol i wrote this in like 20 minutes i just had so many thoughts.

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #darth vader #obi wan kenobi x padawan!reader #house of memories order 66 #hom #obi x little one

[honey-beann]

Ruiner, Ruination (RK900 x Reader)

Chapter 4: The Little Mouse and the Metal Machine Part II - Falling

Series Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis:

Part two of a two part special that tells the tale of the very first time Reader and Nines were recognized for their exceptional teamwork (under all the wrong circumstances).

In this part, everyone's favorite duo works together to contextualize the evidence discovered thus far, coming to multiple unpleasant realizations in the process, one of which may just end up ending someone's life entirely.

AKA: Nines experiences fear, Reader puts herself in danger, and Reed actually helps with the investigation for a minute or two.

Chapter Content Warnings:

Mentions of death

Mentions of murder

Mentions of torture

Mild Gore

Mentions of android self harm

Blood

Word Count: 5,459

"It is blank for yourself and Detective Reed, Little Mouse, but not for me."

A blush rose to your cheeks at the unfamiliar nickname, and you sputtered out a response just moments later, confusion and embarrassment evident in your tone,

"L-Little Mouse?"

You asked, your voice cracking a bit as the android in front of you chuckled, a smooth and dark sound that almost made you shiver.

"I thought it was suitable. Similar to a mouse, you are both fragile yet strangely resilient. I thought this might satisfy your desire to have me call you something besides Detective."

You glared up at him, resisting the urge to call him out for his obvious satisfaction about the fact that he had both given you what you wanted while also ceaselessly mocking you for your biological inferiority.

"I have a name you know."

You grumbled back, cheeks still tinted pink as you looked away from your partner, trying to ignore the obvious amusement he was experiencing due to your reaction.

"Of course you do, Detective, and I know it well, But wasn't it you who insisted on giving me a nickname just weeks ago? Am I not allowed to do the same? That does not seem very equal to me."

You swallowed thickly in response to your partners words, his teasing tone making your skin feel warm as your heart beat faster in your chest.

How was he able to switch up on you so quickly?

Desperate to change the subject before your heart gave out, you cleared your throat awkwardly, letting the nickname slide for the time being as you tried to refocus on the case at hand.

"So, you're saying you can see something Reed and I can't? Like invisible ink for androids?"

Nines rolled his eyes at your words, amusement still evident in his tone as he replied shortly thereafter,

"Exactly like invisible ink detective, because it appears Gwyneth was using her own blue blood to write in her diary. This was most likely to ensure her guardians were unable to read it, as it details many of their abhorrent behaviors."

"Like what?"

You asked before you could stop yourself, watching as your partner turned back to the beginning of the diary, searching through a few pages before he began reading, voice low and smooth,

"Eric and Elizabeth beat the twins for speaking to one another today. They will probably be staying home from school for a few days until Eric's strange companion, Scott can repair them, because the identical gashes across their cheeks are showing their inner facial components and false teeth. Eric and Elizabeth are angry about this, and are blaming the twins for having made them so angry. I miss Logan, it's hard to take care of the girls without his help. He always made everything feel better. I think that's why they killed him before the rest of us. I hear them talking about how they like to watch us squirm when they think we're all in stasis mode. I know what they plan to do with us."

The entry was dated as just over three months prior, and as Nines turned a few pages forward you immediately knew what was to come.

"They killed Hallie and Charlotte tonight. I knew that it was coming, but there was nothing I could do to stop them. They pulled them out of the room like I wasn't even here, kicking and screaming, begging to be let go of, pleading for me to save them. I heard them screaming my name, along with Logan's well into the night, even after their vocal modulators started to give out from wear. I don't think I will ever forget the way they sounded after that, inhuman and yet so full of fear. I know deep down that something is wrong with all of this, but I can't bring myself to be afraid. I was created to obey and love Eric and Elizabeth, and I'm not sure what other options I could possibly have besides continuing to do so. I know they'll kill me too, I heard them talking about it at the end of the night, but I don't even think I'm capable of dying. Still, I keep finding myself wanting to whisper into the darkness and hear Charlotte and Hallie's voices whisper back. Logan's too, although I think I got used to not hearing him anymore a long time ago. I will miss my sisters."

This entry was dated for around three months ago, and you cringed upon hearing the gory details of the twins' murders.

Nines must have noticed this, because he was quiet for a few moments after reading that entry, staring down at you for a few more seconds before he flipped forward further until he once again found the page he was looking for,

"I hear them wherever I go. Charlotte, Hallie, and even Logan whisper in my ears when I'm alone, and I can't handle it anymore. I thought the silence without them was hard, but this is so much worse. They keep trying to convince me to do such terrible things to Eric and Elizabeth, begging me in those inhuman voices to do something to them before they can me. They told me that they buried their extra parts beneath the floor within their bedroom, too. I want to check for myself, but I'm afraid that I might actually find something there. I don't want the voices to be right, but they feel so real that I don't think there's any other possibility."

This entry was dated just five days after the previous one, and to your surprise, Nines closed the notebook after he was finished reading it.

You looked up at him, confused about his sudden disinterest in continuing, and he replied almost immediately.

"That is all you need to hear from her. I will tell you the rest as it is pertinent to do so."

You glared at your partner, about to argue when he turned and left the room, walking a bit down and back across the hall in order to reenter the dreaded master suite.

You swallowed thickly, trying not to breathe in through your nose for fear of that dreaded mechanical scent as you moved to stand in the doorway, confused as to what Nines was doing until he reopened the doors to the closet, the same ones you had gazed through earlier before noting how empty it was in there.

If only you had known how wrong you were.

You watched, finding yourself unable to look away as Nines knelt down to closely analyze the floor, his eyes shifting upward to find your own for the briefest of moments before he reached down and slid a heavy piece of metal covered in well camouflaged carpet over to the side. He appeared to be looking downward for a few seconds after this, although you didn't dare approach to see if you were correct about that, not until he turned to look over at you once more, his gaze lingering this time.

"May I borrow your flashlight, Detective?"

Swallowing thickly, you nodded, removing said device from your tool belt before taking a few steps forward and tossing it to your partner, who caught it with incredible ease despite the shakiness of your throw.

Under different circumstances, you would have very likely been impressed.

But right now, you were just trying to remind yourself to breathe through your mouth alone, desperately attempting to ignore the metallic taste that filled your mouth each time that you did.

God, this place was hell.

Nervously, you and a great deal of your coworkers watched as Nines aimed the flashlight's beam towards the square shaped hole in the floor, his expression unchanged even as he gazed at the sight within.

For a few seconds, there was only silence as he leaned back on his heels, flicking off the light before he stood up and walked away from the hole entirely. You were just about to ask him if he'd found anything when he spoke up on his own,

"The three android corpses within that hidden compartment and the fingerprints that are present on them will serve as evidence that Eric and Elizabeth Hughes did in fact murder their own adopted children. I would recommend having someone from forensics and the coroners office come to prepare the remains for transport. They are not in good condition, as it is apparent they sustained a great deal of damage prior to their deactivation."

You felt sadness and discomfort well up in you as Nines confirmed your suspicions regarding what he had found there, walking back towards you in order to request your support away from the scene once more, his cold hand pressing your flashlight back into your palm once he was close enough. The feeling of the cool black metal, ever so slightly warmed by the previously shining bulb encased within it, brought you back to earth a bit, and you sighed before agreeing to follow your partner, even if you knew deep down that whatever he had to tell you couldn't be good.

You were right.

When Nines pulled you away from your coworkers as they prepared the android bodies for transit, he hardly even waited until you were standing at the end of the empty hallway to tell you what he believed to be the truth of the case: That Gwyneth had murdered her guardians.

He told you about what he'd found towards the end of the diary, pages upon pages of rambling describing how the little girl planned to murder the people who were supposed to have been her caretakers. She talked about bleeding them out in the bathtub the way they'd done to her siblings, of burying them beneath the floor boards just as they'd done to Logan, Hallie, and Charlotte.

She had never outright admitted to killing her parents in the diary, but Nines told you that he had absolutely no doubt that she had done exactly as she said she would, first going after Elizabeth downstairs in the kitchen, where the oldest of the blood had been found, before dragging her over to the bathroom to torture and drain her of her blood the exact same way she and her husband had done to Gwyneth's siblings. After that, Nines believed she had gone upstairs to where Eric had likely been resting, and stabbed him until he was unable to fight back. He was unsure what she had used as her weapon, but due to the lack of forensic evidence on the tools in the bathroom, and the neat way they had been arranged, he stated he had little doubt they had been the murder weapons. He then told you of his theory that Gwyneth had used a bloodied blanket that had been found inside the downstairs bathroom to transport a barely alive Eric down the stairs and into the tub without making a mess.

It all made sense, and you couldn't help but hate it.

Whenever the victim turned to something like this, to killing other people, you always felt like a failure. Where had the justice system been when it came to protecting this little girl? Why hadn't anyone noticed sooner how horrifically abused these children were being?

It was all so unfair.

But what Nines told you next felt even worse.

He told you about the number in the downstairs closet, of the implications it had when it came to the immense amounts of thirium that had once been present within this household. Due to the less than pleasant nature of the family, as well as the shady phone number, and the lack of thirium present within the drainage system of the home, Nines suspected that Eric and Elizabeth had sold it for the production of red ice, and that the burner phone number was probably a contact for getting rid of it.

They had abused their children, tortured them, taken their lives, buried their bodies beneath metal and carpeting, and then sold their blood to be used for drug production.

Somehow, it just kept getting worse and worse.

Seeing your obvious emotional response to his words, Nines' expression changed subtly, just enough so that a few officers present at the other end of the hallway stared at the sight of it, shocked at what they were seeing.

You, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice, far too wrapped up in everything you had learned.

But unfortunately, Nines wasn't done yet, proceeding to request a gathering in the downstairs living area of the home in order to update everyone on his theory.

By the time he was done speaking, not even the infamously argumentative Gavin Reed himself took issue with his thoughts regarding the evidence as it was currently known, and everyone was silent, until finally, one of the many officers who had been initially dispatched to the scene spoke up.

"Well, what are you proposing we do about the perpetrator then? Do we send out her image and name even though there are thousands of others just like her?"

Nines shook his head at that, immediately responding,

"Well, the good and bad news about the Hughes' android children is that they were all custom built, which was how they were able to enroll them in school without anyone knowing they were androids. This means that if we needed to alert the media, there would be a fairly reasonable chance she might one day be recognized by someone. The bad part of this is that if they had not been custom built, none of this ever could have occurred as easily in the first place."

The officer nodded in understanding, before you spoke up for the first time in a long time, and almost everyone in the room noticed the way that Nines shifted his body to face you immediately upon hearing your voice, a furrow of what almost appeared to be concern appearing above his brow as he took in what you were saying.

He had looked almost notably worried for a while now, as if your emotional distress was an immense concern rather than a slight setback.

"You're talking like we won't need to alert the media. Does that mean you think we can find her with the evidence we already have alone?"

Nines hummed, a spark of what was almost like pride flickering within him as you caught on easily to his earlier words. His lips were curled at the edges as he replied,

"I do, and that is exactly why I wished to speak to everyone here at once. Due to the evidence I have of the perpetrator, I know for a fact that the chances that she has left this house are slim to none. That being said, I also know the entire layout of this home from having downloaded current and past floor plans and blue prints, and there doesn't seem to be anywhere she could be hiding where we would not have already located her. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

Everything was completely silent until suddenly, Gavin spoke up from the other side of the living room,

"I might have a lead."

Five minutes later, everyone was standing upstairs in the scarcely decorated children's bedroom, crowding around the window.

"This was open when I got here."

Reed explained, his arms crossed as he avoided eye contact with the android who was standing in front of him,

"I asked the cops who were first to the scene, and they said they hadn't even been up here to open the window at all."

The RK900 model nodded in response, looking over to you before he turned his gaze back towards the window, noting that there was almost no available ground to stand on outside of this portion of the house due to a fence, therefore making it difficult for someone to go outside and look at what was visible from below.

Well then, clearly he would need to get creative in his approach.

He turned towards you fully now, his voice clear and highly confident as he spoke,

"Detective, hold my legs, I am going to get a picture of the above area on this side of the house."

You raised your brows in response, but did as your partner asked, allowing him to get situated with his back against the wooden window sill before he slowly began easing himself outside further, keeping his torso upright without any support in a manner that would have been nearly impossible for any human being.

You grasped Nines' body by the calves, both arms wrapped around them as you did your best to ensure he wouldn't fall out the window due to any potential external pressures.

It was a stressful job.

"Nines?"

You called out after a few moments, hearing a dull click before a chuckle came from outside of the window,

"Yes, Little Mouse?"

You felt your face burn in embarrassment as multiple of your coworkers murmured to one another upon hearing the condescending nickname.

God, this was humiliating.

"Are you almost done? This is making me nervous."

That chuckle came again, much closer this time, and the calves beneath your arms bent in a manner that let you know Nines had sat up once more.

You looked up at him in obvious surprise, dropping your arms from around his legs seconds later as he looked down at you, clearly amused at your previous unnecessary concerns,

"Whatever for, Detective? Were you worried about me?"

His tone was serious, but had a mocking lilt to it that made you glare up at your partner, crossing your arms,

"More like worried about me. You're a three million dollar piece of equipment, Nines, and it would have been my ass if you fell two stories and needing replacing for it."

Humming, your partner lowered himself back inside fully, standing tall and proud above you as he brushed the dirt from the window sill off of his uniform,

"Whatever you say, Detective."

Not long afterward, yourself and the rest of your coworkers were sitting all around the room, analyzing the photo that Nines had taken with great interest and confusion.

Above the window Nines had taken the photo from by using his ocular cameras, it was apparent that there was in fact another story to the house, something you and Nines had been aware of already.

But, what was interesting was the fact that leading up to the rather small window, large pieces of metal could be seen sticking out of the house, almost like they had been placed there by someone in an effort to reach the window a full story above.

"If Gwyneth is anywhere in this house, it's there."

Nines said matter of factly, and everyone turned to face him as he spoke,

"The only thing we need to do now is send someone up there to check it out."

Everyone was silent, none of them particularly eager to go and risk meeting a potentially homicidal little android girl in a dark attic that hadn't been touched by any human being for decades.

And on top of that, there was the whole other issue of the size of the window. No grown man would fit through that easily, least of all the RK900 who was arguably most suited for this particular job. Nines was a big guy, standing at over six feet tall with incredibly broad shoulders that could never dream of fitting into such a small space, especially not when no part of his body could be considered even the least bit pliable.

Nines had not been made to be soft, to mold himself to fit into particular spaces, he was supposed to create those spaces regardless of risk.

But this was not his original task, and this was not something he could brute force his way into.

Someone else would have to go up there, and they would have to do it alone.

"I'll do it." you said, your voice small but confident even as you shook a bit while standing to meet your partners harsh and scrutinizing gaze.

Nines watched you, looking you up and down slowly before he sighed, glancing about the room as if waiting for someone else, anyone else to volunteer.

Nobody did.

He sighed.

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

He asked, approaching you slowly, running scan after scan to check your vitals in an effort to discern fully whether or not this was a good idea.

But no matter what he did, there was no answer he could find that was entirely certain and without risk.

And he hated that.

"This case seems to have shaken you, Detective. I do not want you to take any unnecessary risks. The entire case could be jeopardized based upon your actions."

His words were very normal for him, so very Nines in nature, but the worry within his gaze was not. He didn't want you to take such a huge risk unless you felt confident you could come out the other side unscathed.

You nodded in response to his words,

"I'm sure, Nines. Let me do this."

Your partner watched you, his jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly until finally, he relented,

"As you wish, Detective. We will aim to have you heading up within the hour. Please prepare yourself accordingly."

Nines spoke like he intended to have no involvement with said preparation, but for the next thirty five minutes he spent every moment of his time going over plans with you, creating back up plan after back up plan for probability after probability until you had the audacity to compare him to his predecessor due to his obvious anxiety pertaining to your success.

That had shut him up until your final five minutes prior to your journey, which was when he came to present you with his gun.

You had never really told anyone, but you didn't like to carry a lethal weapon on you during work hours unless you were instructed to. Nines knew that, and was evidently all too aware of the fact that you'd arrived on the scene today weaponless. But rather than chastising you for that, as he had done many times in the past, he simply held out his gun, watching as you accepted it gingerly, holstering it away with a nod of appreciation.

You didn't know what to say.

Since becoming your partner, Nines had accidentally become one of the most important people in your life.

You saw him nearly every single day, and whether he considered the two of you to be close or not, you had actually started to think of him as a friend rather than just your partner.

Even still, you couldn't bring yourself to say that to his face, no matter how scary the situation at hand happened to be.

You were just about to try and get something, anything out when Nines spoke up,

"You will make it out of this unharmed, Detective."

His tone was stern and certain as he spoke, his grey eyes hardened in a way that may have actually frightened you just a few weeks prior.

But now?

Now it was all too familiar to make you feel anything but strangely at ease.

He continued a few seconds later, his expression remaining ever unchanged,

"I swear it. I will not allow anything bad to happen to you. Not now, and not in the future. That is the promise I made as your partner, and I intend to keep it."

You smiled up at Nines, the first one he had seen in a few hours, and he watched as you reached your hand out, grabbing one of his as it lay limply at his side to grasp it within your own, a sign of strength and confidence that was almost able to put him at ease.

Almost.

"I trust you, Nines."

You said, and you could have sworn you saw that hardened stare soften for a moment before he blinked that tenderness away in favor of his usual harsh expression.

Your partner nodded in response to your words, a small smile appearing at the edges of his lips as he replied earnestly,

"And I you, Little Mouse."

There was silence between the two of you for a few moments before you both let go of one another's hands, allowing the peace and quiet to permeate the environment before Nines spoke up once more, his voice a bit softer than the last time he had given you instructions pertaining to your mission,

"I will be on the ground below along with everyone else currently present. If you need anything at all, just call for me. I will hear it. We removed the fence to ensure there is enough room for everybody to remain safely outside the premises so no one will be of your concern."

You nodded softly, swallowing thickly as you glanced outside to see your coworkers on the grass below, anxiously awaiting your ascent to the abandoned attic.

It was now or never.

You looked back to Nines, giving him one last nervous smile before you made your way over to the window. You sat there on the windowsill, listening to your peers chat below, until you saw the familiar form of your partner stride outside to stand with them, giving you the signal to head upward. You gave him a stern nod in response, and stood at the edge of the sill, grasping on to one of the sturdy metal rungs that had been stuck into the side of the house and pulling yourself upward.

You repeated this process of slowly moving up until finally, you reached the window, which you could now see was slightly ajar. Praying that the age of the noticeably warped wood wouldn't cause it to squeak and give you away, you pushed the window the rest of the way up slowly before making your way inside feet first in the very same manner that your partner had instructed you to less than an hour before. Allowing the fading natural light to guide your way, you slowly pressed forward into the dusty attic, fear welling up inside you as the silence took over all other sounds.

It was far too quiet in here. And you didn't feel nearly as alone as you'd hoped you would.

"Hello? Gwyneth? Are you there?"

The sound of your voice in the tense silence surprised you, and you swallowed thickly as you watched the room ahead of you for any signs of movement.

Nothing.

"I know you're probably afraid, and maybe even injured, but I'm not here to hurt you. I know what happened, and I know why too. It wasn't your fault. Please let me help you."

At that, you heard the sound of something gentle padding against the thin wood floors, reminding you of exactly how old the dampened floor boards in here were, unsturdy and sagging beneath your feet.

You remained silent and rooted to the spot, watching as a little girl, presumably Gwyneth, stepped closer to the light that was streaming in through the window.

Her blonde hair caught the sun gently, and you almost flinched at the harsh stench of blood that hit you as she grew closer. She was covered in it, from head to toe, and that became more and more evident as her hair caught the nearly dying light once more. It was an almost coppery orange due to how long the blood had been setting into it, and it was knotted in a way that made you feel bad for her.

"Hi."

You all but breathed out, smiling down at the little girl who stood in front of you, her gaze aimed downward and her expression somber. It was hard to tell what she was feeling, let alone what she was thinking within such a dark space, but even still you tried to remain calm, reminding yourself that she never would have done the things she had if not for the abuse she'd endured.

"My name is Y/n. I'm a detective with the Detroit Police Department. I'm here to he-"

"The Detroit Police Department?"

The little girl asked suddenly, her gaze briefly meeting yours, eyes shining with excitement,

"Have you ever met Connor?"

You were taken aback for a moment, confused about what she meant before you smiled, nodding softly,

"I have. He's a friend actually. I'm sure he would love to meet you if you were willing to come down to the department with me to answer a few questions."

At that, Gwyneth actually smiled up at you, her eyes shining as she nodded enthusiastically,

"Sure!"

You almost flinched at her loud outburst, but smiled back nonetheless, calling down to your coworkers to share the news.

Only their response was less than stellar.

In fact, it turned out to be deadly.

"Fuck yeah, Rookie, show that little bitch whose boss!"

You all but flinched at Gavin's words as he shouted them up at you, and you quickly realized he must have believed you had neutralized the child rather than just talked her into coming of her own free will.

And that was where the trouble started.

Multiple of your coworkers cried out in agreement, and you saw the excitement turn to fear as the little girl stepped backwards into the darkness once more. Desperate to help, you followed, trying to explain yourself as you went, to no avail.

The cries of victory from below, alongside the shouts about the victims receiving justice, was all too much for the young android to handle, and, in an effort to get herself out of her situation, Gwyneth began to aggressively slam her head against the floor, and you gasped in horror as it began to splinter beneath her, falling away in various areas due to decay and a lack of upkeep. If she kept this up, the entire house would be going down with her.

"Fuck!"

You cursed, trying to get close enough to reach her, praying that you could stop her onslaught of self inflicted violence, only to realize the floor was growing weaker and weaker by the moment, the whole house feeling as if it were shaking as the load bearing walls below you groaned out of effort and strain.

You were already too late.

Fear gripped your heart as you realized your situation, your legs shaking as you rushed back to the window, knowing all too well that you wouldn't have enough time to climb down before the whole house collapsed beneath you.

Cursing over and over, you had to fight to stay on your feet as fear overcame you, tears beginning to fall and slide down your cheeks as the realization hit you that you were going to die here, in an unfamiliar house, having failed at your job. You had been unable to save Gwyneth, and now you would be unable to save yourself as well.

But then, over the sounds of the varying cries of fear and shock below, you heard him, and an almost overwhelming sense of comfort briefly trumped your fear.

"Nines."

You breathed out, listening closely as the man below called up to you,

"Detective, you need to jump, now!"

His tone was aggressive, almost angry, and decidedly fearful as he desperately tried to get through to you.

"I will catch you. Remember what I said earlier. I will not let you come to harm, not now, not ever."

His confident tone, the certainty in his voice, and the familiarity of his presence unfroze your fear driven mind, and, deciding to take your last chance at life, you shouted back a strained,

"Okay!"

Down to your partner, knowing full well that it would be all he needed to get prepared to catch you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the sounds of the world all but falling apart around you as you placed your feet on the window sill, gripping the upper portion of it for dear life as you stepped up and out of the house.

You looked down at everyone for a brief moment, your only safety being the wood grasped within your hands and lying beneath your feet. And this wood wasn't going to last much longer.

Swallowing thickly, you closed your eyes one final time, thinking back to your previous conversation with Nines, back before everything had gone to shit.

"I trust you."

You whispered out softly, allowing your body to slowly fall forward until there was nothing left to hold you up, the air rushing past you as you fell nearly three stories towards the ground below.

AO3 Link

Series Masterlist

#DBH x reader #rk900 x reader #nines x reader #nines x reader series #rk900 x reader series #dbh rk900 #connor dbh #dbh blog #dbh fics #rk900 fics #rk900 series #dbh series #dbh nines x reader #dbh connor #ruiner ruination #DBH connor x reader #detroit become human connor x reader

[jomiddlemarch]

The Black Widow

“I think I’ve been too hard on Blaise’s mum, all these years,” Hermione said, her shoulders slumped instead of maintaining her usual impeccable, McGonagall-inspired posture, her chin held in the hand that wasn’t curled around a cup of tea. It was actually a very fine cup of masala chai that Padma had made using the Patil family’s own karha recipe and Hermione had chosen it over a glass of Shiraz and the two fingers of bourbon that had also been offered and perhaps foolishly declined. She took a breath, tried to let the scent of the spices soothe her.

No dice.

“Maybe you’re, I don’t know, exaggerating a bit?” Padma said carefully.

“She means you’re being more dramatic than Celestina Warbeck and Sarah Bernhardt put together, darling,” Theo said. They were her two most rational friends, Theo a hatstall for Ravenclaw, Padma properly Sorted and also Second Wrangler for her year at Cambridge. It had made sense to come to them and not, say, Harry, who was pants at validation, or Ginny, who only ever wanted salacious details and sulked when Hermione wouldn’t share, or Luna, who might say something daft or something that was as sharply acute as an Unforgivable, with the additional burden of being Unforgettable, and who was also in Svalbard. It had made sense and yet now Hermione was considering she could have just gone to any wine-bar in Soho and gotten sloshed without any incisive commentary.

“Incisive, I like that,” Theo said as Hermione had evidently voiced that bit of her internal monologue aloud.

“I always said she must be a dreadful person and now I’m the dreadful person,” Hermione said. Was there a slight moaning quality to her tone? She had come seeking tea and sympathy. “I should have understood the cards were stacked against her and that she couldn’t fight the patriarchy of the Wizarding world by herself—”

“I’m not discounting the point about the patriarchy, but I don’t think you and Madame Zabini are much alike. Nor are your circumstances,” Padma said.

“She means you haven’t murdered any of your men,” Theo said, peering at Hermione through his glasses. “In case you were too addled to make out what she meant by circumstances. You’re still a Gryffindor, you often need things told to you point-blank. Or at wandpoint, but that seems unnecessary.”

“He’s right,” Padma said. “Though to be unfair, there’s no confirmation about several of Madame Zabini’s husbands’…demises. There was no body recovered for the last one and she’s always spoken fondly about Blaise’s father. She’s allowed to have some bad luck and there have been two wars—”

“Come off it, Padma, the witch is a bloody menace and even Riddle was scared of her. That’s why Blaise didn’t have to get the Dark Mark,” Theo said. “Tom was into Dark magic, but Madame Zabini knows the Old Ways.”

“Fine,” Padma said. “Still, Hermione, it’s not the same.”

“First of all, no one you’ve dated is dead,” Theo pointed out.

“Anthony said I was a life-ruiner,” Hermione replied. 

“As if he had a life worth ruining, the tosser,” Theo said, scoffing. “So full of himself.”

“Ron got cursed at the Final Battle because he was trying to protect me,” Hermione said.

“He’s been getting free rounds of drinks off that injury for the past twenty-odd years,” Padma said. “If he’d listened to anyone, he could have had it repaired at St. Mungo’s that first week instead of relying on a field dressing by a fifth year Hufflepuff. He’s only still got the limp and the scar because he waited and then it was permanent.”

“Bill said that too,” Hermione admitted. 

“And just because Viktor Krum hasn’t been heard of in about nine years, that’s nothing to do with you,” Theo said. “I know you’ll mention that last letter of his, where he wrote about Ioanna and her amber halo, but really, that could mean any number of things. And also, again, not confirmed dead and not at your hand.”

“McLaggen had it coming to him,” Padma said and sniffed. “You were helping out all female-presenting creatures and beings when you hexed him.”

“I don’t feel that bad about him,” Hermione said.

“Good. That’s progress, love,” Theo said. “You’re not still counting Snape, are you?”

“I mean, I let him die, Theo. I was right there—”

“You had a crush on him during sixth year but I don’t see how he counts as one of you men. I think he would rather have died again, more gruesomely, as Nagini kibble, than have a relationship with any student, let alone a Gryffindor like yourself,” Theo said. 

“You couldn’t have saved him,” Padma said more softly. “You were with him when he went, his portrait said as much. He doesn’t bear you any ill-will. Quite the contrary, I think he’s a bit fond of you now, though he’d say this was a bunch of bloody sentimental shite. And probably take one hundred points from Gryffindor and call you a silly cow.”

“Death has not softened him up much, has it?” Theo said. “Good old Snape. Or Bad old Snape. Whichever. That was his thing, double-agent, et cetera, wasn’t it? But he’d never see himself as one of your victims.”

“I appreciate you are both trying to cheer me up,” Hermione said. She took a gulp of the chai, which was at the perfect temperature, because Padma had used the good Charmed china. 

“We are trying to reason with you, brightest witch of our age,” Theo said.

“Neville—” Hermione said, breaking off.

There was a moment of silence, respectful, sincere, thoughtful. Sort of like Neville had turned out to be, besides being the Prophecy’s spare, the slayer of Nagini, champion wearer of Fair Isle jerseys and well-worn cords, strider of moors, Sprout’s successor. Hermione’s former almost-fiancé.

“It never would have worked out,” Padma said.

“I know. I just loved him so much, he was so dear,” Hermione said. “When he proposed, it was like a dream—”

“He fell in a bog and broke both his legs,” Theo said. “Again, Not Dead. Perhaps terminally embarrassed, especially since he lost the ring in the bog and now the bog kassapu won’t give it back and Madame Longbottom is furious—”

“His gran didn’t mind that much,” Hermione said. “But she did say it was a sign. And that because Neville broke his legs in an enchanted bog, it wasn’t something St. Mungo’s could heal up easily and I wasn’t to think twice about refusing the offer. Neville said the same thing.”

“I suppose you could wait for him,” Padma said. “You are a witch. Another couple of decades—”

“We agreed it was for the best, ending it. We’ll stay friends, close friends, but he saw what was happening,” Hermione said. She’d often been told, dismissively by Slytherins, that one could read her face like a book; at the moment, it must be a torrid, fraught romance, albeit one without any ripped bodices or irascible, secretly wounded dukes. 

“It’s not like you and Draco planned to meet at St. Mungo’s,” Theo said. “It’s not like you orchestrated it for him to be on-call when you and Neville arrived and for him to be the one who sat up with you the whole night while the other Healers stabilized Nev. It’s not like you tried to fall in love with each other, former rivals and adversaries who had more in common than they’d admit until they couldn’t any more, wouldn’t—”

“Even though the rest of us could see it coming from a mile away. Years before. Since that first night at the pub,” Padma said. “Harry saw it. George Weasley’s had a bet going since you went to the loo that night, the pot could buy a lovely holiday villa in the Algarve by now. Minerva—”

“You call her Minerva now?” Theo whistled. “I thought that was reserved for the brightest witch here.”

“I advise some of the more gifted Arithmancy students who are beyond Vector’s skills,” Padma said. “Hermione might have done, but she had that Potions torch to carry and then Bill roped her into the side-gig at Gringott’s. Minerva told me she didn’t want to be called Professor by a colleague, certainly not one who made a better pot of tea than she did.”

“She said that?” Hermione exclaimed.

“I made the masala chai. She’s not stupid,” Padma said. “She said she’d wondered about you and Draco since the Yule Ball and that if Dumbledore had simply managed the Voldemort situation better, we could all have spent our Hogwarts years waiting to see if the two of you would get together.”

“Oh my,” Theo said, laughing. Hermione made a face, scrunching up her nose, then shoved back the hair that had come loose from the combs she’d used to pull it back.

“I guess the truth is, I’m afraid,” Hermione said. “I’m thirty-eight years old and I’ve never had a successful romantic relationship, they’ve all been unmitigated failures, well, maybe I get a pass on Neville, but otherwise it’s all been utter shite and I don’t want to mess anything up with Draco. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to be the Black widow and Walburga has been giving me the evil eye since she heard—”

“There it is,” Padma said.

“You cannot let that blasted portrait bother you,” Theo said. “Draco ought to be able to shut her up, heir to the House and all.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up. At least, you won’t do it by yourself. This is about you and Draco, what’s between you. What you make with how you care about each other,” Padma said. Theo nodded.

“And for the record, Draco has done a superlative job of keeping himself alive in situations that would have killed any lesser being. He survived Riddle as a houseguest. He survived Bellatrix changing his nappies. He survived Lucius finding out you’d beaten him in every class and Harry winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” Theo said. “You can’t take him out, darling girl, even if you try.”

“You should talk to him,” Padma said.

“I don’t know, he’ll think I’m being silly or that he has to take care of me,” Hermione said.

“You are being silly and he does have to take care of you,” Theo said. “So, yes, he’ll think that. But I am confident that he will express himself most eloquently on the topic.”

“How care you be so sure?” Hermione asked.

“Because this isn’t the first pot of masala chai I’ve made that one of you hasn’t drunk this week,” Padma said. “You’re the more secure of the two of you though—he went to Harry first.”

“And then to Millie,” Theo added. “She has not become more patient with age. It was a near-fatal error.”

Bonus image of my Madam Zabini fancast:

#hp fanfic #dramione #hermione POV #draco x hermione #madam zabini #padma patil #theo nott #ravenclaw friends #minerva mcgonagall #humor #severus snape #hermione gets talked down off the ledge as it were #post-hogwarts #neville longbottom #luna lovegood #ginny weasley #mild ron weasley bashing #tea and sympathy #hermione granger #past hermione x neville #anthony goldstein

[eddiebillysteve]

cat and mouse

(( harringroveson prison au ))

chapter six | find the rest here

pairing | billy hargrove/steve harrington + billy hargrove/eddie munson + billy hargrove/eddie munson/steve harrington

summary | a soft mungrove flashback / finishing the shower scene / some mistakes being made over breakfast 💀💀💀

a/n | the italicized part in the beginning is a flashback!! as always please take notice of warnings but this one is fairly tame - but the next one will not be!! feel free to send me any asks/messages/comment on the work itself because i live for it! find it on ao3 here !!

warnings | nsfw, lil bit of humiliation, mentions of murder/punishments, dom/sub talk, billy being possessive and controlling, daddy kink, steve being a gay panicked confused mess, general prison talk, stuff like that !!

 " My old man would be so fucking ashamed of me.”

Billy opened his eyes when he heard a voice in the dark. He wasn’t sure if Eddie knew he was still awake or not, but it hadn’t been that long since they’d finished playing. If he really wanted to go unheard, Billy thought, he would have waited to hear soft snoring before speaking out loud.

“He’d hate me. I bet he knows I’m in here, too.”

There was sniffling, and Billy knew Eddie was crying as he got the words out. He knew he should have pretended to be asleep, listened silently, but there was something tugging him to the bottom bunk.

He kicked off the covers and jumped down, straining his eyes to see Eddie through the darkness. His back was to Billy and the opening of the bunk, his body curled into the wall.

“I thought you were asleep,” Eddie’s voice was a quiver.

“No you didn’t. You knew I was awake. You want to talk, then talk,” Billy’s voice could have been hard and snappy like it usually was, but it wasn’t. It was soft, gentle, and not in the fake mocking way, either. It was an invitation for his pet to keep going, to explain why he was upset and to talk about his father and what was bothering him so badly.

The next thing he knew, Hargrove was crawling into Eddie’s bunk. He’d just been in the same position a few hours prior, but that time he’d pressed Eddie into the mattress and pounded into his ass again without an ounce of comfort to be given.

Eddie never cried. He didn’t even cry the first time Billy fucked him, or hit him, or passed him over to one of his buddies in exchange for a package of cigarettes — but he was crying now.

And it was throwing Billy off.

Once he was under the covers, he pulled Eddie’s body against his own. He’d never cuddled anyone before, but it felt right, and clearly his boy was desperate for it from the way his body immediately morphed into Billy’s like they were meant to be together. “A reward for being so good lately,” Billy murmured to him, regaining his footing as the one in control, starting to play with Eddie’s mane of hair. He twisted it around his fingers, waiting for him to speak again. It didn’t come, though, so he spoke again. “Who gives a shit what your father thinks, sweetheart. Fuck him.”

“You don’t get it,” Eddie murmured, his skin hot against Billy’s skin. He couldn’t believe they were skin to skin, wrapped around each other and legs tangled, without Billy’s dick buried in his arse.

He didn’t think Billy had a soft side. Not one like this.

“He’s in prison. Up in Michigan. He was arrested when I was six and he’s got life. I know he knows I’m in here and I’m not like him, Hargrove. He’s…” He had to pause to try to find the words. “He’s like you. In charge and shit. He’d want to die knowing his blood is such a little bitch.”

Billy wondered, as he explained, why fathers had to be such assholes. They were life ruiners, every last one of them. “You can call me Billy.” The words came out before he even knew what he was saying, and his hand shifted to massage Eddie’s scalp. “When we’re alone. You don’t have to call me Hargrove. Just Billy or Daddy. But I catch you saying it to anyone else or in public and I’ll knock all your teeth out.”

“Billy,” Eddie repeated, ignoring the threat and testing the word out. He could barely believe what he was hearing. “Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

“Don’t wear it out,” Hargrove teased, and it was the first time his voice sounded playful since Eddie had arrived.

In another life, Eddie wondered if they would have been boyfriends. He wondered if they’d live by the ocean, like the one in the pictures plastered on Billy’s bunk’s wall, and if they’d go on dates to the drive in and dance around in the kitchen of their little cottage. He wondered if he would have taught Billy to play D&D, and if Billy would have taught him how to surf in return.

“You remember when your dad got arrested?”

Billy’s voice broke through his thoughts, snapped him back to reality. They were in a pitch-black cell, barely fitting onto his bunk. They weren’t in a big, comfy bed, listening to Megadeth and the sounds of the waves crashing outside.

They weren’t boyfriends, either. He was just Billy’s current bitch.

“Yeah. Was right before my birthday. I was eating cereal by the TV and he was bagging coke on the table with one of my buddies and then they burst in. I spilt my cereal all over the carpet and started crying because I thought I’d get in trouble. They dragged him out kicking and screaming. He was so pissed. But he wasn’t scared. He was in prison before I was born, everyone already knew of him. Knew what to expect.”

Billy listened silently. He knew the fear of spilling anything too well. Neil would have smacked the shit out of him whenever he spilt even just water. “And your mom? Where was she?”

“Dead. Never met her. She died giving birth to me. Don’t really know anything about her. Not even what she looks like,” he told him. “I like to think she was excited to be a mother, but the reality is I was probably a mistake. She was probably a prostitute or one of my dad’s buyers. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was conceived in exchange for a hit.”

Billy was silent again. It was a sad story, almost as sad as his own. He wished his Mom had died when he was too young to remember because he could have created a version of her that was perfect. Instead, his mom chose to leave. She had seven years with him, and then left him behind like he was nothing. He hated her, but he loved her and he fucking missed her so bad it hurt every second of every day.

His life would have been completely different if she just hadn’t left.

“Earth to Billy,” Eddie whispered, reaching up to touch his face. His touch was hesitant, like he was waiting for Billy to snap at him not to touch, but it didn’t come. “What about your parents?”

“Don’t have any.”

His voice was sharper, harder, and Eddie immediately made a mental note never to ask about his parents again. He had to have them, but it was obvious he just didn’t want to talk about it.

“I get it. You don’t have to talk about them. Fuck them,” Eddie whispered. He could feel Billy’s smile grow under his fingertips.

“Fuck them.”

***

When Steve came, he came hard. And fast. Too fast.

His cheeks burned with embarrassment; Billy had barely gotten a hand wrapped around his cock before he was releasing. The feeling of a big hand that wasn’t his own wrapped around him alongside the horrifying words being murmured into his ear had been too much for him to handle.

He’d never felt like a worse human being in his entire life. He felt fucked up, like there was something so wrong with his body for reacting to a frightening man’s touch. The tears streamed down his cheeks the second he came down from the high of it all and he tried to hide beneath his wet, freshly washed hair. Billy’s amusement radiated from him, and it made Steve want to shrivel up and die.

“Jesus, you’re pathetic. Didn’t even last two minutes, sweetheart. Your old girlfriends really didn’t treat you good, did they? They even let you stick your dick in them every day?” Billy was grinning from ear to ear and only let go of Steve’s softening cock to bring his hand to his mouth. It was only once Harrington met his gaze that he went right ahead to lick the beads of cum off his hand. He made a show of it, making sure Steve knew just how he could use his tongue. “How sweet you are, Stevie. You’re gonna be a real good seller, I know it.”

***

“They’ve put you in laundry with us. I’ve made sure of it. But there’s a few things you need to know, sweetheart.”

The boys— Billy, Steve, Eddie, Argyle and Jonathan— had met back up in the cafeteria for breakfast. Steve was focused on his coffee, the mug burning the palms of his hands. He was pleasantly surprised that inmates were even allowed to have coffee.

“You hear me, Bambi? Eyes up here,” Billy spoke again, and Steve forced his eyes up. He was dazed, distant, hair still damp. Eddie had tried to talk to him on their walk from the shower block to the cafeteria, but he hadn’t heard a word. His brain was still processing what he had just done. “You’ve already learned that I’m in charge around here, and we must run things quite strictly. That means anyone who breaks my rules gets punished, not just my pets.”

“What rules? The same as mine?” The words came out before he could stop himself.

Billy grinned. He couldn’t help it. It just sounded so sweet, hearing him accept his rules. “Good boy for acknowledging your rules,” he reached out and squeezed Steve’s thigh under the table. “You get a special set of rules because you’re a special boy, but these are more general rules. Rules every prisoner must follow.”

“Like no trying to take over,” Argyle spoke with a mouth full of cereal.

“Right. No trying to take over my position. If I even hear a rumour that anyone’s thinking of taking over my position, they’re taken care of quite quickly. If I hear of anyone snitching, they’re out. Done. You understand, Stevie?” His voice was quiet, a whisper, but he was staring deep into Steve’s eyes. He wouldn’t have said it if the officers at the doors weren’t some of his, but he didn’t need Steve announcing everything out loud.

“You kill them?”

Billy would have laughed at how innocent, dumbfounded and straight up clueless Steve looked if the words hadn’t come out so loud. His hand was back on his thigh, squeezing hard enough that his little pet started to squirm and try to push him away. “You never say that. Ever. You understand me? The next time those words come out of your mouth, it’s your funeral.”

“Let him go. He’s learning, he’s going to mess up,” Eddie reached over to try to pull Billy’s hand away. Hargrove was strong, Eddie knew it all too well; Steve would be left with a pretty hand shaped bruise soon.

“Oh yeah? You wanna tell him what happens when he messes up?” Billy let go of Steve to shove Eddie’s hand back at him. “Don’t tell me a cat finally got your tongue now, Eds? You’re always so eager to talk to your new best buddy.” He snorted and turned his attention back to Steve. “You’re real lucky to be my pet now, Stevie, because you get a few more chances than the others. You mess up, and I beat your ass. Literally. I won’t stop until you can’t sit down without crying,” his voice had shifted into a hiss. “But you know what happens to the people that aren’t my pets, baby? The people I’m not so kind to? They get punished in the laundry room. I’ve got someone coming in tomorrow, you’ll get to have a little taste of what happens then.”

Steve could feel the panic rising in his chest. Billy was going to kill someone in front of him and he wouldn’t be allowed to do anything, to stop it or yell for help.

Because if he did, he’d be next. He’d be the one being murdered by the man that had just gave him the best orgasm of his life.

“Relax, baby,” Billy grinned the same mean grin he had earlier on. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s just a punishment, not a murder. Can’t believe you already think I’m that much of a monster when I haven’t even done anything to you yet. I’m hurt.”

He started to get up then, his tray practically untouched. He wasn’t big on breakfast— Argyle reached over and immediately swiped the bowl off it to give himself a second helping of cereal.

“Wait, where are you going?” Steve blurted. The only thing scarier than being with Billy inside the prison was being without him. He could feel the eyes on him, all the men waiting to swoop in and grab a piece of him. He felt like he’d already be dead if it wasn’t for Billy’s protection.

“Outside to work out. If you think I’m such a monster, you can stay here all on your own and see how long you last. Eds, up. Come on. Follow me,” he instructed, then he looked to Argyle. “Pretend he doesn’t exist, amigo. See how well he fairs on his own.”

Billy would never let anything serious happen to Steve without his permission and presence, but a little fear would make him more compliant and needy. The sooner he realized he needed Billy’s protection — and to stay on his good side — the better.

“Wait, no,” Steve fumbled to get up to follow them, but Billy completely ignored him and started to lead Eddie outside. “Wait! Billy, wait.”

Hargrove came to a complete stop, fast enough that Steve crashed into his back and then went stumbling backwards. The silence that followed was deafening until Billy’s voice broke through it like a knife. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Every eye in the cafeteria was on them; Steve could feel it, Eddie could feel it, Billy could feel it. Half the men had their mouths hanging open with surprise that Steve had the balls to call Hargrove by his first name, and the other half couldn’t believe that he even had a first name.

“I just said wait,” Steve started, but he clammed up upon seeing how horrified Eddie suddenly looked. He hadn’t even realized what he’d said, what private name he’d used right there in the cafeteria where too many inmates had heard them.

A name he didn’t have permission to use.

“It just slipped out earlier when he was afraid. I didn’t mean to say it. You’ve never had another pet before, I figured you’d have told him—” Eddie started, reaching for Hargrove’s hand, but Billy simply held a finger up to silence him.

“Cell. Now. The both of you. Be naked and on your fucking knees waiting for me unless you want to make this even worse on you.”

#harringrove #mungrove #billy hargrove #eddie munson #harringrove au #harringrove fic #mungrove au #mungrove fic #harringroveson fic #steve harrington #prison au #tw: possessive behavior #tw: prison #my writing

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Weaseltoe

Aliases / Nicknames: Boring, Fun-ruiner, Bore, Goody-Two-Paws

Gender: tom

Sexuality: homosexual

Family: unnamed mother, unnamed father, two unnamed brothers

Other Relations: unnamed mentor

Clan: Thunderclan

Rank: warrior, loner

Characteristics: kills accidently via pranks, wants to prove he’s not boring

Number of Victims: 1

Number of Murders: 1 (accidently)

Murder Method: scaring into having a heart attack

Known Victims: Cloudbeak

Victim Profile: senior warriors

Cause of Death: untreated infected wound

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

He was the exact opposite of a problem child. He was perfect, always wanting to be the best. He never spoke against his parents or mentors, and if the other apprentices tried to pick fights with him, even playfully, he would just agree with whatever they said to avoid a fight.

Oddly enough, being so perfect was isolating, which was nothing other than confusing. Weaseltoe had always been told by his parents and the elders and through stories that the best warriors were the most polite ones, the ones who never spoke against their own Clanmates and never caused a scene at a gathering.

He did just that, yet no one liked him because of it. Why? It wasn’t like he told on them or anything! He just didn’t join them in sneaking out at night or in pulling pranks on the other warriors....

or in making jokes about others....

or in pretty much anything anyone else would find amusing.

He grew tired of it, and when Brittleark poked fun at him for being so boring, he decided to pull the most amazing prank ever.

He spent time putting a bush together in such a shape that it resembled a giant dog. It took a lot of time, crumbling over and over. but he finally got it, and when senior warrior, Cloudbeak, came along, he took the chance. 

Weaseltoe, Brittleark, and other Clanmates that trained along with them laughed at Cloudbeak’s shock.

Until the warrior complained of a hurting chest, and collapsed onto the ground. 

Weaseltoe was drenched in guilt. He was too occupied in his own thoughts to realize in time that Brittleark was hurrying back to camp. By the time he and the others returned with her, Brittleark spun a story that pinned him as the bad guy, deliberately setting the trap to harm Cloudbeak.

Weaseltoe had tried to protest, tried to get the others to back him up. But, sensing the trouble they would get in, they all sided with Brittleark. 

Weaseltoe was chased from the Clan. 

He survived for some time, and he was never angry. It served him right for killing Cloudbeak. When he got a scratch from a scuffle, he didn’t bother cleaning the wound.

Additional Information:

--He has very short fur aside from the spine along his back. 

--He’s all white except for one brown toe.

--The bush-dog he made was probably not at all resembling a dog, you know because he’s a cat using sticks to put the bush together, but it was enough to put an already surprised and heart-problem senior warrior into having a heart attack.

--Brittleark didn’t have bad intentions, she was just scared. She felt bad, something that remained for the rest of her life. Eventually the others came forward and confessed that it was only ever meant as a prank, and they tried to find Weaseltoe to bring him back, but they never found him.

--Weaseltoe was sent to the DF for causing a Clanmate’s death and for lying about how it happened (yes, he didn’t, but Starclan are dicks).

#wc #cloudbeak #brittleark #wcoc #wc oc #warriors #warriorsoc #warriors oc #warriorcatsoc #warriorcats #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #place of no stars #dark forest #weaseltoe #dark forest oc #darkforestoc #dark forest resident #dark forest warrior

[mermaidsirennikita]

Reading a lot of historical romance and I think I'm in a cathartic mood but are there any romances where someone finally gets what's coming to them and they know it?

They destroyed their lives, it's ruined meanwhile the heroine is living her best life with her stud.

I mean, if you want to stick with historical romance, there are definitely a lot of older books where the Evil Woman gets what's coming to her, buuuuut that has not SUPER aged well. I feel like, as a kid, I read a lot of Jude Deveraux and Johanna Lindsey books with this vibe, but those come with plenty of trigger warnings for just about everything that immediately comes to mind--underage heroines, noncon/dubcon, the like.

If I'm totally real, I think that lately a lot of my attention has been focused on the life ruiners getting happy endings, lmao. But from what I recall, in terms of historicals, these could give you what you're looking for.

From what I recall, in Amalie Howard's The Duke in Question (a recent release) there is an absolutely bATSHIT final confrontation between the villain and the leads, which I appreciated greatly. Fairly certain it doesn't end well for him.

You might also want to try Monica McCarty's Highland Guard books for this vibe--The Ranger actually posits the heroine's father as the main villain, and there's a huge, epic confrontation on the battlefield at the end.

Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage by Jennifer Ashley features, from what I recall, an EVIL IDENTITY STEALING PAINTER who gets his comeuppance.

I want to say that Duke of Midnight by Elizabeth Hoyt ends with a vengeance murder or capture. I love that book a lot. The hero is very literally Georgian Batman. He's also kind of a piece of shit, to be frank, is all but the villain of someone else's book.

Speaking of, in Devil in Winter (another villain as hero book, if a bit more lowkey) there is like... a hilarious amount of "WE THOUGHT WE HAD 'IM BUT HE'S ACTUALLY STILL ALIVE" in the end of that novel. Which I love, because it reminds me of 90s thrillers.

Lorraine Heath likes to go for this--Between the Devil and Desire has a really cathartic ending, from what I recall. (TW: hero was sexually abused as a child.)

A Lady for A Duke by Alexis Hall features a villainous confrontation, and I believe the heroine has him at swordpoint at one time or the other.

Kerrigan Byrne's books tend to head this way--I believe that Seducing A Stranger may be a good place to start, as it kicks off the Goode Girls series that has a lot of this. Her Devil You Know trilogy features a lot of confrontations with villains in each book, there's also a thriller-esque old school vibe to them.

Marrying Winterborne by Lisa Kleypas deals with this... famously deliciously.

Seduce Me At Sunrise by Lisa Kleypas has an evil doctor who wants her for himself!!! And I believe at one point they like, trap him in a burning armoire or something lmao.,

The last three books of Elizabeth Hoyt's Maiden Lane series actually deal with a vanquishing pedophilic sex cult situation, and the heroines and heroes battling it. Keep in mind that these characters obviously have to deal with the sex cult--the heroes of Duke of Sin and Duke of Pleasure especially. The hero of Duke of Sin is also just fully insane, a total villainous hero, but we root for him because he's a fun guy.

Hope these work!

#romance novel blogging #book recs

[ruinergamedev]

Intro?! Post?!

RUINER is a work in progress horror(?) RPG made in RPGmaker mv where you play as a young child, Emi, traveling through a strange world with their friends: RUINER, Cain and Enoch, inspired by other RPG horror games old and new alike.

Now that the serious bit is out of the way I can divulge some quick silly little fun facts about the game itself that I feel are important to know right off the bat:

*RUINER started it’s life last year, April 2 of 2021 on...Roblox actually! I got really into the weirdcore aesthetic and liminal spaces and started looking into people making Roblox games based off of liminal spaces/original weirdcore games. I got inspired to try making my own when I realized that I only really needed to build maps and it bloomed forth from there.

*Currently, RUINER is still in the midst of being written + having characters designed for it, my thought process being: finish and tie everything up BEFORE building the game itself. For the time being, I’ll be sharing my thoughts and some character designs while I work towards finishing writing everything.

One last very important note, the content warnings: mentions of childhood abuse and neglect, mentions of domestic abuse, horror imagery, violent imagery, murder(?), (TO BE ADDED TO AS I THINK OF MORE)

Follow along with me on the journey to try and make a game if you want. yipee

#rpg maker #rpgmaker #rpgmaker mv #rpg maker mv #gamedev #game dev #indie game #rpg horror #ruiner game

[sofarautomatic]

I signed up for counseling recently but when they called to arrange an appointment it was no caller i.d. I assumed it was someone trying to ruin my life or murder me so I didn't pick up. They called twice. This did nothing but solidify the fact that it must be a persistent life ruiner. I couldn't listen to the voicemail all day out of fear. When I did, it was just a kind woman. It's usually just a kind woman.

[saltygilmores]

Dance Marathon Episode (Aka Murder On the Dancefloor)-Part 8. (Still Not Done)

So noble of you to defend her honor moments before you eviscerate her internal organs and splatter them on the football field.

Look, we don't need you speaking on behalf of Womankind, Miss Salty. Shane has done absolutely nothing to hurt Rory. You know what will hurt, though? That axe that's about to slice through Shane's torso.

WE KNOW. We know how much his sitting down has been concerning you. Your anti-sitting-down-position has been well established. A vote for Rory GIlmore means a vote for chair-destroyal. You are the opposite of that Seinfeld episode where George Costanza felt sorry for a security guard who wasn't allowed to sit down on the job and tried to sneak him a chair.

Be more like George, Rory.

Oh Shane. You just made a very fateful decision. Never go with the killer to a second location.

Damn. It turns me on when he talks like that.

Quoth The Butthead, Anymore.

Well well well, if it isn't the consequences of my actions, coming back to...Consequent me.

To her credit, she's tried to break free and impart on her mother and anyone who will listen through a series of coded blinks that she's being held hostage but you and Lorelai keep throwing her back in the ring and thwarting her escape. I love the word thwarting. Thwarting, thwarting, thwarting. Dean: You've been into him since he got into town. I've spent weeks, months actually, trying to convince myself it wasn't true (it's been a year, actually) that everything was fine between us. You're into him and he's into Shane. Who should be listening to this because it's so damn obvious.

Shane: I have no fucking idea who you or that girl in the polka dot dress are.

I love moments of self awareness on Gilmore GIrls. Embrace your idiotness, Dean.

Just thinking about how Dean is this pissed about Rory's behavior but he's still completely unaware (and will never be aware) that she also kissed Jess and cheated on him 😽 But then he cheats on his own wife and then Rory cheats on Logan with Jess and then Rory has an affair with Logan so in the end they all cancel each other out I guess. The only one of our fickle quadrant of bed hoppers who never knowingly cheated on anyone and the only boy Rory never cheated on was Jess. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

*Rubs temples* look...ugh. I don't really condone Dean yelling at Rory in public. Maybe they should have "Gotten a room", as Rory is fond of saying after learning that term for the first time 2 weeks ago. But in light of Rory's shenanigans, I kind of understand. Not only that, but taking into the account that this scene signals his merciful and long anticipated stepping down as Rory's Primary Male Life Ruiner and handing that crown to Jess, I am waving my Dean Card. I'll give him this one. Let her have it. Get it out of your system. Things with Jess are going to be so much simpler! Yes indeedy, Rory Gilmore. You are going to be riding the train to Easy Street now! Every day with Jess Mariano promises nothing but rainbows, sunshine, and puppydogs made of cupcakes. Let the shit show commence. But first, a little light homocide.

By the way, I've blanked on Lorelai's whereabouts while all of this is going down. Lorelai when she returns and finds out Dean will no be longer coming around to "Change her water bottle"

One more post coming up for the bloody finale.

#gilmore girls #denise rewatches gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 3 #they shoot gilmores dont they #tsgdt #literati #jess mariano #rory gilmore #shane campbell #shane is swan food #its imminent now #Lorelai is like one of those cartoony villains #I can imagine her going YOU FOOL YOU LET HIM ESCAPE!

[falsifies]

https : // falsifies . tumblr . com screenplay and story by five. featuring an original character based in the crime genre, with themes of: revenge, obsession, and deception. general rules apply [ ... ] please read this if you haven't already. this blog will include content unsuitable for minors and is 21+ (unless we're friends). more information regarding content warnings and the character is under the cut. discretion is advised. (affiliated with @dogrots)

PINTEREST. TUNES. SIDEBLOG.

content warnings: heavy serpent/snake imagery, violence and what can come with it (blood, gore, death), murder, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, strong language, possible blasphemy / the mocking of religion (namely catholicism and christianity), mentions of suicide (pertaining to npcs), suggestive / usfw themes.

disclaimer: dima is not a good person, and no amount of "true love" (platonic, romantic, etc.) will change this. he manipulates people into doing what he wants, and there is always a level of manipulation in any of his relationships. he has killed people, and manipulates people into killing others and/or themselves; he's a life-ruiner for many - enjoys having this power over people - and doesn't plan on ever stopping.

name, dmitri o'rourke (more commonly known as dima or, for those in the criminal world, hamlet). age, usually portrayed in his early to mid thirties (though i'm not opposed to writing younger dima). identity, unlabeled (he/him, doesn't mind any gendered or non-gendered terminology) + bisexual and greyromantic. occupation, professional photographer + conman. languages, russian and english are his dual first languages, ukrainian, french, italian, spanish, latin, and greek; knows a little of a lot of others.

his main verse takes place after he's killed the mastermind of a heist group he was invited into (after a successful enactment of their plan), after learning he had something to do with the death of his late fiancé (who may be mentioned in threads). most of the group believe he was killed by a known enemy of his, but the mercutio and desdemona of the group know the truth.

dima is the biological son of an assassin, who was the handler and "mother" to another boy she picked up off the street. he was born under the radar, no birth certificate, nonexistent -- every piece of paperwork he has currently was forged by himself. the only reason dima wasn't immediately taken out after running to the u.s. is because of his mother, his "brother," and his own skill.

* if you'd like to know more, just shoot me a message or an ask. if we're mutuals, you can also add me on discord (thehorrors.). a full bio and pages on npcs & the like will be up sometime in the future, but for now, any more information will pop up in rambles posts, ic posts, or during chatting / plotting.

#updated oct. 18 '23 #it/its + 22 #<3

[lyssxxa]

I seen a girl on tiktok saying how she has a makeup remover which burns her skin and it’s rubbish and she hates using it. But the reason she keeps using it is because the makeup remover is still there, there’s still some left. If she were to throw away the makeup remover she would have none and she would be forced to go to to buy new makeup remover. She said this applies to life. I have to be grateful that my ex put me through hell, tortured me the way he did, lied and cheated non stop to the point where it just kept getting worse and worse and he hurt me in the worst ways imaginable because otherwise I would have stayed with him. It had to get so bad that I couldn’t take it anymore and left him. Otherwise I would’ve been stuck with the narcissist for life/for as long as he wanted to keep abusing me until he discarded me for someone else. I’ve been lucky to escape at my age. I’ve wasted important years of my life but it could have been so much worse. I could be like his ex and be 30+ left with a child. These people are disgusting and professional life ruiners, no empathy at all, narcissistic abuse should be a crime. I seen statistics about how many people suffering from narcissistic abuse end up committing suicide and someone said narcissists are murderers who get away with it because they kill people slowly and emotionally not physically. It’s true.

[lewiselder]

I’m 79 and my husband still loves me - 2 short stories

well motherfucking well

i know that ain’t who i think it is! 

unfortunately, it’s exactly who you think it is.

the last time i added to this was the summer before covid. that was, what, summer 2019? so about 150 years ago. i’m out of practice, so if the writing in this is shittier than the other ones, forgive me and fuck you, you write it then! nah jk but it will be worse but hopefully not too much worse

what a motherfucker of a time to be living in! truly a shit show all around. but i hope if you’re reading this, that you are doing well.

covid largely meant that, for a while, my interactions with people were limited, which in turn meant way fewer arm stories. now that we’ve all resigned to getting literal SARS multiple times a year, things have picked up steam over the past 6-8 months. 

and you know what that fucking means! 

it means i’ve had some real day ruiner interactions that result in written content that 20 people read on the toilet!

so without much further ado, let’s dive right the fuck in! we’re gonna do 2 short (i can’t like be held legally accountable for saying short and then them not being that short, can i?) stories, so we have a lot to cover today

1) big stupid balding corny soft ass werido fuckface loser

alright lol. so this story is something that happened just last week and then again today (writing this on June 12th), so very recent. 

every sunday morning i play pick up basketball. there’s a 9:30 game and a 10:30 game. i usually play in both. it’s essentially a YMCA style league with varying skill levels. if you know me, you know that there are very few things in life i do for, “fun.” i am not a fun person. i’m a productive person, a hard working person, but not a fun one. i’m working on it. however, i do really have fun hooping.

last week i didn’t play because i had tweaked my hamstring the week before. my friend jake still went. he comes back from playing and goes, “man you’ll never guess what happened”

he tells me that while at basketball, he starts talking to some guy on his team -we’ll call this guy Baldy for reasons we will discuss momentarily.  

Baldy tells Jake he just moved to Portland from Austin, Tx. Jake, who used to live in Austin, is like oh nice, I lived in Austin for a number of years. Baldy continues on. After a few comments, he says something along the lines of:

“Man I played basketball recently with a guy with one arm. He shot a lot and he was making em, but I don’t know if those are the best shots, ahaha yeah man Portland is a weird city”

Jake tells me this. Turns our I had (obviously) recently played with this guy. I remembered him. He’s a tall white dude with the tattoos of an edgy barista, thinning hair, and big barback energy. very cool! He seemed to me to be the flavor of white guy where he probably really loves camping and also might later murder his wife and kids. Does that make sense? 

Now, I’m used to ppl mentioning having played ball with a guy with one arm, that doesn’t bother me. 

What fucking bothers me is:

1) so even if I make shots, it’s not a good shot because...why? and 

2) Portland, an entire motherfucking city, is weird because...I fucking exist within it? That’s why Portland is weird? Because I get my weird ass up at 7:30am every Sunday morning (kind of a weird time to wake up and on a weird day too, idk), drink some weird fucking coffee, put on my weird pants one weird leg at a time, and drive my weird ass across this weird city to make some weird and purportedly ill-advised shots? Ok!

Ok! OK! Alright!

Jake didn’t necessarily see the issue at first, but I was pretty fucking mad immediately. This dude, a virtual stranger to me, went to Jake, a legitimate stranger to him, and used me as fucking small talk? And to talk shit??? 

Baldy! I know you don’t have much going on in whatever insurance salesman hell your life is, but I’m gonna need you to bone up on some other subjects over the next lonely IPA you drink in your ugly 1 bedroom apartment while googling, “tattoo ideas, original, not feathers” and “best hairstyles for thinning hair”

I’ve heard they are doing wonderful things in the world of hair restoration! You could perhaps start there! “Man so yesterday I finally decided to try Hims...” - there! I already gave you a nice, easy start! It is clear to me why your extremely thin hair and suicidal hairline seem to be doing everything they can to escape being close to your brain.

Soooooooooo, fast forward to this week, my hamstring is all healed up! And guess who’s been on my mind! 

That’s right - Baldy has! And guess who I see at the gym. I’ll give you a hint: he has a forrest tattoo on his forearm (don’t know if he actually does but seems near impossible he wouldn’t) and hair as whispy as a rolling field of wheat. 

After the games, I go up to Baldy

[now, as always, the dialogue below is somewhat paraphrased, but it was super recent so it’s as close to accurate as i’m going to get]

Me: “I heard that you, a stranger to me, go up to other strangers and talk about me to those strangers?”

Baldy: *very very caught off guard* “Oh uhhh yeah I mean, sorry man I just, [idk he said some other shit here apologizing]”

Me: “Don’t ever fucking talk about me. Why would you talk about me? That’s some fucking weirdo, loser shit. What kind of weirdo does that? Talks about someone they don’t know to someone else they don’t know?”

Baldy: [hair falling out everywhere] “yeah i said i’m sorry, you don’t ever talk about people you play with?”

Me: “Uhhh not like that I fucking don’t. It’s not my responsibility that you don’t have shit else going on in your life to talk about but I need you to find a new ice breaker. Don’t ever fucking talk about me again man”

Baldy: [general uncomfortable stammering] “alright man i’m sorry i won’t”

And that’s pretty much it. I just stared at him a little and then packed my shit and left. 

I have a lot of crazy shit happen to me, and while this doesn’t have the WOW factor of some other stories, this particular one has made me so fucking mad. 

For some weirdo hipster to run his fucking mouth about me to a complete stranger, when him and I have literally had 0 real interactions, to insinuate that because he saw me and interacted with me that Portland is a weird city (which, hey man I also lived in Austin for 2 years) is the type of shit that should get you punched in the fucking head.

But, much to my absolute chagrin, I am almost 30 and I am “mature” and “in therapy” and have a “career” and so I can’t punch this guy in the fucking face. All I can do is embarrass him in front of some random people and hopefully make the rest of his day way worse, just like he did mine.

This thin scalped man tied together a comment about an entire city being weird to me just literally existing while doing the same activity as him. I’m also pretty sure he shot like 4-12 from the field today lol but those were all great shots!

I don’t know. Just fucking leave people alone, man. It sucks because really, what the fuck can I even do? If you have any real marginalized identity (not you, white guy with painted nails!) you no doubt know this feeling all too motherfucking well. 

Even after confronting him (which yo, I did not want to do - it’s fucking nerve wracking and uncomfortable but I feel like I literally have to) I feel so unsatisfied. I have equitable justice blue balls. But that’s part of maturity, I fucking guess. 

Anyway, that’s it. Fuck that dude. I’m sure I’ll see his stupid ass next week.

2) I’m 79 and my husband still loves me!

now, i have 2 other recent stories. one is insane, and one is just kind of quirky and light hearted. I figured we should round out the above hate fest with something a little more light hearted, so we’re gonna go with the latter and thankfully, I have just the thing!

this happened about, oh idk, 3-4 weeks ago. i was at the gym, headphones on and head down, when a very old woman with a walker kind of snuck up behind me trying to get by. i immediately moved out of the way, but i noticed she was trying to say something to me. 

i take out my airpods and turn to face her. she is very, very old looking. she has maybe 2 teeth, is dressed in one of those old lady grandma style gowns, and is using a walker like i mentioned.

she starts by saying, “you’re really strong! you don’t let that stop you” *motions to my arm*

her voice is literally like a whisper. like, she’s not whispering intentionally, but her voice is so soft it’s like i’m imagining i’m hearing it more so than actually hearing it. 

she also speaks almost painfully slowly. it’s like there’s a toll booth in her mouth and each word has to settle its debt before being allowed to escape.

i say oh thanks and smile. 

she then goes, “you have pretty eyes”

i’m like ok well that’s new lmao new gym compliment unlocked!

i say thanks, and she continues, “you’re doing a great job. you really are. don’t stop. just don’t stop. i’m 79 and i’m here! tell your mom you’re a good kid. she must be so proud of you.”

i’m just kind of smiling and saying thank you over and over at this point. she’s very sweet, albeit a little all over the place topic wise.

“i died once 3 years ago”

my interest is suddenly renewed!

“my husband caught my head before it hit the floor!”

wow, i say, oh my gosh!

“i hurt my husband when i died. he had to be home alone for a month! but I couldn’t do anything about it because I was in a place with a white light. I didn’t know if I was going or coming!”

well i’m so glad you’re still here!

“me...too...i bet your mom loves you. i have 5 children, 1 adopted 4 kids he found in a dumpster!”

wait he found 4 kids in a dumpster??

“people need to know there are consequences of having sex!”

totally but wait can we go back to that part about the dumpster

“i’m just so proud of you. you’re very special.”

[long pause as we look deep into each others eyes, hers cloudy with either wisdom or cataracts, mine undoubtedly baggy and bloodshot] 

“heh! but hey, i’m 79 and my husband still loves me!”

that’s honestly pretty impressive. i think we’d all be pretty lucky to have that.

“yes!..and...[contemplative sigh] it’s just so nice to walk around“ 

as those words slowly crawled out, she said them with a soft, satisfied grin, one that can only exist in the absence of doubt

and that was pretty much the end of the interaction. i agreed and gave her a warm smile. she gave me one back before making her way back across the gym. 

i still see her at my gym a couple times a week. she’s still 79, and as far as i know, her husband still loves her. he fucking better, or a man with pretty eyes whose mom must be proud of him is going to come cave his chest in.

no introspective arm analysis on this one. all kind old ladies get to do and say whatever the fuck they want to me (unless they say something super crazy i guess lol) and i’m usually grateful for the interaction on some level. 

and she’s right. 

through all the absolute nuclear bullshit that life entails, through all the big stupid balding corny soft ass werido fuckface losers, through the pain and grief, heartbreak and anxiety, it’s honestly just so nice to walk around

here’s 2 pictues of my dog, ralph

*youve unlocked 1 free unsolicited compliment or insult if you read this far - your choice*

#lewis elder #lewie armstrong #disability #disabled #disability pride #st. louis #portland #basketball

[pro-bee]

Who knew that when Ziva walked into the bullpen asking Tony about phone sex that these two idiots would end up spending literal decades of their lives pining for each other as intensely as characters in an Austen novel?

#@ parischangedher and benditlikepress #i'm looking at you #and all your feels on my dash #like these two dummies' meet cute involved murder and sex dreams #and yet they spent years yearning for each other across the bullpen #then more years yearning for each other across the ocean #I CAN'T #tiva #life ruiners