#thank you steel wool for this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

glammiketrash · 10 months

Text

Monty didn’t attack Bonnie. Freddy did.

This post is not a joke: Ruin gives us enough clues to know that Bonnie was attacked by Freddy the day he disappeared, and Monty saw the attack.

Word count: 2457 words.

Yup, I wrote an entire essay with pictures to take the blame from a fictional gator that became my comfort character. If someone from Steel Wool is reading this: Yes, I’m ok, thanks for asking. If you want to send a cute Monty picture to my inbox, it is open and I’ll be all over the place if you do it.

Now, let me take you with me on this wild ride, because this theory fits the narrative of both Security Breach and Ruin so well that I have to clap at Steel Wool if it is actually correct and not me playing with the puzzle pieces incorrectly. So, here we go!

Bonnie, judging by the golden eyes and his travel pattern, was protecting someone like Freddy did with Gregory. Important damage was directed to the stomach hatch, where a kid could hide.

He has claw marks there, but Monty didn’t got his until the first was decommissioned and was then modified to play his bass.

The scratches in his hatch are green, but also the cracks over it. It looks like it is his base color instead of paint left by the attacker. The next video is from FazFriends, where they look at every single detail in the Ruin animatronic models. Their analysis are totally worth your attention if you like SB!

youtube

Monty has black nails, even before he was modified to play Bonnie’s bass. They also are kinda blunt, and the marks the attacker left seem more clean and sharp in the ends.

Now, there aren’t lots of animatronics that have claws. We have Roxy (and I’m guessing Foxy, if he ever existed as an animatronic different to her), The mimic/Burntrap, who doesn’t really seem an option because he’s slow and in life support in SB and sealed in Ruin, and… there’s Freddy. But, and here’s the twist, not normal Freddy, who couldn’t get through gates like Monty until he got his claws.

I’m talking about this thing.

Not only do we have environmental clues that confirm this attack, but also a key clue that wouldn’t make any sense otherwise.

Let’s start with the Prototype itself!

Check those claws. They are sturdy enough to survive all the damage this model has received, and extremely sharp at the end. Now compare Bonnie and its hand together…

It’s a perfect fit. The metal is a bit bent in the left, but if you could lower it, the finger length, the palm, even the distance and shape between the thumb and index are the same than the hole in Bonnie’s chest.

If that detail is true, all pieces of the narrative fit together. Here’s what happened, which I will explain further adding sources:

Monty saw Freddy’s prototype attacking Bonnie (who was in safe mode) in Gator Golf’s catwalks. The hurricane hole-in-one was activated, causing them both to fall. He could see the prototype losing its head and taking damage to its leg, but Bonnie was nowhere: he was either able to go back to Bonnie Bowl by himself using the distraction or the fall knocked him out and was dragged there, where he was heavily damaged.

This next part is not so clear, so I’ll give you my version of what I think happened that night: Bonnie alerted police that a kid was in danger. They show up, but Vanessa sent them away, claiming she was the only person there and it was a prank call (False Alarm message in SB). Vanny uses Bonnie’s trust on Freddy against him: she sends the prototype to go after the kid and him. He makes it to Monty’s, where the hurricane causes damage to the prototype, and is then finally attacked and disassembled behind his attraction to silence him and bury any clue or what happened (his parts are all over the place, one of his arms has weel marks, and Ruin follows the PQ ending where Freddy is disassembled. In SB, endos come out from the lines to attack us, and in Ruin we see the zone where his vanity is infested with STAFF robots, both in its normal version and in VR, where a giant STAFF robot is seen being dragged to a door while it leaves scratch marks on the floor).

Fazbear Entertainment pretended they actually looked for Bonnie and found nothing at all. As a final punishment for his disobedience he was actively being erased from existence: most of his art was removed, and some ask for a re-theme of his attraction (Re-theme SB message). They make Monty the main bassist, giving him his green room too.

These changes are being quickly pushed after his decommission: Bonnie still has power when we find him, Monty falls from the catwalks “a month ago” and snaps in half, a place where he goes every time he skips a performance (Monty Mischief SB message), people constantly ask for Bonnie and there isn’t an approved answer to give, the bowling alley still wasn’t given a re-theme after taking out most of Bonnie’s images.

Despite FazEnt efforts, Bonnie is remembered, specially by a depressed Monty.

His body was modified, he was given his bass, his glasses, his room, his role. The higher ups clapped thinking about the possibility of him being even more popular than Bonnie, his disappearance becoming yet another opportunity to make money.

And it was Freddy’s prototype’s fault. His normal life, the person he admired the most, his own body, were taken from him because of him.

From that day, and after getting new claws, his attitude becomes obsessive, endlessly searching for what was left of Bonnie after the rest gave up: destroying fences to explore the undergrounds, constantly missing shows and always being found in the catwalks, even after being snapped in half by the hole-in-one bucket, trying to guess where his body was. His last known location was his attraction, so he should still be there somewhere, isn’t it?

Let me repeat this: he prefers looking for Bonnie in the catwalks even at risk of his own integrity than performing.

There are more details that show us he does care for him: there are four official images left of Glamrock Bonnie in the PizzaPlex, three of them in Monty’s ride, the last one at the entrance of his own attraction, where some animations can still be seen. These cutouts are in perfect shape, while Freddy’s is light off.

There is also a headless Freddy statue that once you go to FazerBlast screams “prototype”.

It looks like it’s been decapitated by a hurricane, some “cables” coming out of its head like the prototype, which has cables coming out of its neck.

This damage couldn’t have been caused by the earthquake: the head should had fallen to the ground instead of being pinned on the hurricane. Plus, it doesn’t match the theme of the ride, based on cutouts, and while the rest of the elements are placed in scenarios and their composition is clearly studied, this statue breaks the symmetry of the hurricane’s eye element, that is supposed to give you the illusion that you are entering its eye and being pushed out to the main attraction.

What’s more, in a story exclusively about Monty’s past and how he became a solo bassist in the PizzaPlex thanks to Bonnie, attracting the same amount of people than the Glamrocks themselves, a Freddy statue at the end doesn’t make any sense sense at all… Unless it was put there with a very particular purpose.

I like to think it’s part of an environmental story telling from Steel Wool, specially when you read the rest of clues together.

There’s more to say about this statue than the lack of a head: look at its leg damage, and how it matches the prototype’s heavily damaged one, and how the hand that is visible reflects the light making it look like it has long claws despite Freddy having short ones like the rest of the band.

It also has two blue long lines through his chest that resemble the ones in Bonnie’s.

If you still have doubt about how it is part of a scene representing the night of the attack, then you should know there is an easter egg here: if you follow the part of the tornado that goes up, you can see a Bonnie cutout at the very top of it. He’s far away from the rest of the scene and he looks like if he was being knocked by the tornado. If you zoom to look at his face, you can see he has a worried expression.

Monty didn’t destroy any of the images of Bonnie or his previous iterations, not the cutouts, not this poster, not the bass that belonged to him, even after causing damage to his room.

There is a detail in Gator Golf that is easy to miss: An intact poster of the original Bonnie near a log he uses as a hideout in Ruin (we see him quickly going out of it when we approach it).

He looks similar to the illustration at the entrance of Bonnie Bowl, but this image is not very charming. He looks half dead, yeah...? If you then go to Bonnie’s, some big screens are still on and advertising pizza. When you wear the mask, they change to a glitched version of the Bonnie animation, where his eyes go blank in a similar way to this poster.

This spot couldn’t have been used by Vanny: it is decorated exactly like the rest of Gator Golf in the base game, which ends with us saving Vanessa and exiting the PizzaPlex together.

The poster also has a drawing of Freddy stuck on it. In this chapter you can also find the Bonnie’s piñata collectible, the first time we can see his Glamrock design and the first clue of him having suffered an attack (it has a big gash in his chest).

He could have easily taken it down if he wanted, specially when it is so close to his hideout and he’s in such a volatile state, but he keeps it right beside it.

But the real Freddy (or, at least, things that resemble him) seems to cause some kind of reaction even in the base game, yes?

The most common example in Security Breach is the arcade version of Monty’s Gator Golf. There are two possible readings for it, depending on if you think it represents Monty’s mind or if you think it has been hacked to change his behavior.

Hole 1 depicts Freddy separated from the group, a big distance between them. Hole 9 shows him in a dumpster, and Chica, Roxy and Monty playing together. He’s never part of the group, so either Monty hates him or he was hacked so he would hate him, right?

But the main show were he looks happily at him while playing, the fact that he never attacks him even after being hacked, the presence of images of him on other holes all perfectly light and ok like this balloon, and the eye color difference between Hole 1 and 9, make me think Steel Wool is trying to tell us a way different story.

The Freddy in the dumpster is the only one with golden eyes. Hole 9 represents what is happening the night we play as Gregory, the AR part of the AR-cade, and of the main reasons the Monty taking down theory was so popular.

That night, Roxy, Chica and him are working on finding the kid to the point that their cases crack and get dirty, while Freddy not only glitched at the start of the show hours before, but is now also walking around the PizzaPlex doing NOTHING instead of helping (apparently).

It’s the animatronic equivalent of a group project were one of the members does nothing, so you have to do their part and then they show up and are praised. It makes sense he would be angry at the situation and think he’s trash, but even so, there are no real confrontations between them.

But what about Hole 1, then? The answer is the fireflies. There are some fireflies at the left part, but the right, where Freddy is looking, has other set of lights. If you calculate the distance from Chica to him, the center is almost where the hole is, the part of the arcade that is supposed to drag your attention. Having an empty space there feels uncomfortable and a very questionable decision from whomever designed the scene, but if this one is a reflection from reality or Monty’s current mind state, why aren’t Freddy’s eyes gold?

Well, I don’t think he is separated from his band.

I think someone is missing from the picture instead.

Bonnie was erased from the Arcade.

As it was said, these changes were quick and non-planned: they deleted his model from the arcade, but had no time to move and reprogram the positions of the rest of the characters so the space between them was filled. As a consequence, when you play this level, your attention is taken from the hole to the distance between them.

It is void, awkward, it makes you uncomfortable. You know something is missing, but you can’t quite tell what it is yet. It makes you wish there was one more character there even before you knew there actually was.

Once you learn what happened, how his story ties to the place this scenario represents, the void he left in Freddy and Monty specifically, Hole 1 gains a new meaning, and it hits you. When you go back to the PizzaPlex as Cassie and play the arcade, there’s no joy left there. No fireflies, no Glamrocks, just ruins. Two pairs of red eyes and a pile of Nightmare STAFF bots. That’s all that’s left.

But if you still need one more clue to convince you that the prototype was the one that attacked Bonnie, then let me tell you there is a final one that wouldn’t make sense otherwise:

The AR collectibles dialogue.

Cassie always makes a commentary about the things she finds: Monty’s AR plushie being very glitchy, how she wants to add Roxy’s one to her collection, how the her father wouldn’t tell her why they replaced Bonnie and how he was his dad’s favorite…

But she also asks him what happened to him, and gets an answer when she gets the last collectible.

The AR Golden Bonnie is hidden in Bonnie Bowl, next to a Wet Floor Sign bot.

She hasn’t been to Fazer Blast yet.

But the description answers the question that she asked him: a prototype.

Bonnie was decommissioned by Freddy’s prototype.

And the only ones that know are a kid lead to her death that can hear his agony through the Wet Floor Bots and unreal collectibles, and an animatronic blamed for his death and told he’ll never be him, obsessed with his loss and with finding whatever is left of the person that he admired the most and helped him become the star he once was.

#ruin spoilers #cassie fnaf #fnaf ruin spoilers #fnaf spoilers #montgomery gator #bonnie bunny #glamrock bonnie #ruin dlc spoilers #security breach #Monty didn't decommission Bonnie #fnaf theories #Glamrock Freddy #prototype freddy #ruin prototype #monty gator #the monty is innocent tag

3K notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 5 months

Text

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

--------

Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions.

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food."

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy.

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him.

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that."

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again.

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?)

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately."

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up.

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly.

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from.

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite.

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing.

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.”

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows.

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?”

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?”

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.”

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved.

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.”

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything?

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted.

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

#dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #first danny pov of the au! whoo!#danny's hair turns white if he drinks ectoplasm brrrrr and his eyes turn green. good for him #this sat in my drafts for the last few days until i finally finished it during class #it was a math class and i already knew the material so tis fiiiine. now i just need to finish my CFAU post rewrite :)#ectoplasm tastes like that time i went to go get pepsi from the soda machine and it was all out of the pepsi flavoring so instead i got a #cup full of carbonated liquid. it was disgusting. ectoplasm kinda tastes like that. sometimes.#danny smiles in this more than i thought he would but yk it fits. he IS more smiley around his friends and family.#ectoplasm is a weird non-newtonion fluid and danny is fascinated. its got the consistency of egg whites one minute and then water the next #its a water slime and then suddenly its as brittle as annealed glass. it heats up and rots like milk or it heats up and boils like water #it congeals. it thickens. it boils. it solidifies. it does whatever it wants. it gels and melts into a tar-like substance #how long has damian been standing there? good question. :) i almost had him open the door and make eye contact with damian before falling #backwards. i also almost had it be *bruce* and damian opening the door bc bruce found out that damian pulled a knife on sam and was gonna #have him come apologize. that would be a fun scene. prolonged eye contact prolonged eye contact prolonged eye contact #imagery brrrr. had fun playing with how danny's ghost form works. if anyone has seen a video of steel wool burning thats how i imagine #danny's ghost transformation to be like.#also ayyy balancing danny's dialogue be like “how fancy should he sound and how Normal Teenager Should He Sound”#when sam gets home she catches tucker up to speed about everything including the convos with the waynes she had and they both form the #'“Fuck Them Waynes” squad. Sam has jumped to the entirely wrong conclusion about danny's separation from his family but in her defense.#it is a pretty sound conclusion to jump to considering the lack of context she has from danny's prior home life. which is almost none at al #so to her it looks like danny got abandoned by bruce wayne

788 notes · View notes

deyisacherry · 9 months

Text

DCA FAM! CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT THIS?

I literally love the whole concept of Eclipse being a fusion between them each time they seem to be in distress or when they have other strong emotions-

BUT IT'S ALSO FUCKING GREAT AND NICE AND COOL THAT IN CANON, BEING ECLIPSE WAS THE ONLY WAY FOR THEM TO CALM DOWN AND BE SAFE! LIKE- GODDAMMIT, I CAN'T STILL GET OVER THE FACT THAT SUN SAID THEY NEEDED TO BE WHOLE

HE DIDN'T EVEN ASK CASSIE TO HELP HIM TAKE CONTROL BACK, HE ASKED HER TO HELP THEM BOTH BE TOGETHER!!! WORK TOGETHER!! SO THEY WOULD BE ALRIGHT!!! YOU CAN'T CONVINCE ME THEY WEREN'T GOOD FRIENDS, OR THAT MOON WAS ALWAYS EVIL, I CALL BULL-

of course I keep adoring the first concept because it's hella cool, but as a fan of wholesome things, this brings joy to my heart too

eclipse being canon it's the best thing that happened to us, AND IT'S BECAUSE OF US! THANK YOU GUYS AND THANKS TO STEEL WOOL AND KELLEN GOFF FOR MAKING HIM/THEM CANON!

743 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 19 days

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Perhaps Eddie Munson was someone you could lean on--literally and figuratively. (4.7k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, vandalism, so much yearning, an accidental boner, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter nine: rest for the weary

Destroyed.

That was the only thought fleeting through your mind when you approached Eisen’s shattered door, jagged edges like rows of shark teeth. Your hand faltered, stopping just before the knob, like the whole store would disintegrate at the slightest turn.

Eddie stepped aside and gently opened the door, the bell jingling mockingly, watching to ensure that no more glass fell from the panes. “Careful,” he murmured, fingers ghosting over the middle of your back for just a second while you stepped over the threshold. Goosebumps formed beneath your shirt at his unexpected touch, brief as it was.

Your heart lurched once more as you entered the store, the normally meticulously organized shelves now coated in spray painted tags and profanities. A crudely drawn phallic symbol, complete with testicles and pubic hair, took up most of the front of the desk. The office door bore another one with a similar resemblance.

You were definitely surprised by Eddie’s offer to help out at Eisen’s, but nothing compared to the blatant shock on Ben’s face when he saw who accompanied you to the store. Your friend’s jaw clenched instinctively, and you realized he must have thought you brought Eddie here to confess.

“We came to help clean,” you quickly clarified, hoping Eddie didn’t sense the reasoning behind your explanation.

Silent tension thickened between the two men, your words your sole weapon to tear into it. “What can we do?” You asked Ben, volunteering yourself and Eddie in hopes of derailing potential conflict.

Ben cleared his throat, eyes swooping over the store that was still very much in disarray. Glass shards glittered across the floor despite his previous claims to have swept up, though you imagined that it was difficult to see clearly through his cloud of exhaustion. When he didn’t answer, you grabbed a broom from beside the door.

“I just got off the phone with the—” Aunt Tam walked in from the office, pausing mid-sentence when she spotted you. Her lips curled into whatever semblance of a smile she could muster as she shuffled over to wrap you in a hug. Her dark brown curls brushed your cheek.

When she pulled back, you hardly recognized her. Besides the passage of time carving wrinkles into her forehead and the bridge of her nose, her skin was free of make-up. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw her without at least mascara coating her lashes.

“We’re here to help with whatever you need.” You swallowed the lump in your throat at the sight of her bare face, the worry now permanently sealed into her eyes.

At the mention of a we, Aunt Tam glanced at the man beside you. Tepidly, Eddie stepped forward and held out his hand to shake hers. “Eddie Munson,” he said, posture straightening as he braced himself for a reaction. But if Ben truly suspected that Eddie had vandalized the store, he hadn’t shared that theory with his mother, because she shook Eddie’s hand without hesitation.

“Eddie can help remove the graffiti,” you offered, and Eddie nodded.

“Just need some WD-40,” he added with a small smile. “Maybe some steel wool if it’s really stubborn.”

Aunt Tam’s eyes lit up, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze that leaves your bones aching. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion as she turned to face Eddie. “Thank you, Eddie.” She wiped at her nose with one shirt sleeve. “We should have all of that in the back, if you’ll follow me…”

Eddie nodded again, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trailing behind her. “Yes, ma’am.”

When you could be sure that both he and Aunt Tam were out of earshot, you shuffled over to Ben. “It wasn’t him,” you said under your breath. “He was at a concert that night, and even if he wasn’t—he wouldn’t do this.” You gestured at the destruction.

Not fully convinced of Eddie’s innocence, Ben narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. “How do you know?”

“The first night he stayed at the motel, he was smoking pot in his room. And when I told him not to, he listened.” You thought back to that moment, to his smirk that had you wondering if he would light another joint as soon as you turned your back. “And even though I basically accused him of vandalizing Eisen’s—before I knew where he really was—he still brought my essay to school today.”

Ben breathed out a defeated sigh. “Okay, fine,” he conceded, scratching at the back of his neck. “Is it bad that I wished it was him, so that we could stop worrying about whoever it was coming back and doing it again?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Kind of, yeah.” He scowled, playfulness stronger than any contempt, and you tapped the broomstick against his arm. “I’m guessing you didn’t share your theory with your parents?”

He shook his head. “My dad’s at the police station right now to see if any other shops caught the person on camera.”

“Yours didn’t?”

“Never installed any. Safe neighborhood, no need, y’know?” He rolled his eyes at his family’s naivety. “Seems like everyone else on the block felt the same way.”

You wanted to say more, to properly convey your sympathy, but your aunt and Eddie returned with the spray paint removal supplies. The broom suddenly became more interesting than ever before, your eyes glued to it as you brushed it against the floor. You didn't dare look at Eddie until he turned his back to you.

“All right,” he murmured to himself, tossing a rag over his shoulder and placing his hands squarely on his hips. The paint cans that had been sprayed were a lost cause, the veins in his biceps pulsing as he grabbed two at a time and heaved them onto the floor with soft grunts.

A teasing whisper tickled the shell of your ear. “Wipe your drool.” You could feel Ben’s smile as he spoke but didn’t have time to swat at him before he jogged over to help Eddie.

You preventatively swiped at your chin, relieved that you weren’t actually drooling. And why would you be? Eddie was your friend; nothing more, and sometimes a whole lot less. The excitement you’d felt when he’d shown up with your paper this afternoon was relief, not some burgeoning crush. Your hope that he would visit the front desk during your shifts could easily be explained as an eagerness for conversation, the ultimate cure for boredom. And the way you felt your heart beating in your stomach when he’d held your hand earlier–

It was only because it had been a long time since anyone had reached for you with an intimate gesture, you told yourself, save for Nora briefly squeezing your hand just before Eddie had taken it. But there was no flutter with Nora. A surge of gratefulness, maybe, but nothing compared to what Eddie’s touch had evoked.

“Heiress?”

Your head swiveled towards the sound of your nickname being called. Eddie looked at you, puzzled and impatient. “You okay? I’ve called your name, like, fifty times.”

“Twice,” Ben said; the clarification could have been a reassurance that you hadn’t spaced out for that long, or just a belated dig at Eddie. Either way, you appreciated it.

“Do you have one of those hair tie things?” Eddie shook his hair, which was already frizzing from perspiration.

You nodded dumbly, fingers fumbling for the elastic shoved deep into the abyss of your purse. Had you been staring at him? Gawking, even, as you silently tried to sort out your feelings?

“Thanks.” Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t draw your gaze from him as he tied back his mess of curls into a bun at the nape of his neck.

Sweep. Sweep, and stop thinking about how his stubble-coated jawline might feel beneath your lips.

This desire, this lust–it was all temporary. Fleeting. It would swiftly exit once the rush of exhilaration from his rescue fully wore off, and you would once again be content with a platonic friendship.

Your insides backflipped once more when Eddie rubbed the rag over the shelf, wiped away the graffiti, and flashed a million-watt smile in your direction.

If you had your way, ‘moving on’ would happen sooner rather than later.

Pristine wasn’t the right word to describe Eisen’s state when you finally left a few hours later, but the clean floor was a definite improvement. The graffiti was still visible on the shelves, but it had faded considerably with Eddie’s hard work. He stood next to Ben now, explaining how often to apply the WD-40 without ruining the finish.

Were they friends? Not even close. But each had let down their guard an inch more, though you remained unclear of the reason why Eddie’s was up in the first place.

A weighty exhaustion reminded you that you were surviving on pure adrenaline that had been steadily waning and was nearly depleted. A gentle hand rested on your shoulder as you returned the broom to its corner.

“Go home and rest,” Aunt Tam said kindly. “Ben told me you’ve been working nights and going to school. You need your sleep.”

“I know.” It was easier to agree than to argue, but the shop would be a mess if you had spent the afternoon sleeping.

Your aunt cocked her head and assessed you; whether you were too tired to properly fib or just her mother’s intuition, she didn’t believe you. “Well,” she sighed, “I told your boyfriend to get you home—”

Heat crept up your neck as she gestured a thumb towards Eddie. “Eddie’s not my boyfriend.”

Aunt Tam raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I just…he didn’t correct me earlier when I called you his girlfriend…and the looks you were giving each other…I figured…” She stopped, shaking off the notion as ridiculous.

Because it is ridiculous, you thought.

“We’re just friends.” That ‘just’ was cumbersome, like there was something inherently wrong with you and Eddie being friends. “We’re friends,” you amended, complete with a tired smile.

She fixed her composure, swiping her brunette bangs from her line of vision. “Well, we can’t thank you and your friend enough.”

She said that word like she knew something you didn’t. Worse, like you knew but refused to admit it.

Grogginess slowed your usual fast pace, and you stepped into the subway car with only a second to spare.

The adrenaline fully wore off once you sat down; the plastic subway seat might as well have been a plush mattress swathed in Egyptian cotton sheets. It wasn’t until you allowed yourself to sit back and breathe that the achiness crept in. Your lower back twinged; your shoulders and biceps remained tense from sweeping and scrubbing the shelves for so long. If you could feel your feet, they would probably hurt, too.

The yawn you let out stretched the skin on your face and brought reflexive tears to your eyes, and you wiped them away with the back of your hand.

“Tired?” Eddie asked, the question warped by a heavy yawn of his own.

You nodded, blinking a few times to keep your eyes open; your head felt like it could loll right off of your neck without warning.

Eddie shifted slightly and patted his right shoulder with his left hand. “Rest.”

“S’okay,” you mumbled, heaviness tugging at your eyelids even as you spoke. Exhaustion had its grip on you, tight enough that you barely noticed your stomach fluttering at the thought of resting on him. “I’ll just pass out when we get home.”

But he took one look at you, at the fogginess that draped over your body like a weighted cloak, and promptly vetoed that idea. “Rest,” he said again; this time, his words held a commanding air.

You clocked his concern, so unused to the way you ran yourself ragged until the kettle ran empty, until the match burned out. Another yawn escaped you, bringing a single hot tear with it, and any attempt to convince him that this was normal instantly became obsolete.

Sparing yourself the argument, you laid your head atop his shoulder. His cotton t-shirt was soft against your ear, somewhat muffling the train’s clanking and other passengers’ conversations. As quiet as the subway could be at seven o’clock in the evening.

“Our stop is—”

“I know.” The vibrations of his voice, your head so close to his throat, punctuated the reassurance. “You sleep, Heiress.”

The last thing you remembered was your grip loosening on the backpack strategically placed between your feet, your fingers unfurling from the strap as you succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

A hand on your knee gently shook you awake just as the conductor’s muffled voice announced that the train was approaching Forest Hills, and you felt a yank on your consciousness that pulled you out of your seat and towards the open doors.

“My backpack—” The icy panic that flooded your veins was enough to jar you awake. When you turned back, you saw that the train had already pulled away from the track.

“Right here.” Eddie patted the bag now slung over his shoulder. Your heart rate returned to its normal beat as relief washed over your skin, a wave crashing into the surf at high tide.

The station’s stale air covered you like a quilt, and the conductor had barely announced the grating reminder to stand clear of the closing doors before unconsciousness again hooked its claws into you.

“There ya go,” Eddie whispered when you rested your head on his shoulder once more. “Comfy?”

“Mhm.” And you were–unnervingly so. You hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time; no moment in recent memory came to mind. The questions you desperately sought answers to–why he hesitated to tell you about the concert, why he let Aunt Tam believe that he was your boyfriend–seemed utterly inconsequential.

You could vaguely feel Eddie fidgeting as you drifted in and out of consciousness, struggling to adjust his posture and avoid any unwarranted touch.

Sleep transformed your body into that of a ragdoll, slumped over and limp, moving only as the train car swayed. Your limbs felt disconnected from your torso, which was why you barely registered the urgent grasp around your wrist.

“Hmm?” You blinked awake, blurred vision sharpening to reveal Eddie’s hand holding yours. No, not holding it; he was moving it. Moving it away from the denim that creased along his inner thigh.

“Shit, I—” Humiliation stole your words, stabbed at them with its forked tongue and left you scrambling for an explanation. “I didn’t mean to.”

Eddie’s own cheeks turned a rosy pink, as though his fingers had been accidentally creeping towards the inseam of your jeans. “No, I—I know,” he stammered, clocking the horror on your face and offering a sheepish smile. Your fingertips burned where he’d touched them, where you’d touched him.

There was no way you could sleep after that, your body far too alert despite the ever-increasing weight of your eyelids. You sat up straighter; as you did, Eddie placed your backpack on his lap. When you reached for it, he shook his head and pulled back slightly, and your brows furrowed at your misinterpretation.

“I got it,” he said, a hoarseness in his voice that you weren’t able to place. “You can keep resting.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup,” he answered too quickly, wrapping one arm around the bag and tugging it even closer to his chest. “S’all good.”

A strange tension lingered, one that differed from the anger that pulled the conversation taut during your last subway ride home together. Eddie was physically beside you, but his eyes searched the car like he was gearing up for another round of I Spy.

You needed to speak and move past the embarrassment that tethered you to silence.

“Eddie?” Your voice was a whisper, barely audible over the train’s clacking and your own internal monologue.

“Hmm?”

You swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me about going to see your old band?”

Eddie froze, his arm still tight around your bag; for a moment, you wondered if you crossed the line.

Finally, he spoke. “Didn’t want to.”

An answer and a non-answer simultaneously, telling you to back off. But you’d be damned if you let today’s progress be soured.

“I wouldn’t have judged you.” Slowly, you let your eyes fall on him, noticing his fingers picking at a loose thread on his jeans. “You don’t have to tell me. But just so you know.”

He nodded, and you prayed he absorbed the reassurance as it traveled from your lips to his ears. His response was not what you expected, although nothing with Eddie has gone to plan thus far.

“Why haven’t you told your parents about school?”

He knocked you off-kilter despite his calm tone; surprisingly, there was no judgment from him, either. “I don’t want to disappoint them.” When Eddie just looked at you, palms open and brows raised, you realized you’d just answered your own question. “How would you seeing Death’s Echo disappoint me?”

“I dunno.” One scuffed sneaker squeaked against the floor. “I talked a big game about how the music industry is all bullshit and how I didn’t care about the band anymore, but…”

“You miss it,” you filled in.

He sucked his lips to his teeth before nodding. “I miss it,” he said with a reluctant chuckle. “I miss it so fuckin’ much.”

Exhaling a long breath, he continued. “I mean, I really don’t miss being the record label’s bitch. And I hate the thought of being a sellout. But nothing beats that adrenaline rush you get when you walk on stage and the crowd is screaming your name, or when they sing your lyrics back to you. Lyrics you wrote.”

You stayed silent for a minute, letting the heaviness of his statement sink in. Important. He felt important, wanted, needed. Without saying so, it was evident that working at the motel would never give him that same satisfaction. No amount of desecrated wasp nests or perfectly glued wallpaper could ever compare to the cheers of adoring fans.

“It’s not over, you know. Your chance to have that again.”

Eddie’s eyes locked onto yours, chocolate irises swimming with a juxtaposing combination of hope and defeat. “No one’s exactly lining up to sign me,” he said.

“They will.” You smiled, lips together. “You’re too talented to slip under the radar.”

He returned the smile, reaching out his pinky and interlocking it with yours as a thank you. You gave it a tiny pulse in recognition.

“The other night…” Eddie started. He still looked at you, but the twitch of his nose told you that it was harder to hold than before. “I shouldn’t have said that you’d treat your clients badly.”

“It’s fi—”

“It’s not.” Eddie’s voice was stern, unwavering, but not cold. “And I’m sorry.”

Your pinky remained wrapped around his. “We both said some shitty things that we didn’t mean,” you offered.

“Yeah.” The right side of his mouth turned up, not a full smile, but one filled with compassion nonetheless. “Forgive and forget?”

You cocked your head to give him a knowing look. “One other thing to know about New York women,” you said, “we might forgive, but we never forget.”

Eddie’s half-smile turned into a grin, and he leaned in closer to whisper. “Y’know, for a bookworm, you’re kind of a badass.”

Trying to ignore the now-familiar tingles that accompanied his tobacco-scented breath on your ear, you resumed your previous position of your head on his shoulder, humming in agreement. There was no hiding how pleased you felt from his praise, his newfound ability to see you beyond a singular dimension.

He peered down at you, his lips brushing your scalp. “Still tired?”

“Not really.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat and stretching out his legs in front of him. “Okay, then,” he murmured, and from the subtle movement in his jaw, you knew he was still smiling as he said it.

Consciousness was a drifting cloud, one that passed overhead quickly to make room for thunderous exhaustion. The storm hit the moment you walked into your room as you flung your backpack and your body onto the bed.

Your eyes didn’t flutter closed like a fairy tale princess; they snapped shut like an iron gate, impenetrable to any forces.

Including a clock radio alarm.

12:09

The digital numbers stared at you, harsh and blinding, as though they also couldn’t believe the time. The alarm you’d set for 9 PM was clearly ineffective, seeing as you were over two hours late to work.

“Shit!” Whatever spell had enchanted you instantly broke, and you jolted out of bed with such ferocity that you briefly saw stars.

You smoothed down your T-shirt from where it wrinkled against the starchy comforter. Chalky white deodorant remnants stained the black fabric, right along your ribcage, and you hastily undressed and threw on the nearest clean shirt.

Sleep tainted your tongue and dried saliva decorated the corner of your mouth, your slumber so deep that you’d drooled.

“Son of a bitch,” you grumbled, grabbing your toothbrush from its place at the sink and brushing just long enough to chase away the stale taste.

Was Mom still at the desk? Did Dad have to take over your shift? Had they both assumed you’d show up on time and left the desk unmanned for what they thought would only be a few minutes?

Your blood ran cold. Anyone could have taken a key off of the wall, could have broken into the register and taken what little money you had…

Feet flying, you push open your door and squint to adjust to the harsh hallway lighting.

Before you did anything else, you needed to apologize profusely to whatever parent had the misfortune of still being behind the desk. Offer to do some extra chores, or take on a few hours of their shift.

But that plan is stalled when you run into the lobby and see neither your mom nor your dad. Only Eddie, hunched over a stack of scribble-filled papers.

When he hears your panicked footsteps, he looks up and grins cheekily. “Morning, Sunshine.”

You would have flipped him off if it weren’t for the overwhelming relief that your mistake hadn’t burdened your parents.

“You know,” he continued, tapping his pen against his teeth, “this gig isn’t half bad. I’m almost finished with these lyrics.”

Your eyes blinked rapidly of their own accord. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Eddie snorted. He put his pen down on the desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Sweet, naive Sleeping Beauty,” he tutted, adopting a playful tone. “I knocked on the door not once, not twice, but thrice to no answer.”

“Thrice?” You raised a brow at his formal word choice.

“Thrice.” He held up three fingers and wiggled them for emphasis. “But I figured you must really need the sleep, so…” He gestured vaguely as if to say, here I am.

One foot in front of the other, right arm still crossed over the left and showing off a litter of inked bats, he sauntered over to you. “I believe this is where you thank me for saving your ass.”

He was teasing, though he did deserve your gratitude, but your mind only focused on the reason why.

“My parents—”

“Adore me,” Eddie cut in with a knowing grin. “Even gave me the whole ‘any friend of our daughter’s is a friend of ours’ spiel.”

There was that word again: friends. It rubbed you raw, salt on an open wound, and it stung even more coming from his mouth.

Eddie remained oblivious to your inner turmoil, still ranting about his successful encounter. “Maybe I should be thanking you, since this scored me some major points.”

It was a lifeline; something onto which you could latch instead of letting your thoughts spin in never-ending circles. “Well, then, you’re welcome.”

He noticed the hesitation, even without the context of its cause. “Look, you got a few extra hours of sleep and nothing happened. The place didn’t burn down, didn’t spontaneously combust, and I only accepted one bad check.”

“You what?!”

Eddie guffawed at your widened eyes. “Kidding. Besides,” he added, “you wouldn’t even know it bounced until you took it to the bank.”

“Go fuck yourself.” But the corners of your mouth turned up in a smile, betraying the annoyance you’d tried to present.

“Will do.” He gave a small salute, two fingers to his forehead, and grabbed his papers off of the desk. “But before I get to that, we need to talk about you not going to your graduation.”

For a moment, you forgot about Nora’s comment earlier that day. It seemed like weeks ago, rather than mere hours. “I can’t.”

Eddie quirked a brow. “Can’t talk about it or can’t go?”

“Both.”

He blew out a breath, equal parts frustration and disappointment. Like he was invested in this, perhaps more so than you were.

It was enough to pull a genuine explanation from you. “I can’t afford the cap and gown,” you said, “and even if I could, the ceremony starts at nine in the morning. That’s when I sleep.”

He nodded, incisors digging into his lower lip while he digested the information. “So…you’re not doing anything to celebrate?”

“Not having to drag my ass to classes anymore is celebration enough.” Until graduate school starts, you thought wryly, the sinking feeling returning to your stomach.

Eddie wasn’t accepting that answer, shaking his head so his curls were a brunette blur across his face. “No. No.” His tone was insistent, teetering on the brink of stern. “You worked hard, and you should do something fun.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered his options, his brown eyes sparkling as an idea came to him. “Let me take you out for a drink.”

“With what money?”

He scoffed playfully. “I think I can splurge on one drink. No specialty cocktails, though.” He pointed his forefinger in your direction, emphasizing his point. “And house liquor only.”

You wanted to–more than anything, you wanted to. Each weekend, you felt taunted by the sounds of friends traipsing down the street, sharing inside jokes and making memories that would either last a lifetime or be washed away with a few more beers. It was an experience you’d never had, but there was little time for friendship outside of school.

“I can’t,” you said finally, feeling just as dejected as Eddie looked. “My shifts start at ten.”

“So I’ll get you back by ten,” Eddie said with a shrug, no big deal. “And it’s one drink; ‘s not like you’re gonna be wasted.”

You hesitated before responding, your brain already churning out a thousand excuses to bail.

I’ll be too tired.

I don’t want to smell like booze when I’m working.

I have a cult meeting right before my shift.

“I…yeah, okay. I can do that.”

Eddie nearly did a double-take at your acceptance; truthfully, you surprised yourself.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure.” He cleared his throat and regained his composure with astonishing speed. “I’ll pick you up at 8 tomorrow?”

You shook your head. “The bars around here always overcharge on weekends. Let’s do Monday.” And maybe by then I’ll conjure up a solid escape plan.

He grinned, jogging back to the desk and grabbing his pen. “Monday…8 PM…Heiress.” You watched as he wrote the words on his palm, going over the spots where the ink flow weakened.

Eddie’s hand found yours, left fingers grasping your wrist to keep you steady, his right fingers busy decorating your skin in black ink. His tongue poked out from between his lips as he focused on writing without applying too much pressure, and you tried not to squirm whenever the pen grazed a ticklish spot.

When he pulled back, your own palm bore a near-identical message to his:

Monday 8 PM Eddie

Like you could forget.

-- taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98

@squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia

@kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock

@ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975

@yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts

@mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank

@sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles

@the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl

@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

262 notes · View notes

tmuse-ac · 10 months

Text

Thanks Kellen, thanks Steel Wool, we'll take them off your hands now! We shall treat them like royality.

You will definitely want to zoom in to see anything. This was originally just a storyboard, but I didn't feel like lining it, so I just tidied it up a bit instead.

(also I don't care what anyone else says, sun's sigh of relief when he said "thank you" is the best voice line in the game; dawko's reaction to it was perfect)

---

Bonus-

Eclipse: Why is this home?

Sun: Well, home is where the heart is!

Eclipse: Wha-

Moon: Our hearts belong to the fandom.

#fnaf #fnaf ruin #five nights at freddy's #fnaf security breach #sun and moon fnaf #sundrop and moondrop #eclipse fnaf #canon eclipse #fnaf dlc spoliers #fnaf ruin spoliers #ruin dlc spoilers #sun x reader #moon x reader #eclipse x reader #petrixmuse art

744 notes · View notes

yellowharrington · 11 months

Text

jaded -- chapter 1, carmy berzatto x reader

pairing + fandom: carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), the bear fx

warnings: sexual content, mention of unprotected piv sex, swearing, workplace relationship. minors dni with this story please.

word count: 1.4k+

a/n: guess who's back... back again... natty's back... tell a friend.... hey besties lol ik its been a year but i've been obsessed with the bear so i decided to write this. it will be a multichaptered fic and i will update it as soon as i've finished writing the chapters lmao. inspired by the song "jaded" by miley cyrus. pls pls pls enjoy

summary: fresh off of his breakup with claire, carmy needs a rebound. he just doesn't expect it to be his pastry chef.

masterlist | chapter 2

It starts with a ride home after service.

The sun had fallen down over the horizon, painting Chicago black with night. It’s chilly, middle of February, and you and Carmy are the only ones left at the restaurant. You’re both at the lockers, grabbing the last of your things and turning off the last few lights, leaving it behind you as you step out into the darkness of the street. Only amber lights are above you, illuminating Carmy’s face, along with the glow of his lighter around his cigarette. “How are you getting home?” He asks, looking down the alleyway. “Just the train,” you reply, gesturing towards the station a few blocks down the road. “Let me drive you,” he smushes the cigarette underneath the toe of his shoe, looking up at you, rather softly. “Oh, it’s not far,” you try to step the other way, before he grabs your shoulder lightly. “It’s cold, and fuckin’ dark, and there’s murderers. Just let me drive you home.” He was nothing if not protective.

It really had been a short drive, slow tunes coming from his old car’s radio, drowned out by the sounds of the city around you. It was generally silent, Carmy’s hand on the gear shift. “It’s just up here,” you gesture to the building up the street. “Just take a right.” He does, obeying your action, pulling up in front of a 3-floored walk-up. “Thanks,” you grab your backpack by your feet, opening the door and giving him a small look before stepping out. “Hey, listen,” you start. His eyes are dark, sunken, tired. He’s wearing his usual wool jacket around a cozy navy blue sweater. “I was working on something before work this morning. A… a dish. Can I show you really quick? And you can tell me what you think?” He looked at the time on his phone, and then up at you. Baby blue eyes, peering from under thick lashes. “Sure, chef,” he says quietly as he puts his car in park and unbuckles the seatbelt.

When you walk him up to your apartment, he’s endeared. You let him in, and your place smells of vanilla candles and laundry, from the load you’d done before work earlier that day. “Sorry about the mess,” you gestured to small pile of plates and spoons in the sink, and the aforementioned unfolded laundry on the couch. “You’d lose your mind if you saw my place if you think this is mess,” he laughed, pushing a hand through his soft golden hair. Your own coat comes off as you make your way into the kitchen, and he has to stop himself from staring. Your tight jeans fit your body perfectly, white t-shirt coming up over your hips only enough for him to see a dark tattoo on the back of your hip. You poured him a cup of cold water and put it in front of him, before firing up the burner on your stove and putting a stainless steel pan on the orange-blue flame. “Make yourself at home.”

He wandered around your apartment a bit, peering into your bedroom. Soft white bed, soft sheets, big fluffed pillows. An open window, letting a chilly breeze in, curtains slightly swaying with the night air. It reminds him of her, her soft sheets, big eyes, the nights he slept next to Claire and kissed her supple cheeks and pink lips. She was like this too; eager, clean, happy, simple. Easy to be with, and easy to like. You’d given off a similar energy the same day you walked into the restaurant on your first day, and you had reminded him of her. Kind eyes, warm presence, but with a different demeanour that chefs almost always had. A jaggedness, he thought.

The sound of the plates being put on your small kitchen table snapped him out of his daydreams, as you held out a fork for him. “It’s a, uh, mango custard, bit of toasted cardamom and coconut cream in there, and, um, a coconut macaroon with a homemade chutney.” He raises his eyebrows at the dish before him, plated beautifully, and takes a small bite of each component. You seem to wait for hours as he takes his time, feeling every ingredient on his tongue before setting down his fork on the small white plate. “It’s tremendous, chef,” he says quietly, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Almost perfect. Could use maybe an acid, it’s a little sweet, but, wow,” he looks up at you to see your wide eyes, excited at his answer. This was, essentially, the highest praise from Carmy you could get. “Thank you,” you say quietly, watching as he takes another forkful of the dessert.

“What’s the tattoo on your hip?” he asks, pointing at the right side of your body, where your shirt had ridden up before. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since he caught a glimpse. “Oh, um,” your cheeks turned a soft shade of red, standing up to lift up your shirt and show him. “It’s, uh, a snake. It goes down my leg too,” you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to show him a bit more of the ink, further exposing the thin strap of the black thong you had on. “Got it a long time ago, in school. Just wanted to feel cool I guess.” He stands up, slowly, coming to lightly pin you against the counter. It’s safe, it’s easy, and suddenly it feels so fucking right to have him here under the dim kitchen light. “Can I see the rest of it?”

All bets are off, then. Your jeans are pooled around your ankles in a second as he’s feverishly kissing your lips, hands everywhere, his calloused palms against your soft ass. His sweater is off, along with his signature white tee, showing off the glistening gold chain against his bare chest. You’ve managed to push his jeans down just enough to slide a hand into his waist band, eliciting a soft, breathy moan from him into your mouth.

When you stumble back into your bedroom, it’s all a blur. It’s hot skin against hot skin, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as his hands work their way in between your wet folds. They’re so gentle, yet he knows what he’s doing, so the slow circles on your clit as he lets himself rut against you are making you unbelievably wet for him. “I want you so fucking badly,” he pants into your ear, letting a finger easily plunge into you as you open your legs wider for him. “Is this a good idea, Carmy?” you let your fingers thread through his hair, allowing him to look up at you. His usual baby blues were dark again, lustful and wanton. “No,” he says matter-of-factly, but the smirk on his lips is so unbelievable, a cruel man above you. “Should we do it anyways?” You ask, your own smile playing on the corners of your mouth, allowing your hips to rut against his fingers, fucking yourself to feel more of him. He takes a large hand to your breast, letting it slide up, thumb slipping onto your lower lip and into your mouth. “Yeah… yeah, of course we fucking should.”

It’s so easy with him, which is what makes it so hard. He knows right where to kiss, where to touch, where to love on your body. He knows to take his hands to your sides, pushing you into the mattress as he laps at your clit and kisses your inner thighs, looking up and watching you take your own tits in your hands, squeezing them together, looking down at him with such need. He knows to slide up between your legs, and to cradle your neck in his hand, his thick cock plunging into you and making you weak, making his thumb wet with his own spit and bringing you to your orgasm, spasming around him, moaning his name into his mouth like a prayer. It doesn’t take much longer after that for him to spill inside of you, warm and deep, lips locked around his as you helped him ride his orgasm out. And it feels right, and real, when he lays next to you and kisses your chest and arms before falling into a deep sleep, your soft comforter over his chest. It all feels so fucking right, that first time.

But the next morning, all you have is an empty bed. And it doesn’t feel right anymore.

#carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfic #the bear fanfic #the bear fx fanfiction #the bear fx fanfic #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy x you

682 notes · View notes