#looks like angry bill murray

[strangerthingslover69]

Your mother’s new husband

Dmitri Antonov + Female Reader

18+ minors do not read!

Warnings ~ Swearing, smoking, & smut ~

This is not how you expected you life to be at all. Twenty six. Still living at home. Working a shit job to help your mum with the bills. Still somehow living in the wreck of Hawkins as the town and people begin to slowly build themselves again. And now? Well you most definitely did not expect yourself to be under your mothers new husband in bed. Let’s start of the beginning shall we?

Today was like any another normal Thursday. You got up at 7am, have a shower, brushed teeth, got dressed and went downstairs to have breakfast. Same breakfast as always. Peanut butter on toast, your favourite. You took your place at the dining room table like normal. Only for these last few months you’ve had an extra house member. Your mothers new husband. Your new step father. Dmitri Antonov.

Your mothers best friend Joyce had a package from Russia sent from her beloved Jim Hopper, rose from the grave. Your mother insisted for Joyce and Murray not to go on their own. So of course she invited herself along too. Even when Joyce and the kids moved away from Hawkins they kept in contact everyday. They did have a beautiful friendship. You loved your mother dearly but my god she liked to take over. Anyway long story short after Joyce and Hopper reunited and moved back to Hawkins your were even more surprised to see you mother with a man. Another one. You see your mum was a bit of, well to put it bluntly, a whore. You didn’t even know who your father was as there was three people in the line up. Yes three. Of course you were very wary at first as you had no idea who this stranger was and now he was living in your home. A month after he moved in they got married in secret. You were mortified when you found out. You were so angry that your mother did this. Brought this stranger into your life without knowing him properly. Was here here for a green card? Or did he actually care for your mother? Or was there any other reason? You really didn’t know. You acted more of a child than you should of but she just left you if the dark again. The day you found out you stayed in your room refusing to come out. You sobbed into your pillow as you felt let down by her again. There was a gentle knock at your door. ‘Go away!’ You shouted. ‘Y/N, please?’ You hear Dmitri’s voice on the other side of the door. ‘What do you want?’ You said sadly. He opened the door and his heart broke a little seeing your eyes all red and puffy. Tears still rolling down your face, chest breathing heavily up and down. Dmitri closed the door and sat next to you on the bed. ‘I, I am sorry. She told me you knew’ Dmitri begins to say. ‘She said you were happy to have a father figure in your life. I promise if I would of known how this would of made you feel I would of not married her’ he says his hand stroking your back. You looked up into his eyes, bottom lip still trembling. You didn’t know what to say, Dmitri’s words hit home a lot more than you expected. You can’t deny it was kind of nice to have him around. You talked a bit and did get on well, maybe he wasn’t the bad guy? ‘I, I’m sorry Dmitri’ you say as tears start to roll down your cheek again. Dmitri did not say anything, he only brought you in for a hug. This was the first time you two had been this close. You wrapped your arms around his neck and cried into it. Your chest pressed again his, his hand still stroking your back soothingly. He let you cry as much as you needed that evening. That evening you two got a bond. A bond that would never be broken Flicking through a magazine about New York’s new fashion trends whilst eating your toast you hear Dmitri and you mother upstairs. They were arguing. Again. You see as yours and Dmitri’s relationship became better, his and your mothers seemed to be getting worse. Your mother had sadly fallen back to her old ways. Before Russias rescue mission and Hawkins downfall your mother would go out every weekend drinking and bring a different man home. You had the unfortunate of your room being across from you mothers and hearing them. You listened to your walkman a lot. She swore to you after everything that had happened these last few months she would not become who she was. She lied.

One Friday last month your mother did not come home that night. Around 2am the phone rang waking you up, Dmitri answered. You opened your bedroom door and crept down the stairs listening in. ‘Who is this?’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘You fucker’ ‘For fuck sake. *sighs* Yes I’ll be there in ten’ Dmitri slammed the phone down. You walked to the kitchen and saw him rubbing his eyes. ‘Everything okay?’ You asked in a quiet voice. Dmitri turned to you giving you a warm smile. ‘Yes, fine. Your mother. I, I have to go pick her up from, from a friends’ he says looking like he may want to cry. You know exactly what he means. ‘Do you want me to go?’ You ask walking over to Dmitri. He shakes his head, ‘No, no. You go back to sleep. I won’t be too long okay?’ He says placing a kiss on the top of your head. ‘Be careful’ you say hugging him, he hugs you back and rests his hand upon yours. You and Dmitri had become more close so hugging was comfortable and natural now. ‘I will, go on. Back to bed’ he says letting go of you. ‘Goodnight’ you say walking back upstairs. ‘Night’ Dmitri says as he puts his coat on. You fall back asleep no problem only to be woken up not even a hour later. You sit up and hear shouting from Dmitri and your mother. You try to ignore it only it’s difficult. You get out of bed and open the door slightly.

‘Кто, черт возьми, это был?!’ (Who the hell was that?!’) Dmitri shouts.

Neither you or your mother speak Russian so you have no idea what he is shouting.

‘I do not understand what the fuck you are saying!’ Your mother shouts back words slightly slurred. Yup she was drunk.

‘Ты сказал, что больше не пьешь!’ (You said you don’t drink anymore!) Dmitri shouts something out again.

‘Talk fucking English if you want to talk to me! I. Do. Not. Understand!’ You mother screams back angrily.

‘What is the point? You clearly have had a drink. After promising Y/N and myself that you wouldn’t. I get a phone call from another fucking man asking me to pick you up. From his house! From his bed! шлюха! (Whore!)’ Dmitri shouts. You’ve never heard him like this. You mother does not reply to him. You can hear her moving to the kitchen, most probably looking for more drink. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, you peek your head out slightly and see Dmitri clearly upset. He stops on the landing catching his breath. He turns to your door and you quickly shut it before he sees you. You hear more movement from your mothers downstairs and then Dmitri’s bedroom slam shut. You climb back into bed hoping to somehow sleep

Things had not been the same since then. Your mother still goes out over the weekend. Does whatever she does and then calls Dmitri to pick her up. He always does. That’s the saddest thing of all. No matter where your mother was or what time he was calling he always got her. They wasn’t as much arguing as before. It’s like Dmitri had slowly come to accept his new life. He was suppose to have a better life here. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. ‘Morning sweetie’ you mother said beamingly as she made her way to the kitchen. ‘Morning mum’ you said with a smile. ‘Do you mind finding something to do later, you know, so you’re not at home?’ You mother asks pouring some coffee. You look up from your magazine. ‘Why?’ You ask. Your mother sits across from you. ‘Well some people are coming over. Work friends.’ She says taking a sip. ‘Oh Denise and Carol? Why do I need to go? I haven’t seen them in ages would be nice to say hi’ you say taking a bite out of your toast. ‘No not those friends sweeties. Having Gary and Dylan over. They are new. Going, going to show them the ropes’ she says smiling. You drop your toast down, it lands wrong way up but you don’t pick it up as it sticks to the plate. Your stomach churns and eyebrows raise. ‘W-why, why here? Why can’t you show them at the office?’ You ask stuttering. Your mother rolls her eyes. ‘You know why. C’mon sweets. I’ll give you some money so you can do whatever you want?’ She says finding her purse. ‘What about Dmitri?’ You ask. She looks up at you blankly, for a second you think she’s forgetting who Dmitri is. ‘Oh honey, he knows. Don’t worry’ she says handing you $60. You look at her not saying anything. She grabs your hand and pushes the money into your palm. ‘So I’ll see you Saturday okay?’ She says kissing you goodbye. ‘But mum, it’s only-’ you shout to her but she shuts the door and is gone. ‘It’s only Thursday’ you mumble to yourself. You don’t bother to finish your breakfast. Works pretty slow so the morning drags. On your break you decide to call Dmitri at work, just to give him a heads up about tonight. You didn’t know what your mother was planning on doing but you didn’t want Dmitri to see whatever he was.

‘Hawkins police this is officer Antonov how can I help?’ Dmitri says answering the phone

‘Hi Dmitri it’s Y/N’ you say

‘Oh hello Y/N. This is an unexpected call. Everything okay?’ He asks slightly concerned

‘Yeah all good. I, I was just wondering. (You can’t exactly blurt out what you thinks gonna happen with your mother and her ‘friends’ over the phone) I was, lunch. Want to grab some lunch?’ You ask hoping he will say yes. It will be much easier to talk in person

‘Sure, was about to go for lunch, I’ll come pick you up?’ He says grabbing his keys

‘Okay, sounds good. Thanks. See you soon’ you say hanging up the phone.

You were nervous to talk to Dmitri. You didn’t know what you were going to say or how you were going to say it but you needed to. Ten minutes later you see Dmitri arrive. You go outside and get in the car. ‘Well this was a nice surprise. My morning has been pretty shit to be honest. So thank you’ he says with a warm smile. Your heart drops to your stomach, surely you’re just going to make it worse. How can you tell him when he’s looking at you with such a warm kind smile? ‘N-no problem. I’m sorry you’ve had a bad morning. Wanna talk about it?’ You say putting on your seatbelt. ‘Don’t want to bore you don’t worry. What about that new drive through for lunch, it’s just opened? I don’t have too long so something quick will have to do’ he says pulling onto the street. ‘Sure, sounds great’ you reply. You can’t help but shift in your seat, you were feeling nervous and uncomfortable keeping this from him. You wanted to tell him but how could you? Dmitri noticed. ‘Hey, are you okay?’ He asks turning his head slightly to you. ‘Mmhmm. Fine’ you reply in a small voice. ‘Y/N, I’ve been living with you for some time now. I can tell when something is wrong’ he says pulling into the drive through. ‘What would you like, my treat?’ He asks. ‘Just a burgers good. Thanks’ you say quietly. Dmitri orders and parks up. He begins to eat as your fiddle with the wrapping of your burger. You look over to Dmitri surprisingly he’s already looking at you. ‘C’mon. Tell me what’s wrong’ he says taking a bite of his food. ‘Nothings wrong’ you mumble. Dmitri sighs and puts his food down. He turns slightly towards. ‘Y/N?’ He says. You don’t look up. You feel his fingers lift up your chin so you look at him. You flinch at his actions as they take you off guard. ‘I can tell you have something to say’ he says, his fingers not leaving your chin. He looks at you with those kind eyes and warm smile. You sigh. ‘You can’t go home tonight’ you say in a quiet voice. He looks at you confused. ‘Mum. She has, she has people over. She’s given me $60 to be out of the house till Saturday. I’m so sorry Dmitri’ you say as your eyes fill up. You close them so you don’t see his face. A tear rolls down your cheek, you feel Dmitri’s thumb wipe it away and stroke your cheek. ‘Y/N?’ He says in a calming tone. You reluctantly open your eyes. You look at him. He doesn’t seem to have any bad reaction. No anger in his eyes. He removes his hand from your face and sighs loudly. ‘I know. Gary and Dylan right? I, I heard your mother on the phone last night. She thought I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. I heard what she said. She told me it was a work thing but not those two men. She does not know I know. I would like to keep it that way. I, I have a room booked in a hotel for the next two nights.’ He says looking at his hands. You don’t reply straight away, you are shocked to hear. ‘You, you know?’ You whisper. Dmitri nods and turns to you. ‘I do. But I do not want her to know that I do. So I would be grateful if you did not tell her’ he says with pleading eyes. ‘But why? Why do you not want her to know? She’s, she’s cheating on you!’ You blurt out more loudly than anticipated. Dmitri rubs his eyes. ‘You think I don’t know that? She does not hide it well. I don’t think she cares anymore. I, I don’t think she loves me anymore’ Dmitri says sadly. ‘Dmitri, I, I’m sure she does. My mum. She just. It’s the alcohol. It makes her so stupid things. Really stupid. I am so sorry she makes you feel like this. You, you do not deserve it at all’ You say sighing sadly. ‘You are too kind Y/N.’ He says looking up at you with sad eyes but smiling still. You smile back. For a minute the whole world just stops as you look at one another. You’ve never realised how handsome he is

‘So what will you do?’ He asks snapping you out of your trance. You look at him confused. ‘I mean tonight and tomorrow?’ He asks. ‘Oh shit. I forgot. I, I don’t really know. I would stay with a friend but Eddies at a gig, Nancy and Johnathan are away for the week, Steve has a few dates lined up and Robin is working.’ You say wondering what an earth you could do. ‘Well -Dmitri clears his throat-, if you wanted. You, you could stay with me?’ Dmitri asks slightly nervously. You can feel your cheeks blushing, wait why are you blushing? ‘Are you sure?’ You ask hesitantly. ‘Of course. Can’t have you no where to go just so you mother can do whatever the hell she wants. I’m sure we can watch some movies, room service? How does that sound?’ He asks. Just you and Dmitri. Your step dad. Alone. You can’t help but get a tingly feeling all over your body. Your not sure why your reacting this way. ‘I’d love to. Thank you Dmitri’ you say with a smile. ‘No problem, now eat, we need to get you back to work’ he says with a smile. You tuck into your burger as he drives you back to work. You mind wanders to this evening. You realised you didn’t have any clothes. You’d have to go home regardless to pack.

The rest of the day goes quickly compared to your morning. Dmitri called you at work to ask if you could pick him up since Hopper needed the car in the garage, you said you would. Before picking him up you drive back home to pack some clothes for the next couple of nights. Luckily no sign of your mothers car. You decide to have a quick shower before packing you bags. You throw on your black skirt with a band tee, pairing with knee high socks and your vans. You pack your clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant, all the essentials. Just as you zip up your bag you hear the door open downstairs and the sound of your mother laughing. Great. You put on your bag and make your way down. ‘Sweets. What are you doing here?’ You mother asks smiling through gritted teeth. You feel the two men staring at your legs as you come down the stairs. ‘Just packed a bag for a couple of nights. I’m out of here don’t worry’ you say going towards the door. ‘Boys why don’t you make yourself a drink, kitchens down the hall to the right’ she says with a flirty smile. You wanted to puke at the sight of your mother flirting with these strangers. She pulls your arm before leaving. ‘Where are you staying?’ She asks looking you up and down. ‘Just at a friends. They said I could stay on the couch.’ You reply back. Your mother smiles from ear to ear. ‘That’s great honey. I’m glad you can sort yourself out. Here’s another $40, maybe come back Monday?’ She says with a Cheshire Cat smile. You snatch the money and roll your eyes. ‘No problem.’ You say bluntly as your open the door. You turn back before leaving, ‘You know what? Dmitri doesn’t deserve this shit from you. He deserves someone better.’ You say slamming the door shut. She doesn’t even bother to come out after you. You drive to the station ready to meet Dmitri feeling infuriated by your mother and her actions. How can she chose to sleep around with men when she has Dmitri? He’s so kind and caring. Not mention he’s a very beautiful man, it hadn’t go unnoticed by you of course but he’s your step father, so those thoughts were hidden. As you park up you see Dmitri talking to Hopper each smoking a cigarette. Dmitri has changed into some more comfortable clothes, jeans and a top. You can’t help but stare as Dmitri brings the cigarette to his lips, he inhaled the sweetness of the nicotine his nostrils flaring slightly. He holds it for a minute then breathes it out, his chest heaving as he breathes out.

Dmitri sees you as he finishes his cigarette, you just staring blankly at him with an expression he’s not seen before. Hopper follows Dmitri’s eyes. ‘She okay?’ Hopper asks. ‘I think so, why do you ask?’ Dmitri says putting out his cigarette. ‘Listen man not my business but she’s looking at you like the way Joyce looks at me’ Hopper says. Dmitri turns to him raising his eyebrows, ‘Excuse me? Dmitri says surprised. ‘Like I said man. Not my place to say, have a good weekend’ Hopper says parting Dmitri on the shoulder. Dmitri picks up his bag and walks over to your car. You snap out of your trance when you see him walking over to the car. He opens the passenger door and throws his bag in the back. ‘Thanks for picking me up’ he says sitting down putting on his seatbelt. ‘No worries’ you say with a smile. You sit there for a minute in silence before Dmitri spoke. ‘So the hotel is about a forty minute drive, I’ll direct you or I can drive?’ He offers. ‘Maybe you drive, I’m not the best with directions. Dmitri chuckled and gets out of the car walking to your side. You climb over to the passengers seat, Dmitri notices your skirt lifting up, his eyes follow it as it lifts. He can see the outline of your lace underwear. He feels a twinge in his boxers. Both seated Dmitri starts to drive to the hotel. A minute of excitement and nervousness runs through you. ‘So where does your mother think you are, I presume you didn’t say with me?’ Dmitri asks turning to you slightly. ‘I told her a friends. She was happy I wasn’t staying long. Where did you say you were going?’ You ask. ‘Told her had to work away the weekend, don’t know if she believed me but either way she did not care. She was also happy I was not going to be there.’ Dmitri replies in a somewhat sad tone. ‘I told her she doesn’t deserve you before I left. I told her you deserved someone better’ you said. ‘You did? Well that was very sweet of you Y/N, I appreciate it’ Dmitri replies, his hand moved on your bare thigh giving it a little squeeze, it’s like it had mind of it’s own. You felt your cheeks blush at his touch, you could feel him pulling his hand away but you rested yours on top so he couldn’t move. You both turned to one another and face a small shy smile. You stayed like that the whole car ride. Dmitri turns into the hotel, ‘Sleepy Stays’ the sign read. It was nice looking, a large building with lots of windows and trees around. Definitely better than a motel but no five stars. He parks up and you reluctantly move your hand away so Dmitri can move his. Your not sure what is going on with you but you want his hand back on your thigh. You both get out grabbing your bags, we’ll you go to get yours but Dmitri takes it. ‘I can carry my own bag’ you say shutting the door. ‘I know but I would like to’ he says smiling. Gosh his smile is breath taking

You walk next to one another as you walk to the doors. It’s even nicer inside, light yellow walls, red flowers dotted around in vases, a fancy chandelier in the middle of the lobby. It was better than you anticipated. You both walk up to the front desk, the lady behind it gives you two a smile. ‘Good afternoon, we are checking in. The name is under Dmitri Antonov’ Dmitri says taking his wallet from his pocket. ‘Good afternoon sir, madam, I will just check that for you’ she replies typing on the computer. ‘Yes got you down here. King size bed with suite, will that be cash or card?’ You don’t hear what Dmitri replies as your heart is beating through your ears. You didn’t even think about the sleeping arrangement. A king bed? At least it’s big enough for you both. But what if you snore or drool in your sleep? What if you roll over and your next to him? What if- ‘Y/N?’ Dmitri’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. ‘Mmhmm?’ You reply, your unsure if words will come out of your mouth. ‘I said you ready?’ Dmitri replies grabbing the bags. ‘Oh, yeah sorry’ you reply. ‘Enjoy your stay Mr and Mrs Antonov’ she says with a smile. Dmitri nods back and you smile. Neither of you correct her. Y/N Antonov, you kind of liked that. Damn it snap out of it. He’s married. Married to your mother! Okay calm down. Dmitri presses the button as you wait for the lift to arrive. ‘You okay?’ He asks. You turn to him, ‘I’m good yeah, why? You okay?’ You reply far too quickly. ‘I’m good. Just checking, you seem, nervous?’ Dmitri says shrugging his shoulders. The lift door opens and Dmitri lets you go first. He presses number two and you start to go up. ‘Well, I am a little bit I guess’ you say twisting your fingers into one another. ‘Hey, there’s nothing to be nervous about, I promise’ he says with a reassuring smile. His tone of voice and smile help you calm. You make your way to the room and Dmitri unlocks it with the key. Again letting you in first. Of course such a gentleman. But also in the back of Dmitri’s mind he can’t help but look at your ass as you walk in front. It’s been a while since your mother and him were intimate due to her list of men. He couldn’t help but get excited as it wobbles a little as you walk. Dmitri’s thoughts remind him, calm down. Your married. To her mother. Stop this now.

The room is nice, same colour yellow as the lobby. The king size bed taking up most of the room, it looks very comfortable. There’s a small TV, two bedside tables, lamps and a painting of two people kissing above the bed. You quickly look away from that and go investigate the bathroom. ‘This is lovely’ you say walking in. ‘Sparkling clean for staters and look at this, a bath and a shower!’ You say excitedly. Yes you have a shower at home but the pressure terrible you couldn’t wait to try this one out. ‘I’m glad you like it, it is very nice’ Dmitri replies putting the bags down, he lays down on the bed and moans. Wait. What? You’re unsure if you heard that right but he does it again, it sounds fucking heavenly. ‘Y/N, this is the most comfortable bed I think I’ve ever felt. You must come try!’ Dmitri shouts to you in the bathroom. You make your way to the bed and see Dmitri laid in the end of it, arms stretched up behind him. You plop on the edge and lay down, not too close to Dmitri though. You can’t help but let out a small moan too. You cough to cover it but Dmitri heard you. He would do anything to hear it again. This damn bed was magic. Making you both moan as soon as you lay. What they hell was going on? ‘I have to agree. This is much comfier than my bed at home’ you say stretching your arms up sinking more into the bed. You close your eyes and just relax for a minute. Dmitri turns to you. He can’t help but stare at you. You truly are beautiful. You are beautiful just like your mother but you were a much more decent person. He watched the way your arms starched above your head causing your top to go tighter around you chest. He gulped at the sight of your chest constricted in that top. He’d give anything to take it off. He gulped nervously as he could feel something growing in his pants. You turn your head and open your eyes to see Dmitri staring at you. Your cheeks blush once again as did Dmitri’s. For a minute you both just stare into one another’s eyes, like it’s the first time you’ve truly seen each other. Dmitri clears his throat and sits up. ‘So erm room service, sound good?’ He asks getting up looking for the menu. ‘Yeah sounds good’ you say sitting up. Dmitri finds the menu as sits down next to you so you can both look at it. Your heart beats quicker as you feel his clothed leg rest on your bare leg, shoulders bumping into one another. Neither of you move away. ‘So, see anything you’d like?’ Dmitri says looking at the menu. You haven’t even looked at the menu yet, just at him, you unconsciously bite your lower lip. Uh huh you think to yourself. ‘What would that be?’ Dmitri says looking up at you. Shit you spoken out loud. He is surprised to see you staring at him, my god that lip bite. He can’t help but think how sexy you look. You quickly look down at the menu. ‘Oh erm, the, the- pizza!’ You shout pointing to it. ‘Sound good, I’ll order two pizzas and some beers?’ Dmitri says standing up to order the food. ‘Sure, sounds great. I’m gonna have a shower quick, if, if that’s okay?’ You say standing up. ‘Of course’ he says smiling. ‘Cool cool, won’t be too long’ you say rushing to the bathroom.

You close the door behind you and rest your head on the door. My god woman calm the fuck down. What had gotten into you? I mean yes this is the first time you and Dmitri had been alone. And yes you’d always found him attractive but he’s married. Once again to your mother! Not that she deserved him anyway. You push all thought aside as you focus on your shower, yes the lovely shower. You strip out of your clothes and step into the shower. Already the warm water helps you calm, the pressure feels so good too. There’s shampoo and soap already in the shower compliments of the hotel. You begin to massage to shampoo into your hair. It smells like roses and driftwood, very pretty. The smell of driftwood lingers more and your minds brought back to Dmitri. He smells of driftwood sometimes. You can help but think of him whilst you wash the shampoo out. You think of him in the shower washing your hair for you. You think he’d be gentle, washing it throughly making sure all the bubbles were gone. After your hairs all clean you begin to wash your body. You think of Dmitri and how he’d help you. Starting at the top working his way down. His hands lathering you in bubbles. Cleaning everywhere. Not missing a spot. Him going down on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those deep blue eyes. Kisses on your inner thighs, him moving them apart so he can look at your bare. The water running down his body, his hair. He didn’t care. He was face to face with your bare beautiful pussy. You think about his lips. How they’d kiss your clit. How his tongue slowly click a stipe across your- ‘Y/N?’ Dmitri voice comes with a a knock on there other side of the door. You quickly open your eyes to find your hand has wondered down to your throbbing core, you hadn’t even realised what had happened. ‘Erm, yeah?’ You shout back quickly removing you hand. ‘Foods here’ Dmitri says. ‘Already? That was quick!’ You shout back washing the remaining bubbles. ‘You’ve been gone twenty minutes’ Dmitri days. ‘Oh shit, sorry, getting out now!’ You say turning off the shower. Your imagination got the better of you, how the hell were you suppose to face your step dad again after those intrusive thoughts? You get out the shower and wrap the towel around your body.

‘Oh fuck’ you mumble. With hurrying to get to the bathroom you’d forgotten your pyjamas. Wait. Fuck. You were in a rush you pack your bag you’ve just realised you didn’t actually pack any. There’s nothing you can do other than go out. You look in the mirror and take a deep breath before you open the door, you poke your head out and see Dmitri bent down in front of the TV flicking through the channels. You step out and approach the room. Dmitri hears you as he continues looking for something, ‘anything you enjoy watching most?’ He asks. ‘I don’t mind, erm, do. Do you have any pjs or something?’ You ask holding your towel tightly around your body. ‘Pjs?’ Dmitri says turning around to you. Fuck. Dmitri stands up straight and is taken back by seeing you just in that small towel. Hair wet running down your shoulders, towel hugged tightly around you so he could see your curves, the end of the towel resting on your wet thighs, he could see your nipples sticking through the thin fabric of the towel. Shit. He was done for. He gulped as he looked at your body up and down, he could not help it. ‘Dmitri?’ You say feeling very flustered. The way he’s looking at you gives you tingling feeling through out your body. ‘Hmm? Sorry. Pjs right. Erm, I don’t own any. However I have a spare shirt?’ He suggests pointing to his bag. ‘Yes please. Thanks’ you reply moving to grab his bag. You lean down a little to pick it up from the bed. Your towel rides up, your bare ass is out. Dmitri can help but look. He lets out a small moan at the sight of your ass. It looks even better than he thought. The moan doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You turn around shirt in hand. You can see Dmitri’s face is full of lust and excitement. You can’t help but bite your lip again. You don’t know what comes over you. If it’s the long looks. The touches here and there. Or just because you and him are finally alone but you decide fuck it. You walk towards him slowly until you stop right in front of him. You look right into his eyes tossing the shirt down. He watches it land down on the floor. Without saying any words your hands unwrap the towel around you, you drop it to the floor. Your heart races faster than it ever has

Dmitri does not say a word as he sees the towel drop to the floor. His eyes dart down to your bare body. It’s even more magnificent than he imagined. Dmitri falls to his knees in front of you, you’re unsure what he is doing. He picks up the towel and lifts it, ‘I think you dropped this?’ He says throwing it across the room. You watch as it darts across the floor, Dmitri’s hands make your head turn back. You feel his hands stroking the back of your legs up and down slowly sending goosebumps through your body. His hands stop when they meet your ass, he squeezes your cheeks causing you to gasp. You look down at him to see him smirking up at you. He leans in closer as presses his lips onto your stomach. He kisses along your hip bones, you can already feel yourself becoming wet. ‘Fuck’ you whisper. ‘Y/N, you have such a beautiful body’ Dmitri praises as his lips trail down lower. ‘So perfect. In every way’ he continues praising you as you feel his lips move down to the top of your thighs. ‘Such a pretty girl’ he says as he places a kiss on the part of your thigh that is right next to your thobbing core. You whimper as the almost contact. He looks up at you again with those deep blue eyes as he stops his face in front of your pussy. Looking like how you pictured him in the shower, only this time it’s really happening. He places a kiss on the top of your pussy. You can’t help but squirm as you need more. ‘Please Dmitri’ you whine. ‘Please what baby? Tell me what you want’ Dmitri says digging his fingers into your ass more. The new nickname baby melts you heart. ‘Please. Touch me’ you beg pathetically. You don’t care though. You need him to touch you. Dmitri doesn’t use his words to answer. His hand leave your ass and make there way to your pussy. He opens up your dripping wet lips. ‘ебать’ (fuck) he mutters under his breath. You moan loudly as you feel his tongue lick your wetness from your hole to your clit. Your body jolts at his movement, you hand moving to his hair to pull it. He moans as you tug his hair. He licks you again, agonisingly slow. Your body struggles to stand as his tongue licks up and down. ‘Need, need to lay’ you moan out. Dmitri gives one last long lick before standing up and walking to the bed. He lays down on his back, you look at him confused. ‘You said lay down no? Come here Y/N. I want you to sit on my face’ he says in a seductive tone. Fuck. You make your way over quickly not caring how desperate you look. You crawl onto the bed till you stop at his face. You swing a leg over so it’s on the top of his shoulder as you line your pussy up to his mouth. ‘так красиво’ (so beautiful) Dmitri says as you sit on him. You don’t know what he is saying but it turns you on even more.

Dmitri doesn’t waste another second, his tongue immediately finds your clit with no problem. He starts off slowly licking a figure if eight on your throbbing bud. You feel yourself becoming more and more wet, you’ve never been turned on so quickly. His moustache tickles you a little but you don’t mind, it’s a reminder of who is under you. You’re a moaning mess on top of Dmitri, his tongue picks up speed as his lips latch onto your clit and he begins to suck the tender skin. ‘Fuck’ you moan throwing your head back. You reach your hand out behind you and make your way down to Dmitri’s jeans. Your stop when you find his button and zip. You fumble around trying to undo it but can not. ‘Undo these, need, need to touch you’ you moan as Dmitri’s tongue circles your clit. Dmitri’s hands wonder down undoing his zipper and button. Your hand wonders back down as you meet the waistband of his boxers. You move your hand under and slowly graze the head of Dmitri’s cock. You move the pre-cum on his tip slowly. Dmitri moans in your pussy as he feels you touching him. The extra vibrations cause you to buck your hips into him. ‘Fuck Dmitri!’ You moan as you carry one moving your hips. Dmitri detaches his lips and looks up to you, ‘Ride my face baby’ he says before going straight back in, his tongue flat licking you up and down. You do as he says as you start to ride his face. You let go of his cock so you can balance yourself. His tongue feels so fucking good as you move back and forth on it, his moustache brushes past you clit from time to time causing you to moan loudly. The noises you were making anyone walking past would most definitely hear you but you didn’t care. This is what you’ve been craving for so long without even knowing. Your hands come to your breasts as you start playing with your nipples as you can feel that familiar feeling creeping up on you. You begin to move faster on Dmitri’s face as you ride his tongue. ‘Fuckfuck’ you moan. ‘Gonna, gonna - cum!’ You scream out as you feel yourself letting go and coming on Dmitri’s tongue, it’s the most intense and best orgasm you’ve had. Dmitri licks up all your cum as you slow down on him, you finally stop to catch your breath. Dmitri can’t help but give you small kitten licks. ‘Too, too much’ you say whimpering. After catching your breath you move one legs off Dmitri and fall back into the bed on your back. You’ve never had an orgasm that intense before, you feel a bit dizzy. Dmitri shifts so he is laying next to you, still fully clothed. He props himself up on his elbow as he moves your hair from your face tucking it behind your ear. You look up to him seeing his pupils so blown as he looks at you so lovingly. You can see his moustache, lips and chin are wet from you, it turns you on even more

You pull him by his top and bring him in for a much needed kiss. His lips are soft and just how you imagined. He’s gentle at first, taking his time. He does not to forget your first kiss anytime soon. He hopes it is not the last. As you kiss more it becomes more passionate, your hands start to roam his body, tugging his top for him to take it off. Dmitri breaks the kiss to pull his top off. He also finally takes off his jeans properly and his boxers. Now he is fully naked with you. You can’t help but admire his body. He looks fucking good. Nice toned body, little bit of hair leading down to…wow. His cock. It was big. You’ve not seen many but out of them all his is definitely the best looking one you’d seen. Dmitri sees you at looking him with fuck me eyes, he can’t help but feel smug. ‘Like what you see мой дорогой? (My dear) he asks smiling. You look up to meet his eyes, nodding and biting you lip. You open up your legs to invite him in. You see Dmitri’s cock twitch at the sight of your open legs. ‘Fuck me Dmitri’ you say propping into your elbows. Dmitri can’t move fast enough. His body pressed again yours, chest to chest. You bring your hands around his neck bringing him in for a kiss. Dmitri instantly takes control of the kiss, you open your mouth letting him enter his tongue. You can taste yourself still on him. The kiss becomes more sloppier and needier. You can feel Dmitri’s hard cock pressing on your stomach. You move your lips to kiss his neck, careful not to bite it no matter how much you want to. You hear Dmitri let out a low moan making you clench around nothing. ‘Please. Fuck me. Daddy.’ You say the last word with a smile on your face. Hearing you call him daddy makes Dmitri harder if that is possible.

Dmitri moves his hand down to toy with you sensitive clit. You moan at his back touch. ‘Such pretty noises from a pretty girl’ he says leaning down to kiss your neck. He finds the special spot instantly as he teeth latch on and suck it. You moan into him as your wrap your legs around his back pushing him closer. Dmitri lines up his cock to your pussy and slowly brings to insert it. You can’t wait, you move your feet and push down on his bum to push all his cock into you. ‘Fuck!’ You moan as Dmitri bottoms out. ‘So tight, ебать’ (fuck) Dmitri says as he fills you. His thrusts start off slow as he pumps himself in and out of you. You feel him reach places no one ever has. You know you’re not going to last long, Dmitri knows he’s not going to last long either. ‘Harder daddy’ you command as you dig your nails into his back. ‘My princess wants it harder does she?’ Dmitri says pulling all the way out before harshly pounding back in. ‘Fuck, yes!’ You moan, it stings a little but it feels too good for you to care. Dmitri starts pumping in and out of you hard and fast, you can hear how embarrassing wet you are for him. You moan in sync with one another and you feel your orgasm approaching. You clench around Dmitri making his cock twitch. ‘Fuckfuckfuck, gonna cum!’ You scream into Dmitri shoulder. ‘Cum Y/N. Cum on me’ Dmitri moans. You finally let go as your orgasm breaks. Your legs shake uncontrollably as you cum all around Dmitri’s cock. Dmitri is not far behind, you feel his cum fill your pussy up as he moans your name. There’s so much it begins to spill out of you but Dmitri doesn’t stop. It feels too fucking good to stop. Once Dmitri has done filling you up he lays in you still catching your breath. Your eyes meet and you both smile lovingly at one another. He leans down and kisses your lips, gently but with just as much passion. Dmitri slowly pulls out of you and let’s next to you, you feel his cum starting to pour out but are surprised when you feel Dmitri’s fingers pushing it back in, you moan as your still very sensitive and a little sore. ‘This. This is mine now. I can not let you go’ Dmitri says as his fingers push the cum in. Your stomach flutters at his words, demanding yet but sexy as hell. ‘I’m all yours daddy’ you say pushing his hand further up in you. He brings you in for another kiss

You don’t know what the future holds, you and your step dad had just crossed a big line. A big one. You’re both betrayed your mother. But neither one of you are thinking about that as Dmitri holds you in his arm tracing circles. Right here. Right now. This moment is perfect

#dmitri antonov fanfic #dmitri x reader #dmitri antonov x reader #hot daddy #dmitri antonov #dmitri stranger things #strangerthings #smut #stranger things smut #enzo x reader #enzo stranger things #dmitri stepdad #stranger things

[inevitablemoment]

Samlan September Day 8 - POV Outsider

Word Count: 598

Warnings: Unlikable POV, abuser's POV, internalized misogyny, microaggressions, mentions of 22x03

Fandom: Law & Order

Pairings: Nolan Price x Samantha Maroun

Fulfilling my dream of telling Andrea Rankin off with Protective!Samlan fluff.

Enjoy!

————————

Andrea sipped her champagne as she looked around expectantly for a certain someone. Of course, since he had apparently decided to fashion himself as a "man of the people," maybe he wouldn't be showing up tonight.

When they had been dating, Nolan seemed to enjoy these functions. At least, when she asked, he remembered to always say yes. And he remembered the rules; smile, only speak when spoken to, and don't pig out.

Andrea succeeded when she finally spotted Nolan with his little slip of a secretary on his arm. Of course, he was smiling, as she would have trained him to, but...

This was different. His eyes were a lot brighter than when he had smiled at her. Each movement of his was genuine and in-the-moment, unlike how he just seemed to rehearse every conversation for each possible outcome before he had it with her.

The secretary girl whispered something in his ear, and he let out a laugh. Andrea never liked watching comedies with him, and not just because his taste in movies were so banal-- how could a boy who had a law degree enjoy watching Bill Murray and Harold Ramis getting high on MDMA and singing doo-wop tunes as a jody call? His laugh often got on her nerves, especially if she was trying to work.

She sauntered up to Nolan, letting her shimmery black dress due most of the work for her. The secretary was wearing an off-the-shoulder, burgundy number that complimented her curves and showed off a bit more cleavage than Andrea's dress. Well, Andrea could certainly see how someone as young as her was promoted to work alongside the Executive ADA. Her ebony hair was curled into forties starlet-style ringlets that made her look like she had just rolled out of Clark Gable's boudoir. But her face was fixed in a glare, something protective that reminded her of a fierce guard dog.

Oh, wait? Was she going to get fired from the firm for thinking that?

"Nolan..." she put on her most sultry voice, even though she hated it. "It's been while..."

Nolan seemed to recoil from her. "Yeah, it... it has, Andrea. Now, if you'd excuse us--"

"But you just got here," Andrea tried to block their way. "Really, Nolan... are you still angry with me about trying to save a sick man from death?"

The secretary scoffed. "You're making it sound like you trying to pay for the man's chemo when he shot up any person who looked remotely Asian on the subway!"

Nolan placed a hand on the secretary's shoulder, rubbing his thumb into the skin of her collarbone as Andrea spotted something gold on a certain finger. "Sam, it's okay-- don't want you stressing out."

"See? Nolan-- whom I've known since college-- says it's okay," Andrea pointed out.

"No, Andrea, I mean that it's okay, Sam doesn't have to come to my rescue," Nolan corrected. "I can tell you what I think of you myself."

Andrea furrowed her brow in confusion before deciding to change the subject. "I-- I didn't that you've gotten married."

Nolan looked back at the secretary with that unfamiliar smile, keeping his eyes on her as he said. "Yes, we are. One year, as of last week."

The secretary smiled back at him. It made Andrea's blood begin to boil. She only grew angrier when she finally noticed the roundness in the other woman's belly. The secretary turned back, the fire reigniting in her eyes.

"Now... if you'd excuse us," she emphasized every word as she helped Nolan-- her husband-- make his escape.

#Samlan September 2023 #samlanseptember #Samlan #Nolan x Sam #Nolan x Samantha #Nolan Price x Samantha Maroun #Nolan Price #Hugh Dancy #Sam Maroun #Samantha Maroun #Odelya Halevi #Law & Order #Law and Order #Andrea Rankin #OTP: You Have A Bright Future In This Office #OTP: A Really Smart Prosecutor Once Told Me

[monstermaster13]

Werebelushi: 'Nobody knows exactly where my Were-Aykroyd counterpart comes from, i've heard some people say he comes from an alternate universe, i've heard some people say that he's from the distant future, and i've just got the hunch he is me only played by Dan Aykroyd.'

Were-Aykroyd in Shades: 'Yeah, i'm an alternate universe version of you.'

Nathan: 'Favorite actors? Well in the following order: Christopher Walken, Danny Trejo, Chris Sarandon, George Clooney, Tony Todd, Bruce Campbell, Corey Feldman, Dan Aykroyd, Bill Murray, Eddie Murphy, John Goodman, Sly Stallone, Jeffrey Combs, Jack Nicholson, Jeff Goldblum, Jack Black, Kyle Maclachlan, Billy Zane, Glenn Shadix, Robert Z'Dar.'

Werebelushi: 'Jack Black and both Belushi brothers for me. John's my hero, i'm not actually John though.'

Nathan: 'I've been told I look like Johnny Depp and Collin Farrell put together.'

Mel: 'I got a lot of Kristen Stewart comparisons when I had my previous goth-girl look. But now I get a lot of Sarah Michelle Gellar comparisons and a lot of Amy Jo Johnson comparisons.'

Eucalyptus: 'Jenny Slate, Christina Ricci.'

Oatsie: 'I get David Bowie comparisons.'

Werebelushi: 'Let's see.. in terms of famous people I get compared to...there's John Goodman, especially when angry. Kevin Smith, Jack Black, Meat Loaf, and also most commonly Robert Z'Dar in Samurai Cop and Glenn Shadix. Proud to say I like those comparisons.'

Eucalyptus: 'Hail to the great Aykroyd, master of ghostbusting and blues music.'

Dan/Were-Aykroyd: 'Yes, hail to papa Aykroyd indeed.'

Nathan: 'I change my opinions a lot. Like for example I may initially despise Jojo's Bizzare Adventure because of the fanbase but if I discover cosplay and fanart of it and i'll immediately warm up to it despite not having seen it.'

Werebelushi: 'Okay, I can totally get why Spies Like Us and Nothing But Trouble would be on a dvd double feature because they're both comedies that feature Dan Aykroyd and Chevy Chase, but Mars Attacks I don't get, I don't recall either Dan or Chevy being in Mars Attacks, oh I get it because they're both dark comedies or commercial flops. Yeah, but Nothing But Trouble is different than Mars Attacks because if you have to compare it to a Burton movie, it should be Beetlejuice.'

[okpow]

NFL Picks vs The Evil Las Vegas Point Spread Week 8 - Cornball Russ Edition

Imagine trying to sleep while this geek does lunges next to you. Also the Lakers are... 0-5?

Cards at Vikings - Vikings favored by 3.5

Smell the fantasy goodness. Justin Jefferson ACTUALLY CATCHES A TOUCHDOWN OR TWO in this one. But so does Rondale Moore. There’s a lot to figure out for both teams in this one - is Minnesota elite-lite if they win here and only have one lose (to Phili)? Does Kyler Murray just need Hopkins back in the lineup to NOT RUN THE 30TH BEST OFFENSE IN FOOTBALL or whatever their deal is. Shootout? Shoutout. Over on 49 points.

Dolphins at Lioins - Dolphins by 3.5

THE FANTASY GAME OF THE WEEK IN WHICH TY-FREAK GOES FOR 2 CATCHES 200 YARDS AND THREE TUDDIES. THIS IS HOW COMMMON CORE MATH WORKS DON’T ASK QUESTIONS. Dan Campbell violently chews a quarter pound of chewing gum as he nervous/angry watches Detroit’s kicker WIN THE GAME AS A HOME DOG with a walk off. LIONS ON THE MONEY LINE.

Bears at Cowboys - Cowboys by a mighty 10 points at home

This line started at 7 and moved to 10 BECAUSE THIS IS OUR YEAR DALLAS. I think the Bears can keep it close in garbage time. Famous last words.

Raiders at Saints - Raiders by 1.5

This started as a pick ‘em game because it’s the definition of a pick ‘em game and now the Raiders are favored. The Raiders are probably the better team here? The Saints still have no WRs outside of Olave and have a wheels off QB situation. Raiders cover.

Panthers at Falcons - Falcons by 4

Two of the juggernaut teams that Tom Brady has to deal with twice a year COLLIDE IN ATLANTA. Said no one ever. No clue what to make of the Falcons. Kicker-fest in this one, I’ll take the Under on 41 points AND THE PANTHERS COVER behind their XFL QB. Abandon all fantasy hope ye who enter here.

Patriots at Jets - 40 point Over Under

I think this shoots out, relatively speaking, because nothing makes sense anymore. The Mormon Milf Hunter throws at least 2 INTs for no reason.

Steelers at Eagles - Eagles Implied Team Total of 27 points

They can’t keep getting away with it. Or can they? The Eagles are just omg sooooo hot right now but there’s some weird “Pride of Pennsylvania” narrative going on here that I don’t care to investigate any further because fuck Pennsylvania. The Iggies WILL NOT SCORE 27 POINTS IN THIS GAME.

Titans at Texans - Over/Under 41 points

This seems extremely low considering it’s on turf and Derrick Henry is involved. Over on points. This game even has some sneaky shootout potential BECAUSE THE TEXANS DON’T GIVE A FUCK.

Giants at Seahawks LIVE FROM THE TERROR DOME - Seahawks by 3

Didn’t have this one as a Game of the Week candidate a few weeks ago but here we are. It’s clear by now that Russ Cornball Wilson is nothing more than a CarrollBaby and NOW PETE CARROLL HAS A NEW BEST FRIEND AND HIS NAME IS GENO AND HE’S ACTUALLY BLACK AND HE’S THROWING DIMES. Speaking of Dimes, Daniel Jones, who looks like a Madden Create a QB template player, will rush for 100 yards. Giants on the money line in a good one.

Packers at Bills - Bills favored by 10 in the elements

A Packers team projected to score under 20 points in a big game environment yikes. MAYBE DRAFTING A BACKUP QB AND A BACK UP KINDA-NOT-EVEN-GOOD RUNNING BACK WHILE THE FACE OF YOUR FRANCHISE IS WINNING MVP AWARDS WASN’T THE BEST COURSE OF ACTION? Packers will keep it close though.

#nfl

[shiftythrifting]

I have so many regrets about not buying this clown doll it’s not funny/lh

#submission #thrifting #shiftythrifting #clowns #looks like angry bill murray

[erectionsandtea]

I was bored so I started trying to line up the IT characters with the ST characters, here's what I figured:

Bill Denbrough

↳ Mike Wheeler

Reasons: The leader. Passionate. Determined. Also a stubborn little bitch. Could be bad if they really tried, lol. In love, but with whom, it's unclear. Also kind of a dumbass. Would die for you, literally, he tried to sacrifice himself at least once. At least bi, if not full-on gay.

↳ Joyce Byers

Reasons: Believer from the start. Will never give up on you. At first, most of her time is spent looking for missing family member.

Stanley Uris

↳ Max Mayfield

Reasons: Sarcastic af. Deadpan sense of humor. Resting bitch face. Could out-sass everyone. Eye-rolling. So done with you.

↳ Lucas Sinclair

Reasons: Realist. "What are we doing?" "Why are we here?" "This is stupid." Didn't believe in any of it at first. Screams like a girl. If any party member was going to be irrationally scared of a painting...I feel like it would be Lucas. Maybe Dustin, lol.

Eddie Kaspbrak

↳ El Hopper

Reasons: Sheltered early life. Lied to and/or misled by an abusive and manipulative parental figure. Eventually stands up to said parent and chooses friends over this so-called "family". "Papa"/"Mama" & "Mommy", 'nuff said. So much emotion/power in such tiny body. Will rage, seriously, they are the scariest and most intimidating person when angry. Shortest in the group. Love interest for the lanky, dark-haired idiot played by Finn Wolfhard.

↳ Will Byers

Reasons: Gay af. Only male in the group who can rock short-shorts and a fanny pack. Raised primarily by mother, due to either dead or absent father. Also the love interest for the lanky, dark-haired idiot played by Finn Wolfhard, whom he loves back for some unknown reason. XD

Richie Tozier

↳ Steve Harrington

Reasons: Doofus. Big hair. Thinks he's smoother with the ladies than he really is. Actually a huge dork. Talks big, but is not as confident as he pretends to be. A little self-deprecating.

↳ Jim Hopper

Reasons: Self-loathing. Comes off as a little bit of an asshole, but is, in actuality, caring, sensitive, and very protective of his loved ones.

Beverly Marsh

↳ Nancy Wheeler

Reasons: Doesn't look all that intimidating, but can and will kick your ass. Obviously the coolest, toughest, and most badass group member. Falsely labeled as a slut. Has a bad father. Is treated badly by other men in town. I see Bev as the loser most likely to know how to fire a gun. Maybe Bill.

↳ Robin Buckley

Reasons: Most upbeat. Most calm in a bad situation, she can keep a clear head. Will affectionately call you names, like "doofus" or "loser." Probably the smartest person in the room, lbr. Has literally looked death/danger in the face and pissed it off-either by laughing, not being intimidated, or just basically being like "fuck you." Definitely a little gay.

Ben Hanscom

↳ Dustin Henderson

Reasons: Will talk about things he knows, at length, if you let him. Likes books and libraries. Thinks science and/or history is cool. Nerd.

↳ Jonathan Byers

Reasons: Quiet. Crushing from afar. Probably awkward at parties, lol. Artistic soul. Good taste in music.

Mike Hanlon

↳ Will Byers

Reasons: Most underdeveloped and underused character in the group. Deserves only good things bc he literally did nothing wrong. Missing at least one parent. Has deeper knowledge and/or connection with the villainous, other-worldly creature. Normally soft-spoken until you piss him off.

↳ Murray Bauman

Reasons: Does a lot of research in his small living space. Actually has a clue about what the fuck is going on in this crazy town and knows the town's history. Smart, can figure out what the bad guys are up to, and how to defeat or just elude them. Has everyone's information, lolll.

Henry Bowers

↳ Billy Hargrove

Reasons: Asshole. Bully. Mullet. Abusive father. Dies a well-deserved death.

Georgie Denbrough

↳ Barb Holland/Benny Hammond/Bob Newby: Superhero

Reasons: Loved by all, hated by none. A bit naïve. Didn't deserve death, only killed off to progress the plot for at least one of the main characters.

Pennywise

↳ Demogorgon/Mind-Flayer

Reasons: Raging interdimensional asshole, consistently defeated by children.

#stranger things #IT #bill denbrough #stanley uris #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #georgie denbrough #pennywise #mike wheeler #joyce byers #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #el hopper #will byers #steve harrington #jim hopper #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #dustin henderson #jonathan byers #billy hargrove #mileven #byler #reddie #weird shit i come up with #my analyses

[twiststreet]

I saw the Suicide Squad trailer.  I like the Suicide Squad comics (Ostrander-Yale only), but I have no patience for James Gunn.  And I didn’t like it cause I don’t like his stuff and I was sitting here thinking about... 

I think the thing I hate about James Gunn’s comedy is it’s all Super Bowl comedy.  You know how when you watch the Super Bowl, the commercials are either, you know, “America’s going to come back from it’s doldrums and fucking kill you and fuck your dead body Ford Trucks Drive a Ford truck you pussy America has dirt in it that we photographed look at this dirt under our fingernails that’s not going to hold us down uh uh got to keep on moving” rah-rah patriotism, with the very serious monologues, John Hamm or Matthew McConnaughey doing Sarah Jessica Parker Sex in the City monologues except about America... 

OR... It’s “comedy.”  But it’s not really funny comedy...?  It’s Super Bowl commercial comedy...?   

Like, lately, during the Super Bowl, it’ll be like, you’re watching Kevin James running down a street, and he’s all wheezing, because he needs to eat some doritos, he hasn’t eaten enough doritos, goddamn Kevin James you fucking dipshit who even taught you fitness, but then Kevin James will stop and start panting outside an apartment building and ... OH SHIT, Jada 👏 Pinkett 👏 Smith 👏 just leans out of the window and says “Fuck you Kevin James you ain’t shit and your mom ain’t shit and your dick looks like a broken pencil and I wish I had a pencil sharpener I’d sharpen both ends of that dick EAT DORITOS you fucks” and then the music goes wazzoo wazzooo wazzooo... cause you THOUGHT you were watching a commercial about Kevin James YOU DUMMY but actually you’re watching a commercial with TWO celebrities in it instead, Doritos burned a whole bunch of money HELL YEAH, it’s the muh-fucking Super Bowl!!!

That’s how James Gunn is “funny” to me.  Where I just look at it and think “This is just a cretinous corporate product where the words have been put into the shape of comedy but that serves none of the functions of actual comedy, that means nothing except to sell people something that looks like food and tastes like food but very much is NOT food”  ... but then having to just imagine the sort of slack-jawed yokels that are like “aaaaah, this fucking guy GETS IT.  He knows where I live.”  I mean, it’s nerds, and I’ve read a million comics-- your sci-fi / fantasy has always had pretty lousy comedy.  (One time Marvel did a “comedy What If” special and the “jokes” were like “what if Doctor Octopus fought Captain America instead of Spiderman?” That was it.  That was the entire joke.  I think it won an Eisner for Special Excellence in Comedy that year or something...).  Sci-fi/fantasy is about hiding from the world, and comedy is about being like “haha look at the world”-- that’s not a happy marriage-- that’s my theory, but... 

Why is that comedy there in the Superbowl ads?  My guess: you think about the history of American comedy-- it’s a bunch of Vaudevillians and drop-outs and stoners and long-hairs at first, sure, who are all hipper than the room saying “look at these schnooks we’re surrounded by”.  But then over time, maybe everyone comes to thinks they’re hip and certainly not one of the schnooks cause that’s how audiences work.  Show an audience a movie about an underdog and they’ll think they’re underdogs-- most of them are the reason why the dog’s under.  Show them a Bill Murray movie and they’ll think they’re Bill Murray-- they’re the cop who listens to Walter Peck and shuts off the grid.  Throw a rock at a right-wing person (please!) and they all think they’re fans of edgy comedy and free speech, even though you could make any of them red-faced angry and ready to shoot up a mall with like 5 fairly innocuous opinions.  Advertising just flows downhill from there. It’s just how corporations understand how to sell things to the schnooks now.

But I don’t know.  I’m just sad a lot lately haha so there’s that!  Anyways, I’ve lost track of my point.  I saw a movie trailer by a director I hate which I watched cause I wanted to see how they did the bad guy after I saw people post about the bad guy.  Wheee... Anyways, lunch break over...

#movie trailers.

[caranfindel]

Fic: Day Seventy-Four

Because Mystery Spot was on TNT and this episode does things to me.

gen, angst | about 3400 words | PG-13 for language | characters: dean winchester, sam winchester |

Synopsis: Day seventy-four in Broward County. Sam is coming apart. Dean tries to keep him together.

. . . .

Dean is showered and dressed before Sam even wakes up. He feels good, strangely good. When the alarm goes off, even the crappy 80s music pleases him. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" he says. Because today is not going to be about deals and countdowns and wondering if this will be the last time he ever does X. He can feel it. Today is going to be a good day, an easy job, and...

And Sam. Who sits up, grabs the clock/radio and hurls it across the room to shatter against the wall. And then sits there on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands moaning "Oh, God, Dean, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know, it was stupid. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry. Please, Dean. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Okay. So much for the good day.

"Hey." Dean approaches Sam warily, not sure if the correct approach for today is talk-it-out or lighten-the-mood. "Apologize to the hotel manager, not me," he says lightly. "I'm not a big Asia fan anyway." Sam looks up at him and ah, fuck. Wrong answer. He's pale and shaky, tears are running down his face, and his expression is kind of desperately unhinged. Fuck. "Must have been a hell of a nightmare," Dean says carefully, sitting on his own bed. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, close enough to touch Sam if he needs it, if he wants it. "Wanna talk about it?"

Sam draws a long, shuddering breath and examines the carpet. "I don't. I really, really don't. But we have to." Okay. The fact that he's going to Hell in a few months is the last thing Dean wants to talk about. (And for the thousandth time he thinks, what have I done to you? And for the thousandth time, he answers, I saved you, that's what I did. I did one goddamn thing right.) But yeah, it looks like they're going to have that conversation again.

So at first he doesn't get it when Sam looks him in the eye and says "It's a time loop. I'm caught in a time loop. Like Groundhog Day."

"Come again?" Dean blinks. Replays Sam's statement in his head and rejects it. "No, Sam, you just had a nightmare."

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. "It's not a nightmare. I'm caught in a time loop." He sounds like he's reciting something from memory, like he's already told this story dozens of times. "I'm living the same day over and over again. It's just like Groundhog Day. I'm Bill Murray, you're Andie MacDowell."

Dean starts to protest - as if the most inappropriate thing about this scenario is that he's Andie MacDowell in it, but really, that's all he can process right now - and Sam holds up a hand and says, completely in sync with Dean, "Dude, I am not Andie MacDowell."

The fuck?

"No, sorry, you don't like it when I call you Andie MacDowell," Sam continues, in that same emotionless voice, as if he's speaking by rote. "You're Chris Elliott. But it's the same day, over and over, and it ends when you die," and Sam's voice breaks a little. "And then it starts right back up again. Here. This. This room, this song. And you die again."

Huh. Either Sam has gone completely off the rails. Or. Huh.

"Do you believe me?" Sam asks wearily. "I can prove it if you don't."

Dean rolls it over in his head. On the one hand, this is weird, even for them. On the other hand, Sam is just completely fucked up over something. So, either it's really happening, or Sam believes it's really happening. If it's B, he'll wake up in the morning and remember this conversation. If it's A, he won't. So he'll assume it's A right now. If it turns out to be B tomorrow, he'll deal with that.

"Yeah," he says. I believe you."

"Okay." Sam relaxes a bit.

"So. Groundhog Day. How many days?"

"Seventy something. I think today is... yeah, today is day 74."

And Sam spins a story about waking up to the same song dozens of times, living through the same events, changing one small detail after another, and always failing, always watching Dean die in the end. Christ. Dean imagines seventy-plus days of knowing Sam's going to die, waiting for Sam to die, watching Sam die, and waking up to do it again. No wonder his brother is unravelling. "Shit, Sam," he says. "I'm sorry." But he knows Sam, and Sam wouldn't spend seventy-plus days just freaking out. "So, what do you think? Where are your notes?"

Sam waves weakly in the direction of his laptop. "No point taking notes. They're gone when I wake up. Every day goes back to the beginning."

"Okay, so tell me what you know. What you've tried."

Sam sits up a little straighter and something in his face sharpens as he shifts into hunting mode. (That's my boy. I know you've been working on this.) "I thought it was the Mystery Spot at first," he says, "but I've torn it down to studs, salted and burned it, even did an exorcism. Nothing. I did the same thing to this hotel. No effect." He ticks off the options on his fingers. "It's not psychic visions. I've searched for hex bags or any other evidence of witches. It's possible I'm in a coma and I'm dreaming the whole thing, but I don't know any way to test that. I'm pretty sure it's not a djinn. I know that one's a long shot anyway. If it's a djinn, it's a kind that gives you nightmares, not good dreams. But I tried to test that yesterday." Sam's voice falters at the end, and Dean is immediately suspicious.

"How did you test that? Because the only way I know to get out of a djinn's dream..." (Is to try to kill yourself in the dream.)

"Yeah." Sam's examining the carpet again, refusing to meet Dean's eyes.

"Sam?"

Sam sighs, still not looking at Dean. "Okay. I know, it was stupid. I thought, maybe if I died, that would, I don't know, end the dream. Or break the loop if it's something other than a djinn." He gives Dean a quick guilt-tinged glance. "But you caught me and you tried to get the gun away from me and... anyway. That was yesterday. That's how you... that's what happened yesterday." Sam puts his head in his hands again. Yesterday must have been a really bad day. And yesterday, for Sam, just ended. Dean thinks about what his brother just went through, minutes ago, and his stomach lurches.

"So you're saying that ten minutes ago in Sam time, you tried to kill yourself and you and I fought over the gun and I got shot. And I died. And you woke up." How is Sam even sane? How is he living through this? And then Dean thinks about what Dean just went through, minutes ago. "Fuck, Sam. Don't do that again. Promise me you won't do that again. Do not try to kill yourself. You understand?"

"I don't think it matters," Sam mumbles.

"It matters to me, dammit!" Dean imagines finding Sam, trying to pry the gun out of his fingers, and just thinking about it makes panic rise in his throat. "Don't do that to me. Even if it's like, djinn me or alternate reality me or dream me. Don't do that to me." (I saved you. I saved you from this.) His gut twists in sympathy for that other Dean, the Dean who found Sam with a gun pointing at his own head and tried to stop him. "Did you even tell me why? Did I know what you were trying to do?"

"I wrote you a note." Sam pats at his chest, where a pocket would be, except he's only wearing a T-shirt now. "In case it didn't work."

Christ. Dean pictures how that would have unfolded - hearing the gunshot, finding his dead brother, note tucked into his pocket (probably with part of it sticking out, with Dean's name on it, so he'd be sure to find it, because the little shit would be a stickler for details like that), explaining that he had to kill himself to attempt to stop a time loop that didn't even matter because Dean would be rotting in Hell soon anyway, and he thinks of Sam's blood on his hands again, and Sam's last stuttering breath again, and Sam's cold still body again, and he's so angry he can't even speak for a moment. "Fuck, Sam," he finally snaps. "A note? A fucking note?"

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam lies back on the bed and covers his head with his arms. "I just, I didn't know what else to do. I can't think straight any more." His breath hitches and he stops, trying to compose himself. "I can't," he finally says. "I'm out of ideas. I just. God, Dean, I'm so tired. I don't think I can do this any more. I've watched you die seventy-three times now and I just. I can't."

The fear and anger pounding away in Dean's chest softens when he thinks about Sam cycling through this same nightmare over and over, without stopping, and then something clicks. "Of course you're tired. You haven't slept in more than seventy days."

"I don't think I need to sleep," Sam mutters through his arms. "I think I must get reset every time."

"Well, your body might not need sleep, but damn. You need a break. Your head needs a break. You need a day off. You need a fucking nap, Sam."

Sam huffs. "A nap. Right. That'll fix it."

"No, really." Dean stands. "You need to sit here and watch TV with me like we used to do and then you need to take a nap and just have one day where you don't think about any of this."

Sam lowers his arms and eyes Dean narrowly. "You serious?"

"As a heart attack. Scoot over."

"God, Dean," Sam mutters. "I'm not five any more." But he scoots over, and Dean sits next to him, leaning against the headboard, arm raised. And without a word Sam curls up next to him and leans his head on his shoulder. Dean wraps his arm around his huge baby brother and yeah, he's not five any more, but he still makes that contented little sigh. And the fact that he's willing to do this, that he seems to need this, shows Dean that he really is falling apart.

(And the fact that Dean is willing to do this? Is really kind of enjoying it? Is fighting back the urge to push Sam's hair out of his eyes? Doesn't really require further consideration.)

Dean picks up the remote and begins flipping through the channels. "Hey, Gilligan's on." They watch in silence for a few minutes.

"You know," Sam says, "I used to be jealous of them. I used to wish we were stranded on an island. Just us. No monsters to kill, no people to save, no weapons to clean, no laps to run." He pauses, and adds quietly, "no Dad."

Dean swallows the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry your childhood sucked that much."

"Don't be," Sam replies quickly. "It wasn't your fault. You're the one who didn't have a childhood because you were too busy taking care of me. You were the one who made it tolerable. Anything good that happened to me was because of you."

Since Sam can't see his face, Dean indulges in a pleased grin. "Don't get chick flicky on me, Sam."

"Actually," says Sam, "I can get as chick flicky as I want. Cause you won't remember any of it. I can say whatever I want and I don't have to worry about being embarrassed, or you getting mad, because tomorrow you won't have a clue what I said."

Dean laughs. "You think so? Well, maybe I will have a clue. Maybe I won't die today, just to spite you, and I'll always remember whatever stupid things you told me. So go for it. Be as sappy as you want, you big girl. Tell me I'm your hero, and I'm awesome, and you've always wanted to be just like me."

"That's true," Sam says. "All of it's true." He tenses under Dean's arm. "But I'm also pissed as hell at you. You shouldn't have made that deal. You should have just let me go."

Dean doesn't think he knows the words to make Sam understand why this is so untrue. (Sam doesn't need to understand. All Sam needs to do is stay alive.) He can't explain that if he dies, Sam loses a brother and moves on. But if Sam dies, Dean loses a brother and he also fails at his most important job, lets down the one person he isn't allowed to let down, and he doesn't think he can ever move on from that. So instead he says "I'm just putting things back the way they were meant to be, Sammy. I'm not even supposed to be here. I should have died a long time ago. This was, like, bonus time. We should just enjoy it."

"Fuck you," says Sam. "Even if you were supposed to be dead, which is bullshit by the way, you're not supposed to go to Hell." He stifles a yawn. "And that's why I've got to save you."

"You do that," says Dean. Then he squeezes Sam just a little bit, because, why the hell not. "You know, you could just leave me in this time loop. I might never die. Not permanently, anyway."

"I thought of that a long time ago, but I didn't want to risk it." Sam sighs. "I'm worried. I don't know if this is happening in real time. What if it really has been seventy-four days? What if I've wasted seventy-four of your days because I can't fix this?"

"Stop it," says Dean. "I said not to think about it, and I mean it. It's break time. I know you're gonna figure this out, Sam. If anyone can do it, it's you. But not today." Sam relaxes against Dean and yawns again. "You ready for that nap?" Dean asks.

"Once again, I'm not five," says Sam, who promptly yawns again. "Okay. Maybe. Try not to die while I'm asleep?"

"Dude," Dean laughs. "I'm in bed watching Gilligan's Island. What's going to happen to me?"

"Um, you've died in bed several times."

"Really? Were any of them, like, while banging a really hot chick?"

Sam chuckles. "No. None of them."

"Then I don't want to know." Dean pauses. "Actually, I kinda do want to know."

"Well... one time a semi truck lost its brakes and crashed into our room. And there was an earthquake that made the building collapse on you. And there were times you were sick. I think you had Ebola once."

"Ebola? That's messed up."

"No kidding. Your intestines were, like, liquified." Sam yawns again. They watch Gilligan's Island together quietly for a while. And Dean can't give him any answers, can't fix it for him, can't even promise to be there with him after Sam finally does fix it. But at least he can give him this. He rubs small circles on Sam's arm with his thumb, the way he did a million years ago when a nap and an episode of Gilligan's Island were all it took to solve Sammy's problems, and he feels the tension slowly slip out of Sam as he falls asleep. Dean turns the television off and thinks about an island with no monsters, and wonders if that's what Stanford felt like. (But it's no good, Sammy. The monsters still found you. They always do.) Dean refuses to let himself wonder who's going to protect Sam from the monsters when he's gone.

(And for the thousand-and-first time, he thinks what have I done to you?)

And he reminds himself that Sam can do this. Sam can survive as the lone Winchester. He did it for years. Dean can't do it. He tried. He didn't last a day.

(I saved you, that's what I did. I did one goddamn thing right.)

///

Dean doesn't even realize he has dozed off until he is awakened by a sharp pain right behind his left eye and immediately he knows, he knows this isn't right. He gently shakes Sam awake. Sam rouses slowly at first, then quickly sits up. "Dean?" he says. "Is it... it's not Wednesday, is it?"

Dean sees the hope on his brother's face and realizes this must be the first time in seventy-four days he's woken up to something other than Asia. He shakes his head and oh, God, that ratchets up the pain, and he's hit with a wave of nausea. "No, man, I'm sorry. It's still Tuesday." He knows Sam is crushed and he's kind of glad he can't see his disappointment, but also kind of terrified, because suddenly he can't see anything at all; it's all fuzzy and he feels like he's going to puke but he's afraid to move and fuck, it hurts so bad. "Sammy?" he whispers. "Have I ever died of an aneurysm?" Then there's a white hot explosion behind his eyes and fuck, he can't, and he thinks Sam's holding him and someone is saying "it's okay, it's okay" but it's not okay, fuck, it hurts so much, he just needs it to stop, someone make it stop, please, God, stop.

///

Dean is showered and dressed before Sam even wakes up. He feels good, strangely good. When the alarm goes off, even the crappy 80s music pleases him. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" he says. Because today is not going to be about deals and countdowns and wondering if this will be the last time he ever does X. He can feel it. Today is going to be a good day.

Sam sits up and stares at him with an unreadable expression. Dean smiles. Even emo boy Sam isn't going to ruin his good mood today. "Dude. Asia." Sam continues to stare. "Oh, come on," Dean says. "You love this song and you know it."

Sam finally gives him a weak smile. "It's okay," he says.

Yeah, it's okay. Everything is going to be okay today.

#my fic #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #mystery spot #hurt dean #this episode #so much love #10/10

[brianamorganbooks]

The Tricker-Treater

This is a teaser of the titular story from my upcoming horror collection. You can learn more about the project and help me bring it to life here!

Moira kicked spilled candy corn off her front step. The remnants of another weeknight massacre. This time, all in the name of a holiday.

She’d stopped keeping track of the holidays.

They meant nothing, after all. Just another day full of shit, another day without Norman in it. What was the point?

She looked over at the garden gnome that Norman had polished every St. Patrick’s Day. The ghost of an old conversation floated back to her as she picked it up from where the kids had knocked it over.

Moira closed her eyes and savored the memory.

“It’s a gnome, Norm. Not a leprechaun. It’s not his holiday.”

“I know that! But don’t you think what matters is doing it?”

In the present, Moira sighed. This St. Patrick’s Day, she’d grab a rag and polish the years of grime away. So far, she hadn’t had the strength.

It was the day before Halloween. She’d picked up trash all week, and if those damn kids tried their tricks tonight, she’d give them more than treats.

Movement on the sidewalk at the mailbox caught her eye. Riley stood there, all tousled blonde hair and sleepy brown eyes. His hand-me-down sweatshirt needed elbow patches. She’d see to that soon.

“Don’t stand there gawking at me. C’mon.” She waved him forward, but he looked at his shoes. She put her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter with you?”

“He’s coming here tonight to get you,” he said.

She squinted in the morning sun. “Who’s coming to get me?”

“The Tricker-Treater,” Riley said. “He’s coming here tonight. I made a deal with him.”

“What?” Riley never spoke in riddles. He wasn’t one to loiter at the end of her driveway either. “Peanut butter cookies inside. Tell me later.”

“No, he’ll be here later. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Moira frowned. “Stop listening to your brother. Come inside and have some cookies with me and we’ll go from there.”

Without waiting to see if he’d follow, Moira headed back into the house. She went straight to the kitchen. The storm door slammed shut not too long after, and Riley pulled up a chair at the kitchen table.

Moira carried the plate of cookies over to him. Up close, he looked like the same old Riley as always. All she saw was the haunted glint in his eyes he got from spending time with Taylor. Now school was back in, all he had was Taylor until their mother got home from work. Retail was hell, Moira remembered. When Riley’s mother got home, the last thing she’d want to do was scold Taylor for tormenting his little brother.

Norman would have scared Taylor shitless, given the chance. He would have protected Riley.

Norman had always been better with kids.

“Lots of trick-or-treaters coming here tomorrow,” Moira said. “So what makes yours so special? Why’s he coming here tonight?”

Riley froze with his hand halfway to a cookie. “Not trick-or-treater. Tricker-Treater.”

Moira shook her head. “I said that.”

“No, like… hang on.” He scooted the chair back from the table and dashed across the room to where the landline rested. There was a small pad of paper beside it. He snatched up the paper and a pen and ran back to the table. His brow furrowed in concentration. Sticking out his tongue, he leaned over the paper and spelled out the difference for her:

T-R-I-C-K-E-R

T-R-E-A-T-E-R

He set down the pen and waited for her to read his writing. Moira shook her head again. He didn’t know how to spell it.

“No ‘or,’” he said. “Tricker-Treater. He’s both.”

Something icy pricked the back of Moira’s neck. She brushed her fingers over the spot and found nothing. Her gaze drifted back to the paper.

“He’s both?”

“Mmhm.” Riley grabbed a cookie and took a bite. He devoured it, careful not to make eye contact with Moira. It was a sophisticated strategy for a seven-year-old.

Moira leaned on the table and stared at him. “Riley.”

He scooted his chair away. “I gotta use the potty.”

“Do you, or do you not want to talk to me?” she asked.

He stuffed another cookie in his mouth, and when he spoke, he sprayed crumbs everywhere. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“You mean the Tricker-Treater?”

“Yeah.” He choked on the cookie and coughed. Moira grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink. She patted him on the back and slid the glass to him.

Riley chugged the water and still couldn’t stop coughing. Moira took the plate of cookies from him, because no way in hell was he going to choke to death on her watch. Not if she could help it.

“You’d better head on home,” Moira said. “You’ll worry your mother sick.”

Riley scooted back from the table again. “Don’t call her. She doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here? Did you stay home from school, or did you skip?”

“I...”

His eyes darted to look over her shoulder. Moira spun around. Nothing there. When she turned back to him, he was heading for the front door.

“Riley!”

“I messed up, I messed up!”

She lunged for his sleeve and missed. He was through the front door and across the yard before she had time to try again. Damn it. What was wrong with that boy? He’d been in no hurry minutes before with a plate of cookies in front of him. The minute she’d mentioned his mother though…

Moira sighed and leaned against the door frame. Something was off with Riley, and she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she got to the bottom of it.

When he returned a few minutes later, Moira stood between him and the front door. “Riley, please. Tell me what’s going on.”

He chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna. I’m scared. It never goes well.”

“What do you mean, ‘it never goes well’?”

“Every time I tell you, it… I messed up,” he repeated.

Moira sighed. She was getting nowhere fast. Whatever he had on his mind, it upset him so much he wasn’t making sense. If she couldn’t get him to focus, she would never figure out what was going on. And, seeing as how it involved her…

“Riley.” Moira grabbed his shoulders and held him there, stooping to look into his eyes. “Whatever you think is going to happen, I can face it better if you tell me about it, okay?”

His lower lip quivered. “Even if it’s bad?”

“Even if it’s bad.”

Riley gulped. “The Tricker-Treater is gonna stop by your house tonight. You gotta meet with him and do what he says, or else.”

Moira quirked an eyebrow at him. “Or else?”

He hesitated. “Like I said, I’ve told you about him before, and he… he always makes sure to catch you. Even if you run away, he finds you and he…” Riley’s voice trailed off into a sob. Shiny, fat tears bubbled over his lashes and rolled down his face. Moira pulled him against her and wrapped her arms around him.

Shit, she hadn’t meant to make him cry. Jesus Christ, that was the last thing she wanted.

Moira’s chest tightened. “It’ll be okay, Riley. We’ll figure it out together, all right?”

Riley pulled away from her. He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“I’m older and wiser. Humor me, huh?”

He sniffed and wiped his nose. Moira debated getting a tissue for him, but it was too late—he was already rubbing the snot with his sleeve. As perceptive as the kid could be, he was still a kid, and he was gross.

Sometimes she wondered what it would have been like to have children. Sometimes she watched Riley and was glad that time had passed her.

“You should run home now,” Moira said again. “Even if you did skip school, your mom won’t be angry as long as you’re safe.”

His gaze jumped over her shoulder again. She waited for him to refocus. He’d come there in such a hurry, and now he kept drifting away. The urgency had waned. That was good.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Riley nodded. “I’m… a little better now.”

“No more getting upset over the Tricker-Treater, okay?”

Hesitation, then another nod. A slow exhale. “Okay.”

“You want a few cookies to take home? You can share them with Tyler.”

Riley wrinkled his nose at the mention of his brother. “He doesn’t deserve cookies.”

“I suppose he doesn’t.”

Moira patted him on the head and went back into the kitchen. She eyed the half-empty glass in a pool of condensation, the cookie crumbs Riley had sprayed on the table. She looked back at Riley, still standing where she’d left him, and her chest ached. She flattened a hand against her collarbone.

She and Norman could’ve tried a little longer.

“Riley?”

His head jerked up. “Huh?”

“You still want those cookies?”

“Um… no thanks.” He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater again. “I’ve never stayed this late before. I don’t wanna see him.”

The poor kid was talking in circles again. Better send him off to someone much more qualified.

Moira propped a hand on her hip. “Go on, get outta here before I call your mom. And be careful tomorrow.”

Riley cast a long look at her before putting his hand on the doorknob. That was all it took? No fight? No begging her for cookies, saying he had changed his mind?

She should have insisted he take some.

If he’d still demanded some, that would have been proof things were normal.

Instead, Moira frowned at the back of his head as he walked out and left the door open.

* * *

Moira tossed popcorn into her mouth and watched Bill Murray fail to woo Andie MacDowell. There was no reason for the network to broadcast Groundhog Day on October 30, but she wasn’t complaining. It had been one of Norman’s favorite movies. They’d gone to see it in theaters the day it came out, which seemed so long ago now.

Without Norman, time dragged on. How had it only been a year since his death?

Watching a movie she’d seen more than a dozen times soothed her ragged nerves. That the movie was itself a perpetual, familiar cycle was not lost on her. In fact, that was a large part of Groundhog Day’s charm—especially tonight, when there was so much on her mind.

Riley’s behavior had left her shaken and confused. Sure, he was a kid, but he’d always been perceptive, and she trusted what he said. He usually meant what he said. At that age, it was rare for children to have ulterior motives. Whatever Riley thought was going to happen to her, it was worth considering.

The Tricker-Treater was coming to get her tonight.

Moira’s gaze jumped to the glow of the streetlight that permeated her closed blinds. Outside, the air was cold and crisp. Inside, she was cozy.

She drew the knitted afghan tighter around her midsection. Andie had slapped Bill. Normally, the moment made Moira laugh. Normally, she wasn’t wound up like a coiled snake.

The chiming of her doorbell made her jump out of her skin. She jostled the bowl in her lap, spilling popcorn everywhere.

Why was she so jumpy? It was likely Riley and his mother, coming to check on her after their talk. Riley’s mom Adriane was nice—she apologized for Riley with baked goods and wine. When she wasn’t working, she tried to come over for tea and pour out her soul to Moira.

In another life, they could have been mother and daughter.

In another life, Norman might still be alive.

Another ache struck Moira’s chest. The doorbell chimed again, demanding her attention.

She set the bowl aside and stood. Whoever it was, they were insistent. She doubted they’d go away if she ignored them.

Probably some damn kids, anyway. God willing, they wouldn’t egg her when she opened the door—for their sakes as well as hers.

She didn’t feel forgiving.

Moira crept over to the door and pulled back the curtain on the window beside the door. She had to see who had come knocking.

There was no one there.

Puzzled, she let the curtain drop and stood on tiptoe to look through the peephole.

No one.

Moira stepped back. She flattened a hand against her chest.

The doorbell chimed again.

Icy dread stuck its fingers down the back of Moira’s shirt. Her hand settled on the cold metal doorknob. After a breath, she twisted it and pulled the front door open.

And gasped.

The man—if the thing could even be called a man—stood at least seven or eight feet tall. It had to double over to fit under the awning of her porch. Pale red skin stretched tight over pointed features, most notably a bear skull. At least, she thought it was a bear skull. Norman would have known for sure. Norman always—

Coal-black eyes glittered at her as the thing bared its teeth—razor-sharp—in some semblance of a smile.

It wore nothing but a top hat, which it tipped before it spoke.

“I hope you were expecting me.”

His voice was low and smooth, like a jazz singer’s, and she shivered. Moira supposed she should have fainted or had a heart attack by then, but once he spoke, all her fear disappeared. It was like he had swallowed it up with his words.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Riley didn’t tell you? I’m the Tricker-Treater. Would you mind if I came in?”

Moira froze with her hand still on the doorknob. What was she supposed to do? The Tricker-Treater offered the illusion of a choice. Was it merely that—an illusion—or would he let her decide how the evening would progress?

Moira let her gaze wander over the creature’s form again. He had the gaunt, emaciated look of a feral dog, and the tightness in her chest only tightened even further.

Nothing about him made her think he’d give her any choice.

“C-come in,” Moira said.

The Tricker-Treater kept his eyes locked on her as he stepped over the threshold and into the house. Moira swore he brought the smell of decay inside with him, but a moment later, it was gone.

Rotting pumpkins, she thought. That was the smell.

Moira gestured for him to sit on the couch. Eldritch horror or not, he was a guest.

The Tricker-Treater sat, bones creaking and popping as he did so. Moira tried her damnedest not to wince at the noises.

She sat in Norman’s favorite armchair and waited for the Tricker-Treater to speak.

“Has Riley… told you all about me?” he asked.

Moira paused. “How do you know Riley?”

“We made a deal. He’s a special child, isn’t he? Perceptive. Tenacious.” The Tricker-Treater flashed her another chilling smile. “Fragile.”

The blood dropped out of Moira’s face. “What are you getting at?”

The Tricker-Treater steepled his long, bony fingers. “It would be a shame if any danger were to befall Riley. If you could prevent such a tragedy, wouldn’t you want to, no matter what the cost?”

Moira rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. “Don’t you dare hurt him.”

“We made a deal,” the Tricker-Treater repeated. “He asked for money so his mother could be around more often. I told him I could give him anything he wanted—such as money—for a price.”

The Tricker-Treater’s eyes made Moira’s head swim. She broke eye contact. “So that’s why you’re here. You’re going to kill me.”

She should have known this was how she would die. Norman, with all his superstitions and wonder of the paranormal, had died of a stroke in the kitchen. A nice, normal death. Meanwhile, here she was, whisked away by a monster for the sake of a child’s wish.

“Not quite,” the Tricker-Treater said. “Well, only if I must.”

Moira’s head snapped up, and she met his gaze again, even though it dizzied her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Tricker-Treater tapped his claws against the coffee table. Click, click, click. “If you play by the rules, everything will be all right.”

The sinking feeling in Moira’s gut returned. “What rules?”

The Tricker-Treater’s unnerving smile returned too. “Every game has rules, Moira. Do you want to play?”

Her stomach had dropped to her ass, and she didn’t think it would resurface anytime soon. Whoever this man—or creature—was, he wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he wanted from her.

“What happens if I don’t want to play the game?” she asked.

“You lose.”

“And what happens if I lose?”

“Then Taylor wins.” The Tricker-Treater’s smile tore across his face. “And I take you away forever.”

Moira’s throat constricted. So he did want to kill her. Even if he acted like she had a choice, she didn’t.

Riley had already chosen for her. He had sealed her fate.

But what did Taylor have to do with it?

“Taylor?” she asked.

“To fulfill Riley’s deal, I must receive a sacrifice. He had to present me with someone he loves and someone he hates to play the game. I balance the scales. The loser dies.”

Jesus Christ, she thought, what had Riley done?

“He’s too young to make a deal like that,” she said. “You’re taking advantage of him.”

“I don’t discriminate,” he said. “A wish is a wish, and I must grant it. You must play the game, or die. These are my conditions.”

“What if Taylor and I both refuse? You only need to kill one of us, right? And you seem reasonable. You wouldn’t kill us to prove a point.”

“No.” The Tricker-Treater’s smile twisted into something darker, more feral. Moira wanted to scream, but panic kept her gaze fixed on his face. “In the case of two refusals, I take the wish-maker instead.”

Moira gulped. “You’d kill Riley.”

“Kill is such a boring word for what I do, but yes. Riley would become the sacrifice.” He steepled his fingers again. “But of course, you always have a choice.”

Did he think she’d let Riley die? She must have been Riley’s “someone he loves,” which meant the Tricker-Treater had to know she loved him too. She couldn’t damn him.

Only one thing to do.

“I’ll play,” Moira said.

“Wonderful. Let’s go.”

The Tricker-Treater snapped his fingers, Moira felt a tug, and the whole world went dark.

* * *

The reek of iron pulled Moira from unconsciousness. Her eyelids snapped open, pupils unfocused as they sought the light. Only a spare bulb hung overhead, struggling through the shadows. A familiar teenage form swam into view, fastened to a chair by ropes.

Taylor.

A shadow skulked off to Taylor’s left, and Moira’s gaze floated over to it. A long, lanky figure broke from the blackness and formed a solid shape. Sharp teeth glittered in the light as the creature grinned.

The Tricker-Treater.

He snapped his fingers again, and the lightbulb shattered. Moira went to shield her face from the exploding glass, but ropes restrained her. The Tricker-Treater had tied her down too.

A brilliant light enveloped the room, blinding Moira for a minute. The light faded to a ball that hovered over the Tricker-Treater’s head. It was small, but somehow bright enough for her to make out everything in the room, including Taylor.

She looked back at the boy. Blood dripped from ragged scratches in his cheek and stained the front of his shirt. That must have been the source of the iron smell—Taylor’s blood.

Moira looked to the Tricker-Treater for an explanation.

“He struggled,” he said, “so I had to be rough. But he’s learned his lesson. Haven’t you, Taylor?”

Taylor groaned and twisted against the ropes. The Tricker-Treater clicked his tongue and wagged a finger at Taylor. He froze.

“Think it’s time for me to explain the rules of the game to you both,” the Tricker-Treater said. “But no cheating. Is that understood?”

Moira still didn’t know what was going on, but she nodded nonetheless. Whatever game he had in mind, she had to win, for Riley’s sake.

She didn’t know what would happen to Taylor, except that he might die. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Across the room, Taylor grunted.

The Tricker-Treater gave a wet, hacking cough. Moira watched it rattle his prominent ribcage. Had he not been so frightening, she might have worried for him. As it was, she wished the cough had been worse.

The Tricker-Treater pulled another chair away from the table. It scraped across the floor with a sound that bit Moira’s eardrums. She flinched.

He lowered his long body into the chair and removed his hat, exposing his shiny, red baldness.

“I will now explain the rules, and I will not repeat myself. You both must pay attention if you want to win.”

“I don’t give a shit about winning,” said Taylor. “I don’t even want to play. I don’t give a shit about Riley.”

A muscle jerked in Moira’s jaw. What an asshole. Did this kid understand what he was saying?

“That’s not what you said to me earlier,” the Tricker-Treater said. “You agreed to play the game because you wanted him to live.”

Moira almost didn’t believe it, but the Tricker-Treater had no motive to lie.

The Tricker-Treater stretched a hand toward Taylor, and Taylor’s eyes widened. The Tricker-Treater’s razor claws glittered in the light.

“You’ll play,” he said, “or Riley dies.”

Taylor shut his eyes. “Okay, okay, but please don’t hurt me.”

“It isn’t me you should worry about.”

Moira swallowed a curse. As much as she hated to cooperate with this… thing, it seemed like they had no choice. If she didn’t play the Tricker-Treater’s game, Riley would die. She wouldn’t let that happen.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

The Tricker-Treater's smile widened. Moira withheld a shiver. Taylor flattened himself against the back of the chair, trying to get as far away as possible.

"Once I untie you both," the Tricker-Treater said, putting his hat back on, "you'll have fifteen minutes to choose a weapon and determine the sacrifice."

Moira frowned. "Kill each other?"

"So vulgar," he replied.

"I don't want to kill an old lady," Taylor said.

Like he even could if he wanted to, Moira thought. In her own way, she agreed—she didn't want to kill him, and she didn't want to die.

Riley couldn't die, either. She'd do what she could, whatever she had to. It wasn't a choice.

"Where are the weapons?" Moira asked.

Taylor gaped at her. "We don't have to do this!"

“I detest idle chatter,” the Tricker-Treater said. “Such a waste of precious time.”

Moira stiffened at his words. Did that mean they’d started? Were they supposed to get going? Why was she still tied up, then? The Tricker-Treater had said—

A click of his fingers and her bindings dissolved. Fuck, she had to get moving. She liked the word fuck, although Norman never had, and the way his face used to scrunch up when she said it to him—

“Moira,” the Tricker-Treater warned. “You don’t have time for reminiscing.”

She chose not to dwell on the discomfort of having him inside her mind in favor of finding a weapon.

But where the fuck were they?

Taylor was squealing something she didn’t care to listen to because she didn’t care more than for any other reason. She didn’t want to kill him but they would soon be out of time, and if she didn’t do anything—whether he killed her or not—Riley was in danger.

Moira dragged herself out of the chair and looked around the room. It was still difficult to see, with the only lighting coming from the flames conjured by the Tricker-Treater, but they were surrounded by several different boxes of all shapes and sizes.

Taylor leaped up from his chair and dove headfirst into the box behind him, digging like a dumpster-diver in search of castoff treasures. Shit, she had to get a move on or he’d kill her with whatever he found.

Moira started with a box on her left, plain cardboard on the outside, unassuming enough. As she dug through a pile of moth-eaten clothes, the sharp edge of something bit the palm of her hand. She cried out. Upon further, much more hesitant, inspection, she discovered the source of the wound—a Japanese samurai sword.

That’s a katana, Norm corrected in her head.

Moira didn’t have time to smile. She wrapped her fingers around the base of the sword and pulled—

Right as Taylor came sprinting toward her with a hatchet in his hands. The metal glinted as he brought it down, right as Moria darted out of the way.

“Jesus, Taylor!”

“Stand still!”

He lifted the hatchet and swung it down again, with Moira only narrowly dodging it this time. She was close enough to hear the whoosh of the blade as it came down past her face. As she ducked to the side, so did Taylor. His third hit struck her shoulder. White-hot flames lit Moria’s muscle fibers and leaked pain down her arm. Warm blood dripped off her elbow.

Jesus fuck, that hurt.

Movement caught the corner of her eye and she whirled around, still clutching her injured shoulder. Taylor had raised the hatchet again. She had to get out of his way.

Still carrying the sword, Moira feinted left. Taylor took the bait and swung. She moved right, raised the sword, hesitated—

The light went out. Moira couldn’t see one inch in front of her face. Distantly, the Tricker-Treater’s claws clicked against a hard surface. Dragged against it, more like.

Moira shivered.

Mooooiiiiraaaaaaaaa…

She jabbed with the sword, wincing as the blade bounced off the wall. She was almost relieved that she hadn't hit Taylor.

Something rough brushed her calf. She jerked back, swallowing a cry. Something metal clattered to the ground, and Taylor yelped.

"Don't move, Taylor."

"Are w-we out of time?" As brave and seemingly bloodthirsty as he'd been moments before, there was no denying the way his voice shook. Hatchet or not, he was only a kid. He had his whole life ahead of him.

And she'd tried to kill him.

Moira let go of the katana. It, too, clattered to the floor. "What's up with turning the lights off, huh? Not fucked up enough as it is?"

"I assumed it would be easier for you to kill him with the lights off," the Tricker-Treater said. "That way, you wouldn't have to see him."

"Whose side are you on?" Taylor countered. His voice had an edge to it that scared her, sharpened by fear into pointed rage. It made him sound dangerous.

She didn't think he had the strength to kill her, but fear could drive someone to do the unthinkable.

And she'd let go of her weapon.

"I believe in leveling the playing field," the Tricker-Treater said. "Moira is, shall we say, more experienced in life, and Taylor has more energy. We correct this discrepancy with darkness."

Moira swallowed. In theory, everything he was saying made sense. But all she could think about was that there must be something she’d overlooked—something the Tricker-Treater had overlooked. In other words, a loophole.

Some way to save Riley without having to kill his brother.

She had to pick up the katana again. Without it, she was powerless. And, there was still a chance that Taylor would rediscover his bravado, would run toward her again with the hatchet raised, would bring it down and—

The Tricker-Treater chuckled in the gloom, and Moira knew he’d been inside her head again. Shit, that was… inconvenient, to say the least. How could she try to find a loophole if he was listening in on everything she thought?

Get the fuck out of my head, she thought.

Again, the Tricker-Treater chuckled. “Manners, Moira. But… I would be remiss not to heed your request, as vulgar as it might have been phrased. All you had to do was ask.”

Moira gaped at him in the darkness—or, at least, she gaped in what she assumed was his direction. It was still impossible to see anything, and though the Tricker-Treater had claimed he was just leveling the playing field, Moira couldn’t understand how this was supposed to help her.

Distantly, Taylor whimpered. Could he be afraid of the dark?

“Please,” he said. “Turn on the lights.”

The Tricker-Treater’s claws clicked together as he contemplated Taylor’s request. “Moira, what do you think?”

What did she think? She thought this whole twisted game was a goddamn mess. She thought it was ludicrous that this… demon expected her to kill a child, or the child to kill her. She thought she would do almost anything to save Riley because she loved him, but she wasn’t sure she could do this.

Most of all, Moira thought she had already lost. She had to change her mind somehow, or else she really would. Find the loophole, she reminded herself. There had to be an angle she hadn’t yet considered.

Moira shuffled her feet. The point of the katana bit into her shin and she fought the urge to cry out. Warm liquid seeped from the wound—not too much, but not too little to escape her notice. The darkness heightened everything. Tentatively, she bent over and fumbled around for the handle, praying her fingers wouldn’t graze the blade. At last, they closed around fabric—the binding on the handle—and she pulled it up with both hands as she rose to a standing position.

“Moira,” the Tricker-Treater prompted again. And… the idea came to her.

If she could kill the Tricker-Treater, she could end the game. She’d win, without killing Taylor, and Riley would be safe.

Of course, she knew next to nothing about the Tricker-Treater’s fortitude, although he seemed like a formidable foe. She had to give it a shot. Anything was better than plunging the blade into Taylor.

“Turn on the lights,” Moira answered.

She tightened her grip on the blade and widened her stance to give her more stability. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck. Her heart beat so loudly it threatened to deafen her, but she stayed grounded. She didn’t have a choice.

The Tricker-Treater snapped his fingers, and the lights flickered on again. Moira coordinated her attack with the fluorescent flash. She ran full speed, katana thrust forward like a jousting lance. Taylor gasped, eyes widening in horror—until Moira jabbed the sword into the Tricker-Treater’s gut.

“Shit!” Taylor yelled.

The Tricker-Treater didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream, nor did he give any other indication that he had been struck. Instead, he wrapped his clawed fingers around the blade and looked right at Moira. The twisted grin he produced was the worst thing she’d ever seen.

“Well, now. Isn’t this exciting?”

Moira trembled, but she didn’t let go of the handle. If she did, she was afraid he’d find a way to turn the blade on her. Taylor crept closer to the scene, face ashen. He was trembling, too, even as he reached out to take the sword from Moira.

She shook her head vehemently. “You’re not responsible for this. Taylor, if anything happens—”

“It isn’t polite to speak about others as though they aren’t there,” the Tricker-Treater chimed in. He was still holding onto the blade, still the picture of tranquility even as the sword stuck out of his stomach and black blood dripped from the wound onto the floor. “I wonder if you two have forgotten your manners.”

“Fuck you,” Taylor spat.

Moira had to agree, though she couldn’t find the words. All she could focus on was the blood, the way it poured from the Tricker-Treater’s stomach even though the wound was technically still sealed up, and—

The Tricker-Treater flexed his claws, and his grin widened. The blade slipped out of Moira’s hands.

“Taylor!” Moira shouted.

The blade shot backward out of the Tricker-Treater’s stomach and whirled around to point at Taylor. He reacted a second too late. Moira stared in horror as the black-bloodstained tip pushed into Taylor’s chest. He stiffened, limbs flying out, mouth open, eyes the size of galaxies—

And then, his body dropped. It made a sick thwack as it landed.

Moira turned her head and puked. When she turned back, the Tricker-Treater was hunched over, holding his hat in his hands. He had the decency not to grin.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “This is… less than ideal.”

If she weren’t so afraid, she would have smacked him. “‘Less than ideal’? A child is dead! You fucking killed him, you son of a bitch.”

“If I hadn’t, you would have.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she insisted. “You’ve been inside my head. You must have known I wouldn’t.”

“Hmph.” The Tricker-Treater twisted his hat in his hands. He was having trouble looking Moira in the eye. “Well, this does present a challenge.”

She wrangled the urge to strangle him. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules of the game were clear. To save Riley, there must be a sacrifice.” He paused, as though waiting for her to remember the rules. “One of you must kill the other.”

“But we can’t now. Taylor’s dead.” Realization dawned on Moira, eclipsing the fear. “You killed him. That’s the loophole.”

“So it would seem.” If he was upset about Moira’s admission of looking for a loophole, it didn’t show. If anything, he was so lost in contemplation he paid her no mind. She could have attacked him then. Taylor’s hatchet lay on the floor not far from his body. If she leaned forward a little—

But what would happen to Riley? If she killed the Tricker-Treater, would she forfeit the game? She couldn’t wager Riley’s life on a spur-of-the-moment choice.

Instead, she had to bide her time and see what the creature decided.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “Riley must perish.”

All the blood drained from Moira’s face. Like hell he must, she thought. “What are you talking about? I played your stupid game. Taylor… well, that means I won. Those were your rules, remember?”

“Alas, Moira, that isn’t the case.” The Tricker-Treater clicked his tongue. “Neither of you did as I asked, as was required of you, so there is no winner. And, as there’s no winner, Riley’s life is forfeit. I’m afraid those are the rules.”

Moira’s stomach roiled. There had to be another way. She had to save Riley somehow, otherwise, Taylor had died for nothing. She refused to lose Riley, refused to let his mother bury both her sons.

“Take me instead,” she pleaded.

The Tricker-Treater hesitated. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Your life is only forfeit should the other participant take it. As the other participant is dead, there is no reason for your life to end.”

His logic and politeness made her want to tear her hair out. “Taylor shouldn’t have died. I didn’t kill him. Doesn’t that change up your shitty rules somehow?”

Again, he hesitated. His face twisted up as though he were in pain. “I concede that Taylor’s departure was unnecessary, given the game’s objective. Reckless, even. However… there must be some punishment for you.” The Tricker-Treater looked pointedly at the hole in his gut. “You also broke the rules.”

“You never said I couldn’t attack you,” she argued.

His mouth twitched. “Fair enough. Hm… let’s do this. What do you think I should do to you, Moira? What sort of fate would be equitable?”

Moira’s tongue sat like lead in her mouth. How was she supposed to make such a strange decision? The question wasn’t one she’d planned for. He wasn’t in her head anymore, so she wondered if she could just throw something out there, something far from “fair,” in terms of extremity. Or, perhaps he already knew what he would do to her, and he was just playing another sick game?

“Tick-tock,” said the Tricker-Treater.

Moira swallowed. Hard. If Norm were here, he’d have the perfect idea. He was always so wise, her Norm, even when he was being silly. The last time they’d watched Groundhog Day together, he’d said—

Groundhog Day. Yes, that was the answer. It was the only way for her to atone, while still paying homage to her husband. And, it was the only way to make sure Riley’s mother got her son back—and got to keep Riley, too.

It wasn’t a fate Moira looked forward to, but it was a fate she accepted.

She gave the Tricker-Treater a watery smile. “Have you seen any Bill Murray movies?”

* * *

When Moira came to, she was covered in sweat. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, and birds chirped outside. Jesus. She felt like she’d been run over by a train.

Out of habit, even after a year, she rolled over to look at Norm’s side of the bed. She smoothed a hand over the blankets and sighed. “Miss you more than ever, hon.”

Outside, the distant hum of a mower pierced the air. She must have slept in much later than usual. A glance at the clock on her nightstand confirmed her suspicions, and she groaned. That would teach her to go through a whole bottle of wine by herself.

A weird pain flared in Moira’s shoulder. When she reached for it, the feeling vanished. She checked under her shirt. Nothing.

Must just be part of getting old, she thought.

It seemed like it was going to be a nice day, what with the birds chirping and sunlight and all. Maybe she’d crawl out of bed and do something fun for a change, bake some cookies to give to the neighbor kid, Riley. Maybe he’d share with his overworked mother. The poor dear was working more than she was home, and Moira knew she was exhausted.

An hour later saw Moira dressed and pulling fresh cookies from the oven, the smell filling the house like a bug bomb—albeit a delicious one. While she waited for the cookies to cool, she slipped on her shoes and went outside to fetch the paper.

Moira kicked spilled candy corn off her front step. The remnants of another weeknight massacre. This time, all in the name of a holiday.

She’d stopped keeping track of the holidays.

tag list: @bauliya, @howdy-writes

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[d2kvirus]

Dickheads of the Month: March 2021

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of March 2021 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

It was brainless enough when the Metropolitan Police suggested that Sarah Everard’s death could be blamed on her for walking home alone at night - but when it turned out that it was a police officer who murdered her, who had also been previously let off at least one case of publicly exposing himself entirely because he was a police officer, brainless left the table and instead we found ourselves noticing they were trying to blame the victim while had covered up for the eventual perpetrator

...while we also had the angry men of Twitter respond to Janie Jones’ clearly not serious suggestion that if a 6pm curfew for women were to be introduced then she would call for a 6pm curfew for men with all manner of bile, shouting, finger-pointing, and comments which the police might just so happen to want to look into

...while smirking bully Priti Patel also managed to get her oar in, as various Reclaim The Streets Vigils were shut down by the police (which is a good look, all things considered...) using the legislation that Patel rushed through a few days earlier to combat BLM protests several months after the BLM protests happened

...but then the Metropolitan Police managed to pivot the focus back onto themselves with their heavy-handed tackling of a vigil on Clapham Common that ended up with them handcuffing various women who were there - which they weren’t so keen to do when Kate Middleton was there - before releasing a statement that boiled down to “Look what you made us do” and then rushing to protect a statue of Winston Churchill for no reason whatsoever but making sure to have lots of photos of them protecting their precious statue anyway

...but then the Tory government demanded they get the last word by bulldozing through their boot stamping on a human face forever policing bill that bans all forms of protests due to it causing “annoyance” as if protesting against the ills of society is the same thing as somebody cutting in front of you in the supermarket queue or not holding open a door

...although the Metropolitan Police did try and regain their title as Biggest Dickheads the following week when an anti-lockdown march featuring professional victim Lawrence Fox and fecal enthusiast Gillian McKeith was met by the police letting them walk in a large, huddled mass without a mask between them and didn't lift a single finger

...and there’s nothing sinister about how the BBC failed to broadcast a single item saying the bill had been bulldozed through, while the piece on their website was buried instead of being on the front page

...and then at the buzzer Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Constabulary and Fire & Rescue Services published a report saying that the police acted appropriately at the vigil, in spite of a wealth of evidence and eyewitness testimony saying they absolutely fucking didn’t

Of course we can trust the Tory government when they publish a report stating that racism isn't a systemic issue in the United Kingdom, even when various people cited as experts for this report were very surprised to hear that they were part of it given they were never asked for their input

So it has been found that proven liar Boris Johnson misled parliament over the Covid contracts being doled out by the Tories, which I’m sure will lead to widespread calls in the media for his resignation - or are we to believe that the real reason for the British media calling for Nicola Sturgeon’s resignation is down to something different?

To sum up the British press completely losing their minds about the Meghan Markle interview, we had various royal correspondents responding to some of the more serious allegations with a combination of vicious smears that don’t debunk a single thing she said or outright misrepresenting what she said to try and tip the narrative in the Royals’ favour, while the Press Gazette issued a statement rejected her claims of bigotry in the British media that can easily be disproved in seconds with photos of various front pages of The Sun, the Daily Mail and the Daily Express on whichever subject you wish to choose - which was supported unintentionally by Ian Murray trying to shout down criticism having been presented with examples of such bigotry live on air - and in response to Murray’s hapless showing, the Society of Editors put out a mealy-mouthed nonpology that pretended that nobody ever said anything about bigotry...before suggesting Murray bugger off

...although Piers Moron Morgan picked up the baton for nastiness by first accusing Meghan of making up that she had suicidal thoughts and immediately after the interview aired it was announced that Meghan’s estranged father was lined up for an interview, although it does have to be said he was far from the only person to respond by throwing that at Meghan like a rock - only to then flounce out of the Good Morning Britain studio when called out for his bullshit, shortly before being told to hand in his resignation or else

So after Keir Starmer tore up the ballot for the Liverpool mayoral election last months, you would expect him to name a new list of candidates that was more to his liking - which is cynical enough - right?  Wrong, instead he backed the government's plans to seize control of the city, meaning that Keir Starmer handed over the Labour stronghold of Liverpool to the Tories with no fucking questions asked

Further enhancing public trust in the police was Andy Marsh of Avon and Somerset Police claiming that several of his officers suffered broken bones and one a punctured lung dealing with the protests in Bristol - which turned out to be a complete lie, a lie told by the Chief Constable of Avon and Somerset Police, as not a single officer was treated for any of those injuries

...and a few days later Avon and Somerset Police apparently had to deal with mindless thugs attacking police batons with their faces and seated protesters holding up their hand throwing themselves into their riot shields.  Oh wait, that isn't what happened, instead they waded in swinging batons and using blading tactics with their shields

Nice to know that the Tory government are so in control of the Covid pandemic that somebody with the Brazilian variant got through the tough measures of testing people on arrival by simply not filling out the form - and it was three weeks before the Tory government admitted this had happened

...and the main response appeared to be Chris Philp posting a lot of tweets pointing the finger at Croydon council for something completely unrelated the same day it emerged the person with the Brazilian variant was in Croydon, which looked like a blatant attempt to game Twitter’s search algorithm

Smirking bully Priti Patel ended up having to pay off Sir Philip Rutnam to make his claims against her go away after an expensive court case with the taxpayer footing the bill, which I’m sure will lead to widespread calls in the media for his resignation - or are we to believe that the real reason for the British media calling for Nicola Sturgeon’s resignation is down to something different?   

Nice guy Rishi Sunak wowed people with his Budget, where he gave NHS staff a 1% pay raise that, in some cases, amounts to £3.50 a week which won’t even cover the fees to park at their place of work, claims that he wouldn’t raise taxes while sneaking in tax hikes, bunging an additional £15bn to Serco for their woeful Test & Trace system, and also pretending that the UK could pursue freeports now that they're out of the EU in spite the UK having seven freeports between 1998-2012 - but we’re supposed to ignore all of that because he paid to have ludicrously self-aggrandising videos of himself made

Smirking bully Priti Patel not only somehow managed to pay £5400 in a single trip to Primark, nearly £7000 in two trips to a restaurant, and £700 on cupcakes,  but also claimed the lot on her expenses - however she most certainly did not spend £77,000 on having her eyebrows done, as that business was wound up  2018, meaning she spend £77,000 somewhere - which of course led to widespread calls in the media that she resign

So nice of proven liar Boris Johnson to say how glad he is to hear that Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe is being released from prison in Iran.  Yes, that would be the same Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe who was imprisoned in Iranian prison due to proven liar Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, who was then Foreign Secretary, not reading his brief and then blurting out of she was guilty of the charges she was being held under which then led to her being given the prison sentence she has just been released from

In response to the Georgia shooting Fox News really read the mood of the nation when the debate was about anti-Asian hate and incel terrorism by doing their damndest to make sure the message told everyone who the real victim was: the shooter, that poor white boy that he is

It was so nice of proven liar Boris Johnson to arrange a charity gala to...hang on, let me check my notes, raise funds so that Carrie Symonds could redecorate her Downing Street flat

According to Andrew Pierce he doesn't see Meghan Markle as black.  Apparently it didn’t occur to Andrew Pierce how that sounds, a.) Really fucking bad, and b.) Like Andrew Pierce has reached the next level of Whitesplaining, which shall henceforth be called Whitekeeping

There’s something definitely sinister about the BBC seeing a clip where Charlie Stayt made a quip about known swindler Robert Jenrick having a huge photo of The Queen and an (upside down) union flag in his office, yet their response was to demand that Naga Munchetty publicly apologise for giggling

As if David Cameron fucking up the country in a failed bid to gain political advantage isn’t enough reason for him to be banned from going within five miles of Westminster, him calling up Rishi Sunak to see if he could get some people in the Treasury make the financial problems that Greensill Capital, who Cameron just so happens to have a stake in, certainly counts as another very good reason

Fish fetishist John Redwood reacted to the US removing trade tariffs on British cheese and British Scottish whisky by proudly crowed from the rooftops that this would not happen if we were still in the EU.  Three hours later the US removed trade tariffs on all EU cheese and alcohol exports

In another bout of Keir Starmer uniting the Labour party he decided that Anneliese Dodds would be removed as Shadow Chancellor for failing to effectively communicate the party’s vision as if it was Dodds’ fault for the poor poll results - only to do a quick 180 and back Dodds when the main response to this reason was “What the hell?”

The only surprise about The Core being exposed as a dodgy grift that was being secretly bankrolled by the deep pockets of Tim Rutherford-Browne is that it actually took so long for somebody to expose this - because it sure as hell wasn’t a surprise that Twitter account for The Core, plus the accounts and sock puppets run by Rutherford-Browne, very quickly vanished

Of course The Daily Mail and The Sun would both devote far more time and column inches to Angela Rayner claiming expenses for her air pods and rile their readership into an all too predictable frenzy than they would ever devote to, say, tens of billions of pounds worth of taxpayer’s money being siphoned off into the pockets of various Tory MPs’ mates no matter how unqualified or ill-equipped those people happen to be to fulfill those contracts

Clag peddler Gilson B Pontes demonstrated how ill-equipped they are to deal with fair criticism of their god-awful games (which Sony somehow keeps allowing on their store) by abusing Youtube’s copyright system to try and get Jim Sterling’s account terminated - and failed, thus drawing far more attention to Pontes trying to abuse the system, and Youtube doing fuck all about it even though this issue has persisted for years by this point

Are we going to hear about how Andrew Beattie is the latest victim of “cancel culture” or are we going to hear that Beattie could have started his message about how inclusive Beattie Communications in a better way than literally saying “At Beattie Communications, we don’t hire blacks, gays or Catholics”?  Gee, let me guess which one...

...and then Burger King make the exact same error by trying to tweet out a message of inclusivity on International Women’s Day, which was doomed when the first tweet of the chain said just five words: “Women belong in the kitchen”

There’s something perverse about Electronic Arts being hit with a scandal involving FUT cards from the FIFA series not because they’re clearly a form of gambling that the company have gotten away with for many years outside of a few countries who call it what it is, but because it turns out an EA employee has been selling the rarest FUT cards on the black market for several hundred pounds per bundle to many willing players who want to cheat the system.  The system of gambling.  Which is what FUT cards are

The Tories reached peak flag shagger when James Wild posed a series of questions about the lack of union flags in the BBC Annual Report, as if that means a goddamn thing

Sleazebag and alleged wrestler Joey Ryan thought he could pull a fast one and just so happen to improve his image for when the next round of SLAPP suits goes before the judge by organising an event called Wrestling For Women’s Charity - only for the entire grift to fall apart due to it being held by the company he owns, the charity itself having more than questionable backing, and the fact that Ryan was dumb enough that he tried to sneak his own face onto the poster and thought nobody would notice.  Coincidentally, once the poster was out, a lot of people noticed and the event was rapidly shut down.  Funny, that...

In the latest attempt by Gab to try and make themselves seem relevant they tweeted out some intense batshittery about preserving our way of life featuring a heavily-armed family (including the dog, which was also packing) around the barbeque.  There was one teeny tiny issue with this image: it was stolen art from the indie game The American Dream which actively satirises America’s obsession with guns, and all gab did was remove the watermarks from the picture (which they took without permission) for their rallying cry of “remember us?  We used to be where all the edgelords hung out before they went to Parler”

Once again Manchester United fans responded to a loss not by suggesting that the opponents played better but with racially abusing one of their players on social media, with Fred bearing the brunt of it this time in the wake of being knocked out of the FA Cup by Leicester

Forgotten 90s comedian Lee Hurst continued to be the face of angry white men on Twitter who think they’re funny by posting a tweet about Greta Thunberg that managed to be creepy, misogynistic, showing a remarkable failure to understand what condoms are made of, and worked out so well for him that Twitter promptly suspended his account 

And finally, irritatingly, we have Donald Trump and his proclamation that he won’t be creating a new political party for the 2024 election as he worries that he’ll split the Republican vote.  But Donald, you told us you were so popular, so surely both Republican and Democrat supporters will flock to your new party?  Or are you worried at losing two elections in a row?

#dickheads of the month

[ajokeformur-ray]

To the love of my life.

This GIF made me cry. I’m writing my feelings out while they’re happening kkkskskkss. Not an imagine; just a vent from a wife who cherishes her clown <3

WC: 1, 509.

Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.

You tried so hard, so hard, for so long and you were only ever beaten down, abused, marginalised, ignored. You were unseen, unnoticed, unloved for so long... thirty five years. You did everything right, darling, and none of this was your fault.

You went to therapy (how the fuck were you supposed to relax in a room so cramped?), took your medications (pretty sure most of those would have clashed with others or had wrong dosages), practiced your material, worked so hard all day every day for very little money, only to come home to someone who didn’t love and appreciate your for you.

You, with your sea green eyes and romantic dark curls.

You, with your cute crooked tooth and your adorable smile.

You, with your soft voice and your rough edges.

You, with your heart full of love, childlike innocence and unhealed traumas.

You, with the way you dance to the beat of your own heart, the music within your soul.

You.

I’m so sorry that you tried so hard for so long. I’m so sorry that no one helped you. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you, to hold you through those sleepless nights, to help you out of the fridge and into a fluffy blanket at 3 AM, to wrap your body in my arms and lavish kisses all over your face until you’re a giggling, sobbing wreck beneath my touch. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to surprise you with a hot bath and dinner after a long, unforgiving shift at Ha-Ha’s. 

I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to buy packs of cigarettes when you were having to ration them, to pick up your medications and to foot the bill without saying anything, to help you with the upkeep of the apartment and to help with Penny, that I wasn’t there to wipe your tears, chase away your fears, soothe you during a laughing fit, cuddle with you at all hours of the day and night, to patch up your wounds after you got jumped, to protect you from those wall street guys, Hoyt, Randall, and Murrat (that’s his name now, I don’t make the rules). To surprise Carnival at work with a packed lunch which I forgot to say I made for you before you left for work, to pick you up and to help you get the paint off your face on the way home. To hold your hand, our fingers interlocked, to dance with you on those stairs, to put a smile on your face.

To help you to dye your hair, to dance to That’s Life with you, to dance to the ending of The Murray Franklin Show with you, to curl up with you in bed every night. To wake you up at 4 AM because I want a cuddle but you’re laying wrong. To encourage you to do the same to me. To surprise you because I learned your makeup routine and want to show you. To surprise you even further by wearing your red suit and makeup out of the apartment because I love you so much I want the entire city to know I’m yours. To wash your hair, to worship your body with mine. To be there while you practiced your act as Carnival, to listen to your jokes and to help you work on your comedy. Baby, you’re hilarious. Gotham was sleeping on you and that’s a shame on them.

I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to listen to you, love you, protect you, to hold you. I’m so sorry for everything that I couldn’t do for you.

I’m so sorry, angel.

You deserve so much better. You always have and you always will. I would say that you even deserve better than me, but we’ve already had this conversation and I don’t want to make you angry at me again. I’m sobbing as I write this and my heart is clenching in my chest and it’s difficult to breathe but shit, all these words in my head, all this love in my heart. It’s intense but you’re worth every single second.

I wouldn’t trade what you and I have built together for the world. You are my clown blanket (and I’m yours when you want me to be), my reason, my motivation, my inspiration, my purpose, my love and my light, my muse, my entire world. I love you so much it makes my heart ache in my chest because no combination of words will ever be enough to adequately describe, to put across all the love which I hold for you in my body. It overflows, spills out of me. My love for you is bigger than me and it always will be.

You make me brave. You give me courage and strength, the ability to do and to be more. Every single day I do my best to look after myself because I want to make you proud. Everything I do is for you. You are the world’s best husband and I’m so lucky and so proud to know you and to love you as I do, to be loved by you as I am. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll do it again and again in every life as long as it brings us together.

When I walk in on you looking like you do in the GIF, I cross the room without saying anything, smoothing a hand through your hair as I sit in your lap. I wrap my arms around your neck, my fingers toying with the small hairs at the nape, and I listen to you. Even if you raise your voice, I will be brave for you. I keep still, trusting you to know my limits, and I will listen to you. I help you, give you advice if you need it, and if you don’t, that’s okay, too. I listen to you, I listen, and I hug you, rub your back and comfort you and kiss your tears away, your painted face cupped in my hands. I tell you that it’s okay to cry, to show your feelings in any way you want to, but to let me in, to let me help you in all the ways I couldn’t before. That it’s okay, I love you, and we’ll get through it together. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, and I trust you to keep me safe in that promise. I know you trust me too.

On the show, you were as clear as a bell. All your anger, frustrations, pains and torments came pouring out, but still were you mocked. Made fun of. Ignored. No one listened to you. No one gave you a chance to defend yourself. No one helped you. No, you were ridiculed and treated like shit, and you exploded. And, my love, I was so proud of you. I still am, and I always will be. I always was. You taught me to stand up for myself by allowing me to witness you doing it for yourself. If you can be treated as you were and yet still so kind and soft were you, then so can I.

So can I.

I wish I could have been there for you during all of those times, Joker. Arthur.

I couldn’t protect you then, but I can protect you now.

You don’t ever have to pretend with me, darling. I love you so much, through the worst of your days and your best. I love you because of your flaws; in fact I love you deeper for them. You deserve so, so much more, and every day does my entire heart swell with love for you, every day does the love I feel for you and the love you feel for me make me cry. 

I love you I love you I love you I love youI love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

Loving you is the sweetest torture I’ll ever know, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Your ever loving wife, 

Erika.

P.S.

What do you get when you cross a touch starved clown with a woman who’s heart is full of love?

...

You get what you deserve. ;)

#arthur fleck #erileck #joker 2019 #personal #i love you so much darling it makes my heart bleed and soul ache

[thelittlesttimelord]

I had so, so many questions for DW Universe question game. Sorry if I trouble you. Number 3, 6, 7, 9, 11, 17, 18, 21, 24, 28, 30, 31, 34, 36, 37, 40, 42, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 51, 53, 56, 61, 64, 68, 70, 72, 75, 77, 78, 79, 81, 84, 88, 91, 92, 94, 95, 96, 100.

Well, here we go!

3. First DW episode you ever saw? 

I can’t actually remember. I know I kept seeing pictures of “Let’s Kill Hitler” on Pinterest and memes from series 6, so I just started watching. I started with Nine, so I’m pretty sure the first one was “Rose”.

6. Monster(s) that scared you most as a child? 

THE FUCKING SCARECROWS from “Family of Blood/Human Nature”. I fucking hate those things. The mannequins from “Rose” and the Snowmen are a close second though.

7. Joke/story you didn’t get as a kid? 

I didn’t really understand River’s story the first time around. I still don’t really, but it makes a bit more sense thanks to YouTube videos.

9. Who introduced you to DW? 

Like I said, I kept seeing things on Pinterest and started watching because of that.

11. Who is your Doctor? 

ELEVEN. But is anyone really surprised?

17. Best multi-Doctor story? 

50th Anniversary, but only because it’s the only one I’ve seen.

18. Best Doctor monologue? 

Shit. That’s a hard one. It’s a tie between Eleven’s final speech and Twelve’s angry one during the Zygone two-parter.

21. Favourite companion? 

Unlike most people, I really like Clara. I also love Bill. I wish she’d had more than one series.

24. Best TARDIS Team? 

Eleven, River, Amy, and Rory. I love their little space family.

28. Who should have been a companion but wasn’t? 

Oooo. I don’t know. So I’ll answer it this way, I would’ve liked to see some companions from RTD era meet Eleven.

30. Who did you not used to like, but really like now? 

Twelve. I stopped watching Doctor Who when Eleven regenerated, because I didn’t like what I saw in “Deep Breath” clips. When I went back and rewatched, I slowly fell in love with him.

31. Favourite episode ever? 

The Doctor’s Wife. I love seeing Eleven and his TARDIS interact. So many good one liners!

34. Best two-parter? 

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead. Mostly because of River and the Doctor’s interactions. It also hits a lot differently now that we know River’s whole story.

36. Episode that will always make you smile? 

Vincent and the Doctor. I struggle with depression and anxiety, so I connect a lot with the story. I also live by the quote about life being a pile of good things and bad things.

37. Episode that will always make you cry? 

It’s a toss up between Doomsday and The Time of the Doctor. Doomsday because of that final scene between Ten and Rose and Time of the Doctor because of Eleven’s regeneration.

40. Favourite Christmas special? 

A Christmas Carol. It’s so bittersweet and I love the song at the end. Although I also kinda like Last Christmas because Twelve is such a mood.

42. Favourite series? 

I really love series 4, because of the shit Donna and Ten get up to. They have the best dynamic out of the Doctor/Companion relationships.

45. Favourite series opening? 

Eleventh Hour. It’s a perfect opener for Eleven. It shows off his personality and how much he will come to care for Amy.

46. Favourite series finale? 

I really like The Pandorica Opens/Big Bang.

47. Best series arc? 

I have to say “Bad Wolf” because none of us saw that coming. It was subtle and it was really clever.

48. Thoughts on series 11/12? 

Looks okay. I haven’t really watched it. I’ve seen clips and Thirteen seems like a sweetheart and Graham is a straight up MOOD.

49. How much of Classic Who have you seen? 

Absolutely none. I’ve seen clips here and there in YouTube videos and I know some storylines, but other than that I know nothing.

51. Favourite monster/villain? 

Probably the Daleks. But only because they’re so stupid sometimes. Like in Victory of the Daleks...HOW THE FUCK IS A DALEK GONNA MAKE TEA?!?!?!

53. Monster(s) that scares you most?

Weeping Angels.

56. Monster you want to return? 

I’d love to see the Doctor face off with the Midnight entity. Maybe she’d handle it a bit differently...

61. Torchwood or Sarah Jane Adventures? 

Torchwood. I’ve never seen it, but I feel like I’m too grown up for the Sarah Jane Adventures.

64. Do you rewatch COE or MD?

I think given the choice, I’d probably rewatch Miracle Day because I know what happens in Children of Earth and it breaks my heart(s).

68. Do you read the comics/novels or listen to Big Finish? 

I want to read some of the comics, but they’re hard to find in physical form. I have read some of the novels and I listen to Big Finish. I will take my Doctor Who in whatever form I can get it.

70. Do you like DW analysis (video essays, fan theories, etc)? 

Oh yes. Those are my favorite kinds of videos.

72. Favourite piece of Murray Gold music? 

Either Eleven or Clara’s theme music. Eleven’s theme is so epic, while Clara’s is flighty and whimsical.

75. Favourite Doctor outfit? 

I’m a sucker for Eleven’s classic tweed and red bow-tie, but i also like Twelve’s look in series 9 (the old rocker look).

77. Best show runner? 

I feel like if I answer this, I’ll be shot so I’ll say each show runner has brought something different to the show (whether that be good or bad). They’ve left their mark in a unique way.

78. Best writer? 

Neil Gaiman, hands down. Or maybe Mark Gatiss. I love every one of their episodes.

79. Best opening titles?

Series 5. I hate the voiceover Amy has in series 6.

81. Time period you’d want to go with the Doctor? 

Chicago in the 20′s. I’d wanna meet mobsters like Al Capone.

84. Companion you’d most like to travel with? 

Donna or Martha. I feel like we’d get along pretty well.

88. Historical figure you’d like to meet? 

Anne Boleyn. I admire her so much.

91. Historical event would you like to see in DW? 

Maybe the French Revolution. Don’t know why. I just think it’d be cool.

92. Issue you’d like to see addressed in DW? 

Maybe more about sexuality. We have Jack, who is Pansexual and Bill, who is a lesbian. But they kinda just go “this is this character’s sexuality and that’s that.” I’d like to see them go into it a bit more and maybe have companions with different sexualities. Like maybe an Ace companion. Or have a Transgender companion. I guess just more diversity really.

94. One unanswered DW question you’d love to know the answer to? 

HOW DOES JACK BECOME THE FACE OF BOE. I need to know this before I die.

95.  Actor/actress you’d like to see play the Doctor? 

Tom Hiddleston. Because if he kept his natural hair color, the Doctor would finally be ginger.

96. Actor/actress you’d like to see play a companion?

I’d like to see another American companion (besides Jack), but I’d never really thought about it.

100. If you could write an episode of DW, any ideas for what you’d do? 

Well Gallifrey “stands” now right (disregarding what the Master did in series 12)? I’d like to see the Doctor go back to Gallifrey and maybe find his family. I’d like to see his Timelord wife and maybe his children because they’re not dead now. I really just want the Doctor to be happy. Is that too much to ask for?

[aerynwrites]

Happiness

Arthur Fleck x Reader

Request: @glitterypinkkitty​ Hi! Could you please do Joaquin’s joker encountering poor reader being bothered by some rich dudes? Thank you :)

Warnings: cursing, violence, blood, sadness? idk lol

Word Count: 1,874 (whoops)

Author’s Note: Okay, I got kinda carried away with this one lol. I really enjoyed writing this but i feel like it may be out of character a little bit? I found it a bit challenging to write Arthur not in a terrible situation. Is that bad? I guess what i’m trying to say is that since all i have for reference is the movie, which is ALL negative and sad, It was hard for me to capture what he would be like not in those situations. SO, please let me know how you think I did! What can I improve on? What did I do well? any criticism is helpful. I hope you enjoy! thanks for the request!

-----------

“W-what do you mean its $32.84?” you stammer as you cast a panicked glance at your small group of groceries on the corner market counter. You check to make sure nothing extra was added to the pile, and upon confirming this fact you look back to the clerk.

“It’s never been this much Walter!” you’re getting hysterical now, you couldn’t afford the uptick in price, “I-it’s always been $22.73, every time, for the last however long I’ve been shopping here.”

Walter, the older balding man who owns the mini mart around the corner of your apartment sighs and gives you a look of pity.

“I’m sorry (Y/N),” he shakes his head, “but you’ve seen how things have been lately.” He looks out the glass doors and onto the street where various shouting and honking could be heard, “Gotham’s economy is tanking, prices are going up, and I have to pay my bills too.”

You feel tears prick your eyes as you look at the mere twenty-five dollars you had for groceries, and then back up at your pile on the counter. You glance from the milk, to the bread, and various other necessities, trying to decide what to put back. You were reaching for cans of tuna and bars of soap when you heard the familiar tinkling of bells, signaling someone had walked into the store

You glance up, still fighting back tears and recognize the man that walked in as your neighbor Arthur. He smiled at you, unaware of your un-shed tears, and you gave him a watery smile back before turning back to Walter. You hand him the cans of tuna and the soap; you would just have to live off peanut butter sandwiches and use more deodorant until you got paid next.

“Just put these back and I’ll pay for what’s left.” You spoke finally, frustrated that you couldn’t even afford the basics anymore. This city sucked.

You paid for the even smaller pile of groceries and took the brown bag from Walters hands, “Have a nice evening (Y/N).”

I sighed and waved absently over my shoulder as I walked out the door, “Take care Walter.”

You faintly heard Arthur and Walter chatting before the door closed behind you and you started walking towards your apartment. That whole grocery thing scared you. Working as a waitress paid enough so you could pay your bills, but now with grocery prices going up...what was next?

You were so caught up in your thoughts you didn’t notice the three men walking towards you, and by the time you did, it was too late to move. You bumped one of their shoulders and nearly dropped your bag but managed to stable yourself.

“I’m so sorry I – “you were cut off by a loud voice.

“Watch where you’re going dumbass!” the man yelled as he and his friends turned towards you.

You gripped your purse and bag tighter shrinking into yourself, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You apologized, biting back your scathing remark to avoid pissing them off.

But your attempt at passivity didn’t work as the man in question shoved your shoulder roughly causing you to stumble back, “Hey, I said I was sorry!” you snapped.

“Yeah well, if you knew who I was you’d realize that sorry doesn’t cut it.” he spat.

You started to back away from the three men but the tall one you bumped into snatched your groceries from your hand and threw them to the ground, causing the milk jug to burst and everything else to get soaked.

Anger built up in you, and you opened your mouth to retaliate but you felt another shove come from your backside and your beanie was ripped from your head. You heard loud mocking laughter as they continued to shout insults at you and shove you from one body to another.

You shoved back, pushing with all your might to escape this hellish cycle, “Get the fuck off me!”

You continued to fight back but before you knew it one of the men grabbed you around your shoulders and held you still as the other two leered at you.

“Or what?” they mocked.

You finally had enough of this bullshit and kicked your legs up off the ground shoving them into the tall guys stomach. He doubled over and you smirked, silently pleased at your action. Your silent celebration was short lived however, as the man holding you threw you to the ground. Before you even realized what was going on you heard a sickening crunch and a white-hot pain radiated from your nose.

You cried out as your hand flew to your nose in vain attempt to eliminate the pain, and soon you felt harsh kicks delivered to your body.

“Hey!” you heard a faint cry from the way you had come, “Hey, leave her alone! Walter call the police!”

The kicking stopped as you again heard mocking laughter retreat away from your curled up and beaten form. You heard a different set of footsteps come closer and a gentle hand laid on your shoulder.

“(Y/N), are you alright, it’s me Arthur.”

You slowly roll onto your back and sit up right, wincing at the shooting pain in your side. You look up to see your neighbor looking at you worriedly.

He helps you to your feet slowly and hold your arms to steady you, “What happened? who were those guys? Are you okay, do you need help?” you chuckle slightly at Arthur’s endless questions and shrug his hands off. You wipe you sleeve under your nose, trying to somewhat clean the blood from your face.

“I’m fine Arthur – well not fine per se but,” you lean down to pick up your discarded purse and groaned when you stood again, “I’ll live. They were just some rich assholes who had nothing better to do.”

You looked to your destroyed groceries and sighed, “I’m more upset about my groceries,” you motioned to the soggy pile, and looked to Arthur, “I don’t have any more money until I get paid next week.”

You felt panic gnaw at your stomach, what are you going to do until pay day? You have to eat.

Loud but strained laughter brought you back to earth and you looked to Arthur who’s pained expression didn’t match the laughter falling from his lips. You knew of Arthur’s condition, and even though you knew it wasn’t genuine laughter, you still felt the corner of your mouth tug upwards and a small giggle bubbled from your throat. Soon your giggles turned to full blown laughter and it didn’t subside until Arthur’s fit slowed too. You gripped your side lightly grimacing at the pain left from the laughing fit and tugged Arthur along towards your shared apartment building.

Arthur looked at you curiously as you continued to let out little chuckles as you approached your building. As you got in the elevator to go to your floor, he couldn’t hold back his question any longer.

“What was so funny?” he asked, “you just got beaten to a pulp, no offense, and your hard-earned money wasted. Does that not make you angry?”

You let out a humorless laugh and stepped off the elevator to your floor. You leaned against your door and looked to the lanky man in front of you.

“Honestly Arthur,” you turned your gaze to the ceiling closing your eyes in frustration, “I stopped being angry a long time ago. Now I’m just tired.” You looked at him, “I’m tired of living this way, living in a world, in this city where the rich and powerful shit on the rest of us, where life shits on us.” You shake your head and stand up straighter.

“Anyways, I should probably go,” you gesture to your door, “I better get cleaned up and patched up before I get too hungry, since it looks like i’ll be eating sleep for dinner.”

Your lame joke earns a chuckle from Arthur and he hesitates before speaking, “you can-“ he stumbles, “I mean, you could come over to my place?” it was more of a question than a statement, and he cringes at his own awkwardness, “I just mean that maybe I could help you and we have some left overs from dinner…” he trails off and stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets, looking at you hopefully.

You smile, a genuine smile that hadn’t appeared on your face in a long time, and you reach out to grab his hand; motioning for him to lead the way.

“I would love that Arthur, thank you.”

He smiles widely and leads you to his apartment. He unlocks the door and lets you inside first before closing the door behind you. You immediately notice that it’s similar to your own apartment: small, run down, and smells like mothballs. You also notice it smells like cigarettes and a nice perfume, a smell that that you don’t hate.

Arthur’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, “You can sit on the couch if you’d like, ill go grab some stuff for your nose” he states as he walks down the hallway to the bathroom.

You hear him rummaging around, in the cabinets as you take a seat on the couch and take notice of what’s on TV. It’s the Murray Franklin show, you lost interest quickly considering you didn’t like the host one bit. He’s a jerk, making fun of people and calling it comedy...what a sham.

Arthur emerges from the bathroom carrying what looks to be pain pills and a washcloth, he sets the pills down on the table and sits next to you. He looks from the rag to you as if asking permission and you just give a little nod and turn to face him. He gently begins wiping the already drying blood from your face and turns your head to the side slightly.

“It looks broken,” he muses, “The bleeding has stopped, and you’re all cleaned up, but you should go get that checked out tomorrow.” He looks at you in a concerned manner and trades the washcloth for two Tylenol.

“Thanks,” you take the pills and swallow them quickly, eager for some relief from the dull throbbing in your face.

You both lean back into the couch and watch the TV for a while longer. You slowly turn your head to look at Arthur only to see that he is already looking at you. You blush slightly before grasping his hand in yours.

“Thank you, Arthur. You didn’t have to help me out there especially since it could’ve ended up bad for you too.” You look back at the TV, “and thanks for this, and the offer of food. I know you’re in a rough spot like me and it’s just nice to have a friend for a change.”

You look back at Arthur and see him sporting a wide grin, “Of course. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I would do anything for you.” He admits.

You give him a small smile and squeeze his hand gently; your way of reciprocating his feelings and turn to look at the TV once more.

You both sat there until the early hours of the morning, laughing at various Tv shows and comedians. And for the first time in a long time, both of you were happy.

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #joaquin phoenix joker #joker #joker 2019 #joker x reader #joker request

[ladyfogg]

Cold is the Night - 15/20

Cold is the Night - 15/20

Fic Summary: You and Pat have known each other for years but this summer, everything will change. As the two of you start to grow close, your matching tempers threaten the foundation of your rocky friendship and prevent both of you from realizing your true feelings. Cold is the Night Masterpost. 

Fic Song: Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos. Fic playlist can be found here. 

Pairing: Pat Murray/Female Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Multiple Chapters 

Things slowly returned to some semblance of normal in the Murray household. While there was still tension between Pat and his dad, it was getting better each day.

Regardless, Pat was on edge but for an entirely different reason. 

Your opposite work schedules were starting to get to him. All he wanted to do was spend time with his girlfriend but one of you was always working. Thankfully, the new person you were training would be on their own soon, giving you more freedom with your schedule.

Pat was also in talks with his manager about switching to the night shift. It would line up with yours, giving you mornings and afternoons together. But it was all up in the air. 

When the Saturday of the game rolled around, Pat received some shitty news.

"What do you mean you have to work?" he asked after you let him know. "It's too early for your shift."

"I had cover for someone, they're having minor surgery."

Pat clenched his jaw, trying to force himself to take a deep breath. "I really, really need you there, babe."

You looked incredibly guilty and reached out to take his hand. "I'm so sorry."

He wanted to be angry but he really couldn't. It wasn't your fault and with bills to pay, you couldn't skip a whole shift. Especially when the half one you missed the other night would be on the same check.

Pat squeezed your hand. "I know you are. I just miss you. We haven't had a chance to be alone since I went back home." 

"Ugh I know and it's fucking driving me crazy. I don't know what to do." You looked just as frustrated as he felt. "How much time do we have before you have to go?"

"Not much."

"Wanna make out?"

Pat sighed. "No. Well, yes, but not when we have a time limit. I'm frustrated enough as it is."

"Tell you what, I'll come pick you up after the game. I should be done around the same time. You can sleep over tonight."

That made Pat grin, a myriad of dirty plans coming to mind. "I like the sound of that."

Grinning back, you leaned in close, lips brushing his. "You'll like the sounds I make tonight even more." You kissed him and he leaned into it with a hum before reluctantly pulling away. 

"Well, I should go then," he said, stroking your cheek. "I'll see you later."

"Definitely." You gave him another kiss. "I'm really sorry, babe."

Pat was in an awful mood by the time he got to the field. 

"Hey, Murray," Ty greeted him as he threw his bag down.

"Hey," Pat muttered.

"Uh oh, someone's grumpy," Vinnie cood. "What's wrong, future brother-in-law?"

Pat's head whipped around to stare at Vinnie with shock. He was sure he must be talking to Ty but he clearly was looking at Pat when he spoke. "I'm not...why would you...we're just…"

The thought of marrying you hadn't crossed his mind considering you had just gotten together not too long ago. But now, the image was all he could picture and it scared him half to death. 

He must have looked terrified because Vinnie immediately started backtracking, something he never did. "Whoa, whoa, man, relax," he said, realizing he hit a nerve. "Just a joke."

It wasn't the idea of marriage that scared him, but the fact that he liked the image of you in a white dress. It was bad enough he almost told you he loved you after a few days of dating. Luckily he caught himself. 

Pat's shoulders relaxed and he let out a shaky breath. "Sorry. Of course it was a joke. I'm just on edge right now."

"What's wrong?" Maz asked. "You guys have another fight?"

"No. She can't make it to the game today," Pat explained. "And we haven't had much time to spend together over the last few days. It's making me crazy."

"Murray's pissed cuz he's not getting any," Barone announced as he walked by.

"Shut the fuck up, Barone! You don't know what you're talking about." Pat glared. "I'm getting plenty."

"Nope! Not listening to this!" Vinnie declared, covering his ears. He walked away loudly singing to himself.

"But not sliding into home I bet." Barone smirked. 

Pat's cheeks burned with embarrassment while Maz shook his head at Barone. "My sex life is none of your business."

"Trust me, Murray, if you were gettin' some, you still wouldn't be so tense."

Pat took a step toward Barone, ready to throw down. But Maz stepped between them.

"Barone, walk away," Maz ordered with a glare.

"Whatever, dipshits."

Pat watched Barone leave, still fuming. Maz pulled him to the side, making him sit with him on the bench. "Don't let him get to you," he said. "Your relationship is between you and her. No one else."

"It's not about the sex that's got me worked up," Pat said. "That's whatever. I don't care about sex. We both want to take things slow."

"Then what's wrong?"

Pat hadn't said the words out loud and he was almost afraid to. Because once he did, they were real and his new relationship became infinitely more serious. Not that it wasn't already but love brought things to a new level.

As always, Maz seemed to know what he was thinking because he suddenly grinned. "Dude," he chuckled. "You've got it bad."

Pat gave him a small smirk. "Yeah. I do."

And just like that, the weight he had been carrying lightened slightly. Though a whole new slew of fears came to the surface.

"I take it you haven't told her."

"Fuck no, it's too soon."

"It really isn't though. You guys have known each other for years."

"Yeah but we've only been dating for like, a week. I don't want to scare her off."

Pat was torn. He was treading through a minefield of new territory. You were the first serious relationship he'd had, and his deep feelings scared him. It was all so new and sudden, he wasn't sure how to process the situation. 

Maz nodded with understanding. "Well, you can still show her at least."

"Maz! Can you come here a sec?" Ty called, clipboard in hand. 

"Yeah, Ty," Maz said. He gave Pat a nudge before he stood. "I'm really happy for you guys. You seem happier." He paused. "Well, aside from today."

Pat watched him walk away, thinking over what he had said. Unfortunately, the thoughts consumed him the rest of the day.

The game went about as well as he expected it to. He had no problem catching the ball, but when it was his turn at the plate, anxiety took over. It didn't help that his mind was still miles away, thinking of all the ways he could show you his feelings without saying them out loud yet. 

After his first strike, he forced himself to focus, but it didn't help. 

He didn't hit a goddamn thing.

The pity on his teammates' faces made him feel worse. Pat sat on the bench with a huff, checking his phone. Normally, you text him if you're not busy but he had no messages waiting. He wished you were there. He wished he could look up and see your face in the stands, cheering him on.

He scrolled through the pictures on his phone, smiling at the ones he managed to take of the both of you. Seeing your face made his frustration ease slightly. For the first time ever, he wanted the game to hurry up and be over. He had almost forgotten he'd be staying at your place after.

A night alone with his girlfriend was something he desperately needed.

Someone called his name and he put his phone away before he grabbed his glove and headed to the field.

The D-Backs managed to scrape by and win, but just barely. Still sour over his poor performance, Pat hurried to gather his things before he was roped into a team celebration dinner. 

As he walked to the parking lot, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw your car pull up. He was sweaty, hot, and beyond frustrated. Not just because of the game but his own traitorous brain.

He climbed into the car and quickly noticed you looked as annoyed as he felt. His heart sank.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," you said, a little too firmly. "How was the game?" 

"Shitty. How was work?"

"The fucking worst."

"If you want to reschedule for tonight, I get it."

Tension left your shoulders and you reached over to take his hand. "Knowing I'd be seeing you was the only thing that got me through my day."

Relieved, Pat smiled and kissed your knuckles. "Me too."

The ride to your place was done mostly in silence, both of you trying to relax. When you got there, Pat went to take a shower, hoping the cold water would help. It did, a little. He stopped thinking about the game and was more focused on you. 

His frustration was transforming into strange sexual energy. Pat was never one to be dominating when it came to sex, but his failure earlier was causing him to want to pin you against the wall and kiss you like his life depended on it.

Being with you was the one thing in his life he knew was right. And though your sexual activities together were fairly limited, getting you off seemed to be something he was really fucking good at. 

He left the shower and pulled on a pair of boxers and nothing else, leaving the bathroom in search of you.

You were furiously wiping down the kitchen counter as you worked through your own feelings.

Pat stood in the doorway, watching your body as you moved. Something deep and primal was building and he knew one look from you would be all it took for him to act.

As if on cue, you glanced over to find him staring. "Can I help you?"

Pat crossed the room in two strides. Without waiting for a reaction, he hooked his arm around your waist and crushed you to his chest. His kiss was rough and demanding, pouring all his feelings out in one simple action. He pushed you until your back hit the wall, rattling the dishes in the cupboard.

You gripped him tight, fingers digging into his arms as you shoved your tongue past his lips. Your mouth was hot and eager and Pat couldn't get enough, hands fumbling with the button of your jeans. Once he got them open, his hand slipped inside, seeking your heat.

His lips found their way to your neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive flesh as his fingers slid between your folds. You groaned, hooking your leg around his to keep him in place. Not that he planned to go anywhere.

With one hand on the wall to steady himself, Pat fingered you roughly, reveling in how soaked he had made you in mere seconds. He drew back slightly to look into your eyes, heart hammering in his chest at the pure lustful gaze you fixated him with.

Pat's chest heaved as he panted, the intensity of the moment putting his nerves on edge. You looked equally worked up and the next thing Pat knew, you lunged in for another kiss.

Mouths collided in more painful kisses as your hands felt him up, your hips moving along with his hand. Weeks of intense emotions and sexual feelings made worse by your equally terrible days had finally come to a head.

"Fuck me," you groaned.

It took him a second to register what you said. When he did, Pat's hand stopped and he pulled back, still panting. He stared at you with excitement. "Are you sure?"

He wanted you more than he wanted anyone before and he needed to confirm you were just as ready as he was. You whimpered and ground your hips against his hand.

"Fuck me, Pat," you ordered. "Now." 

With a groan, Pat pulled you into another kiss. 

#undrafted #pat murray #pat murray x reader #pat murray x you #joe mazzello