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wheels-of-despair · 3 days

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Munson v. O'Donnell Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: It's 1986, and Eddie Munson's long high school career has come down to O'Donnell's final… and Evil Woman believing in him. Contains: Tears, comfort, lunch, confrontation, and a happy ending. Words: 2k A sort-of companion fic to Case of the Missing Eddie, but it's not required reading.

Eddie's not at the Hellfire table at lunch.

Or in his van.

This could only mean one thing: He's in the woods, because his final exam in O'Donnell's class did not go well.

With a quick look around to make sure you aren't being watched, you duck into the woods by way of the parking lot. You'll take the long way around to go undetected by any staff trying to catch students skipping the last few days of school.

Not that it matters, anyway. Everybody's just fucking around and killing time now that exams are over.

You traipse along the trail toward the picnic table where Eddie conducts business. And sometimes hides out at when things aren't going great. When you enter the clearing, you see him hunched over the table, his head resting on crossed arms and his face hidden by a mop of unruly hair.

"Hey," you announce your presence quietly before straddling the bench beside him. "You okay?"

He heaves a sigh so deep, it feels like he's expelled all the air from your lungs as well as his own.

You place a comforting hand on his back and lean your other elbow on the table.

"What happened?" you whisper.

"Take a wild guess," he grumbles, turning his head away from you.

He got his exam results, alright. You start rubbing slow circles on his back.

"How bad?"

"Fourteen."

"What?"

"Fourteen," he repeats.

"You got fourteen wrong?"

"Percent."

"Hm?"

"I got 14%."

"How the fuck did you get 14%?!" You regret your tone instantly.

"I don't fucking know!" His voice cracks, and so does your heart.

"Baby, we studied for that so hard, there's no way--"

"It doesn't fucking matter," he snaps, still facing away from you. "She humiliated me. 'Mr. Munson, congratulations on the lowest score I've ever had the displeasure to grade. It's a pity the girl who's been doing your homework couldn't take your exam for you, too.' Made everyone's day. Cemented my place as the dumbest fucking student to ever step foot in this shithole."

You shake with rage, clenching your fists in an effort to keep your hands still. You're going to kill them all.

"It doesn't fucking matter," he repeats, lifting his head for a moment. "I'm not going back. Fuck it. I quit." He crosses his arms and rests his head on them again, letting out a long sigh.

You watch him deflate and put a pin in your rage. He doesn't need you to go on a rampage right now. He needs you to be rational, and to fix this. Your killing spree can wait.

"Okay," you whisper, returning your hand to his back and leaning over to place a kiss on his shoulder. You wait a beat. "Do you still have the test?"

"Scantron."

"Do you have it?"

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a green and white ball, and drops the crumpled paper on the table without looking at you.

You straighten it out and look it over. Maybe he missed a question early on and was off by one line on the rest? No, there are exactly 50 things filled in. And they're filled in nice and dark, with the shiny new #2 pencil you'd given him that morning for luck. You studied this material with him for weeks. He knows this stuff. You'll have to take it to O'Donnell and investigate.

"You eat lunch?"

"Not hungry," he grumbles.

"You will be next period."

"What's the fucking point?" he spits.

"I'm going to see O'Donnell after school, we're gonna figure this out," you say calmly. His lunchbox is nowhere in sight, so you pull out your own and start arranging items on the table.

"Don't fucking bother."

"Shut up and eat your fucking lunch," you order.

He finally lifts his head and looks at you. His eyes are bloodshot. The tip of his nose is red. Eddie Munson tried so hard to to convince people he didn't care, but it was all bullshit. He was trying this year. He was really trying. You know, because you helped him study before every test. Even in the few classes you didn't share. He knew the material. And you weren't leaving school grounds until you cleared up this 14% bullshit.

"Look," you begin gently, closing your hand over his on the table. "I don't know what happened on exam day, but I know you did not get a fourteen. You worked so hard. I know you know this stuff. So we're gonna go see that old hag, and we're gonna figure this out." His eyes begin to water again. Your voice turns serious. "Or I'm gonna burn Hawkins High to the fucking ground, with all our records inside. Then we all get to start over."

The corner of his mouth twitches. There he is.

"C'mon, eat up. We need fuel if we're gonna go slay the O'Donnell Dragon."

He hesitates, so you lift a cookie to his mouth. Chocolate chip, baked by your mom; his favorite. He looks at it, then at you, and pouts.

"Eat it or wear it, Munson." You try to sound threatening, but your smile betrays you.

He leans forward and takes it with his teeth, eyes twinkling with mischief instead of tears now. It's a good start.

~ Three Hours Later ~

"You wanna wait outside?"

Eddie shakes his head. He's met you outside of Mrs. O'Donnell's classroom after the final bell, as instructed, and he's looking more nervous than he did the morning before taking the exam.

"Alright. C'mon."

You feel him trail behind you as you enter Mrs. O'Donnell's classroom. She's sitting at her desk with an open gradebook and a calculator. She's not even your teacher, why are you so nervous? Is this what Eddie had to deal with every day for... how many years?

"Mrs. O'Donnell?" you ask, summoning all your courage for Eddie.

"Yes?"

"We're here to discuss 14%."

"I don't think there's anything to discuss," she sniffs, pursing her lips and pushing her glasses further up her nose. She's waiting for you to state your case.

"He knows this. We made flash cards, I quizzed him every night. There's no way he scored that low."

She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. Like you'd lie about fucking flash cards.

"Can I see the test, at least, so I can find out what he's having trouble with?"

Mrs. O'Donnell sighs and sifts through a pile of papers on her desk. "A or B?"

You look at Eddie's scantron sheet to find his version of the test, neatly printed right below his name. "A."

She hands you a copy of the A test.

You take the paper to a desk near the front of the room and lay the scantron sheet next to the test. Your eyes dart from each question to Eddie's filled-in scantron sheet… and become more puzzled with each correct answer.

You look at Eddie, who's leaning against the wall and staring at his shoes. Mrs. O'Donnell's attention has returned to her gradebook.

"Uh…" you chuckle awkwardly, bringing both the scantron and the test to her desk. "Could you take another look at this, please?"

She sighs and reaches for the papers, holding them on top of her gradebook. Her eyes begin to dart back and forth just like yours had. And then her brow furrows. She reaches for the scantron answer keys and compares them to Eddie's crumpled sheet. Her eyes bulge.

She looks up at Eddie, then back at the papers on her desk. She reaches for a red pen, hunches over, and marks furiously as she grades his test manually. Eddie takes a cautious step closer and holds his breath. This is it. His entire high school career has come down to this one exam.

A moment later, she punches a few numbers into her calculator, scribbles out the 14% on the crumpled sheet, and writes a new number. She circles it twice.

"Mr. Munson?" He tenses at the formality, looking like a deer in headlights a few steps behind you. She beckons him forward with a crook of her finger, and he creeps toward the desk and stands next to you.

She hands him his corrected scantron sheet, and he holds it so you can both see the number circled in red.

92%.

Both of your jaws drop. You look at the grade, and each other, and the grade again, and then finally, Mrs. O'Donnell.

"You had an A test that got mixed in with the B's somehow. I hate that we have to do different tests, but we've got so many sneaky little cheaters in here, administration requires at least two variations for exams. I don't know why my classroom aide didn't catch it, Tina is usually so attentive to detail."

Would that be Tina Thomas, the heir apparent to Chrissy Cunningham's reign as the Queen of Hawkins High? It would be awfully hard for poor Tina to lead the cheer team with broken legs.

"Does this mean I passed the class?" Eddie asks, interrupting O'Donnell's rambling and your violent thoughts.

"One second," she says, flipping to the page of her gradebook where Eddie's fate lies. You reach for his hand, and hold each other in white-knuckle grips while you watch Mrs. O'Donnell work. She uses a bottle of correction fluid to erase the 14%, blows it dry, and replaces it with 92%. Then she punches in a few numbers on her comically large calculator and writes new figures in her gradebook that you can't quite make out. You and Eddie cling to each other and wait on bated breath until she removes her glasses, places them on her desk, and looks up with a crooked smile.

"Congratulations, Mr. Munson, you've finally passed my class."

The whoop that follows can probably be heard in all of Roane County.

After a million thank-you's to both you and Mrs. O'Donnell, who was much nicer to him than usual - although you notice that she never actually apologized for embarrassing him - you finally get Eddie out of her classroom. You walk to the van with his arm around your shoulders, and yours wrapped around his middle.

"I'm gonna graduate. I'm really gonna fucking graduate." He's been grinning so hard for so long, his face probably hurts. "FINALLY!" he yells to the handful of students still lingering in the mostly-empty parking lot, who barely react. They're used to paying him no mind. "Oh man, Wayne's not gonna believe this."

"Think he's up yet?" you ask, looking up at your beaming partner with pride while he fishes his keys out of his pocket.

Eddie glances at his watch and frowns. "Nah, not for another hour, probably. I don't wanna wake him."

"Well, Mr. Munson," you grin, shifting so you're standing in front of him with your hands on his shoulders. "I happen to know an excellent way to kill an hour."

"Oh yeah?" he smirks, stepping closer, backing you up against the side of his van.

"Mhm," you hum, trailing your hands down his chest and stopping at his belt. You find your way beneath the hem of his shirt and trace the skin just above his jeans with your fingertips. "It's not every day a 14% gets turned into a 92%, even for a skilled Dungeon Master such as yourself." He shivers. "Seems like something that should be… celebrated."

He starts nodding, and doesn't stop until he opens the rear door. He uses both of his hands to grab your ass and push you inside when you purposely take too long getting in. You're on your back and laughing when he slams the door and pounces.

Eddie Munson was a very happy soon-to-be-graduate when he dropped you off at home half an hour later.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x evil woman

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chaifootsteps · 2 days

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there's a post on helluva boss' reddit that's like 'guess what's happening here!' [the shot where Stolas is singing onstage w/Verosika]

random reply roundup of responses, in order of how frustrating they are:

least frustrating -> it's a fakeout where it seems like Stolas is gonna roast Blitzo but instead he sings something sincere. This is the best of all possible worlds, if only Stolas would take some responsibility for what he did. Even this best case scenario is likely to be 'I'm so sad because he hurt me and all I wanted was to love him, poor little princely me :/' and Blitzo somehow falls for this BS

people pointing out roasting Blitzo will not help him/is still scapegoating him -> slightly better, though it still holds back from pointing out Stolas is the one in the wrong here and he doesn't get to complain when Blitzo is justifiably wary or angry at him

more frustrating -> Verosika feels bad for Stolas and wants him to realize how bad Blitzo is. Like yeah it's possible she'll project all the baggage from her relationship onto Stolas, but it doesn't mean that's a good thing to do. She's right that Blitzo treated her poorly, by his own admission with the credit cards thing he did, but her relationship with Blitzo is not the same as Stolas'. Blitzo is not the bad one in this scenario

-> Stolas sings about his heartbreak but doesn't name names. Um, he's singing it in front of a massive 'Blitzo sucks' poster with Blitzo's ex onstage. That excuse really doesn't fly, given how open a secret the 'affair' is it's obvious who he's talking about and Blitzo has every right to be hurt

-> Stolas' song is a 'wakeup call' to Blitzo. Er, wakeup to what? How it's Stolas' world now and he's just living in it, so he better get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness?

-> Blitzo should initiate the apology to show he's grown! I agree Blitzo should initiate the apology...to Verosika. Then he should tell her what happened between him and Stolas so a succubus who likely knows what it's like to have people try to force themselves on her (that No dress in her photo with Blitzo, anyone) can have Tex throw him off stage and get the crowd to egg his royal ass. If anyone needs a public humiliation here it's Stolas, not Blitzo

-> the song is a love ballad but it becomes an excuse for Blitzo & Stolas to roast Verosika who was doing a diss track. Only on the Stolas Show featuring Misogyny and Plotlines Ripped Directly from Fanfics, am I right?

most frustrating -> changing the lyrics to Poison so Stolas is the one singing it about Blitzo. No, I'm not kidding. We've well and truly crossed the DARVO event horizon here

side note, I'd love for these Stolas stans to articulate why they think Stolas has a fair reason to be hurt by Blitzo.

"He lead him on!" Uh, when? Blitzo was coerced into a deal to keep his job and kept up his end of the bargain.

"At Ozzie's!" He wasn't the one who called it a date, Stolas was. Blitzo's reaction at the end of the night make it very clear he thought Stolas wanted sex out of him & he didn't invite Stolas along as a date. He obviously thought he needed to appease Stolas by sleeping with him but he just wasn't emotionally up to it, so he called Stolas out for trying to have it both ways. If Stolas had any self awareness at all he would have learnt something from that.

"Blitzo lead him on by sleeping with him!" They had a one night stand after which Blitzo robbed Stolas, ghosted him and then was repulsed by/turned down his advances multiple times (and extended that attitude to his text responses, too). It's not Blitzo's fault Stolas was living in wilful self-delusion and making an imp responsible for fixing the life he trashed when he very much consented to cheating on his wife

I had to read this backwards so as to retain a little of my faith in humanity. Also, I'd just like to put it in writing now that I'm holding out a miniscule scrap of faith for the first option, because I never learn.

#Anonymous #stolitz critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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zushigirl · 2 days

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In honor of Come What May…a three part story of how I wish things would turn out… Enjoy! I’ll be posting the full story on AO3 as we go :)

I Take My Coffee Black: Part I

Now…Metro General

“What the hell is this crap?”

Frank practically spits the hot liquid back into the flimsy white paper cup.

“Get off your high horse. It’s Folger’s Instant. Same stuff we used to drink in the desert.”

Curtis takes a sip of his own coffee, studying Frank under the brim of his USMC baseball cap. Curt’s blood shot eyes are a dead giveaway that he – like most of New York – have been up all night. Watching with bated breath as Daredevil and a host of superheroes take on Fisk’s minions.

With a sigh, Frank takes another sip of his coffee. “Goddamn - ”

He hisses slightly, the cut on his lip stinging. Curt had done his best to patch up both Frank and Red after the firefight with Bullseye. Makeup covered most of Frank’s bruises, but it couldn’t conceal the worry in his eyes. He can tell by the way his former medic keeps glancing at him… then at the door across the way.

“This is the best Metro General can afford?” he growls, trying to distract himself.

“At 0500? Yes, it is.”

Frank frowns, looking down the stark pale green hallway. Men and women in blue scrubs walk by at a leisurely pace. Unaffected. Unaware that the bravest, ballsiest woman on the planet is in critical care. Recovering from a gunshot wound.

Mourning the loss of her best friend.

“Foggy!”

He can still hear her scream the Counselor’s name. He can feel her panic, panic he never wanted her to feel. David’s feed made it sound like they were two feet away… instead, it took twenty minutes to get to the bloodbath. Even with Lieberman driving like a maniac.

Goddamnit, we should have gotten there sooner.

His eyes trace the entrance of the recovery room. One of those flimsy blue hospital curtains blocks a small window above the door handle. An added layer of privacy. Damn thing feels more suffocating than any red line.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Curt assures him. “They patched up the exit wound and the broken rib. That maniac may be an expert marksman, but she beat him at his own game.” He pauses before adding, “Karen Page must be a pretty special woman…to make you choose here instead of another war.”

You could choose…you could just choose…

Ocean eyes flicker in his memory. Why hadn’t he told her the truth that day, when he was the one in the hospital bed? He thought leaving her was the right thing. He thought…

Frank stares blankly into the distance as he takes another sip of bland coffee and tries not to think about what could have happened.

Thank god Karen clipped Bullseye’s right hand. The fucker was in custody now. Good thing too. If that psychopath ever made it out of prison…none of Red’s preaching would keep Frank from unleashing hell on Benjamin Poindexter.

Red…

The warble of Channel Five news can be heard from the TV at one of the nursing stations. A flicker of worry rises in Frank’s belly. He wants to be pissed at Red but at the same time…

“You were right Frank. I was just one bad day away. Please don’t let her’s get any worse.”

He can’t shake the hollow sound in Matt Murdock’s voice off of him. Can’t shake the image of the other man standing there in blood. His best friend’s blood. Karen’s blood.

Fuck.

“Mr. Castiglione?”

He turns. A new nurse has come on shift, name tag reads Temple. Her dark brown eyes hover on his cut lip. He gets the impression she takes no bullshit.

“Yes ma’am?”

The nurse sighs, pursuing her lips.

“Karen’s going to be okay.”

She says the name with a warm familiarity. Frank immediately wonders how much this woman knows.

“Blood pressure and heat rate are stable. No signs of any complications from surgery.” Temple hesitates… “Your wife’s a fighter for sure.”

Frank doesn’t meet Curt’s gaze, just prays the other man’s eyes aren’t bursting out of their sockets. There hadn’t had time to brief him on the plan. He was just thankful David was quick to pull some strings. A fake marriage license and a passport may be their only ticket to safety.

The woman pauses, eyes narrowing in the silence.

“I know I haven’t been back in town that long, but I’m kinda miffed no one invited me to the wedding. Thought I would have heard about from Matt or Fog…”

She catches herself, sadness flashing across her face.

“Fuck…I’m sorry.”

“No – uh – he’d…he would have wanted all of Karen’s friends to know.” Frank feels his throat tightening. “He loved her too. Probably better than me or… Re…or Matt … if I’m being honest.”

He remembers the look of stricken panic on the Counselor’s face all those years ago. When he’d asked Karen to stay. What would the man’s reaction be to what he asks now?

An older nurse approaches, waving his clipboard at Temple. “She’s up,” he gestures towards Karen’s room. “Threatened to pull out her IV if I don’t get her a real cup of coffee. Told her it’s water only for the next twelve hours. She wasn’t happy.”

Frank chuckles despite himself. “Atta’ girl,” he murmurs.

“Are you coming, Mr. Castiglione?”

The way Temple sizes him up conveys that she trusts him even if she doesn’t believe his story.

He feels his pulse jump. They’d seen each other in the midst of the fight but they hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t spoken since that horrible day when she walked out of his hospital room barefoot. What could he say to her? How could he possibly ask her to –

“She’s waiting, Frank.” Curt’s voice is one of gentle reassurance.

He takes a deep breath, turns on his heels, the stops. “Curt… go home. You’ve done enough. I’ll stand the watch.”

His friend frowns. “You sure man?” I don’t mind staying.”

Frank pauses before answering, a memory flickering in his mind’s eye. Karen and Nelson, sitting at the hipster coffee shop across from their law firm. Sipping coffee and going over case notes. He’d watched from the roof two streets over, not proud to admit the number of times he’d checked on Karen from afar.

“Proof Coffee opens at 0800. Can you come back tomorrow morning with a real damn cup? Make that two. She takes hers black with a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

The nurse seems impressed that he knows Karen’s drink of choice. Curt has enough ware with all to keep a neutral face.

“I’m on it. I’ll let Lieberman know your staying here. See you in 27 hours.”

He spins on his heels and walks down the hall.

Frank watches him go, then follows nurse Temple across the waiting area. She opens the door to the recovery room, pushing back that damn blue curtain quietly. Then she gestures for Frank to step in front of her.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound of the vitals monitor is a steady hum. It’s oddly comforting.

And terrifying.

It means Karen is awake. It means he’s about to speak to her for the first time in… far too long.

He finds the courage to look forward and he sees her. Sitting upright in the bed. Face turned to the window. The sunrise casting her in a celestial glow. Her expression is a haunted one Frank knows all too well…but not the shock of someone who’s new to trauma.

He realizes in that moment that his gut instinct was right. Karen’s felt this kind of pain before.

“Karen, your husband is here.” Temple’s voice is gentle.

A quiet feels the air. Time stops. In the void, Frank wonders if his heartbeat is loud enough for Red to hear all the way across Manhattan.

He watches Karen turn her head. Watches her eyes widen in confusion at the word husband. Then recognition. Then something he’s too scared to name.

They’re both silent for a moment, not noticing as the nurse slips out. Then tears are welling in Karen’s eyes and Frank is falling to his knees by her hospital bed.

“Hey, hey,” he chokes out. “I lied. I lied. Okay? That day…Karen…”

Soft fingers grab his trembling ones. He places his free palm over hers, holding with two hands now.

“I know you lied, you asshole,” Karen says between sobs. “You’re such an asshole…but I…” Her ocean eyes are bright with the words they won’t say yet.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, I am.”

“Please tell me you brought real coffee.”

The sound of footsteps silences Frank’s answer.

27 hours later…

“I’ll take three drip coffees,” Curtis Hoyle smiles at the barista, waiting for a response.

The bleary-eyed girl with wild auburn tinted hair and a cut-off t-shirt reading MJ just blinks at him.

“Cool. You want room for milk or cream?”

“No…uh…actually, can you sprinkle some cinnamon in one of them.”

The girl gives a half nod as Curtis swipes his card. He sighs, stepping to the side of the cheerful yellow counter. He knows he’s getting old, but whoever Proof Coffee’s manager is could have done a better job with hiring. MJ has the bedside manner of cardboard; not great for 0800 on a Thursday –

Piiinnnggg!

The girl passes three paper cups to Curt, hurriedly grabbing her phone from its charging station. He takes a few sips of his cup, watching her agitated movements.

“Peter! Jesus Christ! Is everyone okay…”

Her hazel eyes widen in relief and Curtis feels guilty for judging her. MJ’s been worried.

“News. Alright. I’ll take a look. Be careful.”

The call’s barely over before the teen is swiping on her phone. Curtis takes a final swig of his own coffee while grabbing to-go lids, trying to look casual.

“Everything good? You seem a little stressed.”

MJ bobs her head, flipping her phone in Curtis’s face. Apple News.

“Shit,” Curtis mutters as he reads the screen.

He turns to leave, then thinks twice. Grabs the two coffees. He may need them as an excuse to sneak back into the hospital.

“Thank you, Miss!”

He leaves MJ staring at her phone. At the headline…

FRANK CASTLE, THE PUNISHER, REPORTEDLY SEEN AT METRO GENERAL.

#kastle #frank x karen #kastle ff #karen page #kastlenetwork #kastleexchange #come what may #first words said #what could be

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