#that title is goofy but whatever THIS ENTIRE THING IS
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Lovestruck[Demon Bros]
Things the bros do because they're simps for you.
CW: mild cursing
Characters: GN!Reader(no pronouns specified), Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor
Authors Notes: I actually have a huge amount of requests for my other accounts but since I’m impulsive and have no sense of impulse control, I made another writing account for the sole reason that I wanted to ramble about Obey Me LMAOOO
[Dateables Here]
Lucifer [🦚💙]
He listens to you, even when he's busy
“Luciferrr,” you poke your head into his room, after knocking on his door. You stroll in taking in the sight of a somewhat disheveled Lucifer, sitting behind stacks of paperwork. A few buttons at the top of his shirt are undone and his tie is loose around his neck. You resist the urge to stare longer than you need to, turning away and plopping down in one of the armchairs in his room.
“I’m busy.” Although his words are blunt, there’s no actual malice behind them. You take that as a sign that since he didn’t actually tell you to leave that it was okay for you to stay. You lean over the side of your chair, sighing somewhat dramatically. “You’ll never believe what happened earlier.” And soon, you find yourself rambling about your day to Lucifer, speaking whatever comes to your mind. Every time you glance up at Lucifer, it seems as though he’s busy with whatever paperwork he’s subjecting himself to, but you ignore it and continue speaking.
Unbeknownst to you, Lucifer had actually stopped quite a while back ago, he was busy staring at the same line again and again, but somehow he couldn’t find the urge to continue working when all he could focus in on was your voice. His finger tapped absentmindedly at his pen as the edges of his lips quirked up every so slightly finding the way you were sprawled over the chair somewhat amusing.
Mammon [💰💛]
He’ll do something with you, even if he’s inclined not to
“D-do we have to do this?” Mammon’s hand squeezed yours tightly and you could feel how clammy it was against yours. You pouted at him, your lip jutting out, “Mammonnnn come on, can we please go into the haunted house? It’s supposedly much scarier than last years!” Your expression softens as you watch him visibly stiffen at the prospect of going in, “Well on second thought-”
“Nono, lets do it. T-the Great Mammon will protect you from anything that jumps out at us!” He points at himself, puffing his chest out to make himself seem more imposing. You resist the urge to laugh at how goofy he looks despite the fact that he’s clearly scared shitless. “Okay, okay,” you reach over to ruffle his hair, hoping that in doing so could help alleviate some of the nerves he was feeling.
“Oi, what’re you doing?” Mammon’s face flushes, but he doesn’t stop you, and instead leans into your hand more. Giving your hand one more squeeze, he charged towards the haunted house with you in tow. Needless to say the both of you spent the entire time clinging to each other when you're in there.
Leviathan [🐍🧡]
He has a playlist of songs that reminds him of you
“Levi, I just listened to that one artist you recommended to me, and I gotta say, their songs are absolute bangers,” You grin at him, “You have really good music taste!” Leviathan blushes from the compliment, turning to the side, “Well they actually dropped a new song recently, let me share it with you, I have it in my playlist.” He pulled out his D.D.D to open his Devilfy, scrolling through the numerous playlists that he had.
His finger pauses in its scrolling as it hovers over a certain playlist titled, “My Henry.” He glances up at you, feeling himself grow flustered as he quickly looks away once more, typing in the song instead of trying to scroll and find it and sends it to you. “Thanks! I got it!” You beam at him, shooting him a thumbs up from where you’re seated, and putting in your earbuds to stream it.
He’s grateful he made the playlist private, lest he deal with any questions from your end.
Satan [😾💚]
He sees parts of you in characters in his stories
“What do you have there?” you peeked over his shoulder, draping your arms over him. If it were any of his brothers, he would have found himself snapping at them and pushing them away, but since it was you Satan found himself leaning more into you touch. “A book I recently acquired,” he smiled, reaching over to squeeze your hand.
“Mhmm, anything interesting?” You absentmindedly traced the outline of his fingers with yours and Satan swore he could feel his heartbeat going faster. “Well, in a way the main character of this book is kind of like you. They’re kind, and they’re not afraid to stand up for what they believe is right,” He chuckles softly, turning the page with his free hand. You deadpanned, shaking your head, “You’re just describing every generic, heroic main character out there.”
Satan paused, setting his book down slightly as he turned to look at you, a gentle smile on his face. His hand reaches up, brushing your cheek, “I suppose, but they are traits that define you as well.”
Asmodeus [💋🩷]
He’s always seeking to try things with you
“Y/N! There’s this new café that opened up near Ristorante Six, want to come try it with me?” Asmo grabbed your arm, hugging it tight, almost as if he was afraid you would slip away from his grasp. You turned to face him, laughing softly as you transferred his hand into yours. “Didn’t you just go there the other day?” you teased him lightly.
Asmo pouted slightly, holding onto your hand even tighter, “Since the line was so long I didn’t get to try everything that I wanted to because they were limiting the number of items a single customer could order, that’s why I want to bring you with me! Plus it’s super pretty there, pleaseeeee?” You held his gaze, your resolve wavering slightly, you had planned on doing something else but seeing how badly he wanted to go you couldn’t help but relent.
“Alright, alright, of course I’ll go,” you laughed lightly. Asmo’s face lit up upon hearing your answer, tugging you along with him, “Great! I have a few other things planned out, so hopefully you don’t mind if I steal you for a few hours~”
Beelzebub [🍔❤️]
He seeks out your opinion before deciding on anything.
“Bloody Terrine, Deep-Fried Devil Zebra, Devildom Stir-fry with Toxic Chameleon-”
“Beel you’re drooling,” you laugh softly, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth. He takes it from you, his stomach rumbling from the thought of what he wanted to eat. “Y/N, what should I get?” His eyes focus in on you after a few seconds of staring at the menu. “Huh?” you’re slightly startled from his sudden question. “You should get whatever you’re feeling Beel, I mean you’re the one eating it.”
Beel shook his head, continuing to hold your gaze, “I want to hear your thoughts as well,” a slight flush dusts his face, but it’s barely visible. You smile softly, looking up at the menu, thinking for a second. “Mmmm well you got Bloody Terrine yesterday, and Deep-Fried Devil Zebra a few days before right? Why not get the stir-fry?” Beel takes in your thoughts, thinking on it for a moment before beaming at you, “Okay I’ll do that, thanks Y/N.”
Belphegor [🐮💜]
He prioritizes your comfort over his own
Belphie opened his eyes slowly, a smile finding its way onto his face as he stared at you, asleep next to him. However that smile soon turns into a frown as he studies the way your face is scrunched up, almost as if you were having a bad dream.
Belphie gently untangles himself from you, brushing a hand over the top of your head. Almost immediately, your face relaxes and you let out a puff of air as you slip into a more comfortable slumber. Belphie continues brushing his hand through your hair, carefully so he wouldn’t end up waking you up. Sure he was tired, but he would have rather helped you than just leaving you to fend for yourself when it came to the nightmares that plagued your sleep. His tail curls around your leg comfortingly, holding you in place so that you don’t end up rolling away but at the same time you’re still near him.
Belphie sighs softly as he settles back down next to you, rearranging his limbs so that they weren’t in your way. Although it wasn’t the most comfortable position, it was better than nothing.
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#ash writes#obey me! shall we date?#obey me!#obey me x reader#obey me x mc#obey me x you#omswd#omswd x reader#omswd x mc#obey me lucifer#obey me lucifer x reader#obey me mammon#obey me mammon x reader#obey me leviathan#obey me leviathan x reader#obey me satan#obey me satan x reader#obey me asmodeus#obey me asmodeus x reader#obey me beelzebub#obey me beelzebub x reader#obey me belphegor#obey me belphegor x reader#lucifer x reader#mammon x reader#leviathan x reader#satan x reader#asmodeus x reader#beelzebub x reader#belphegor x reader
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I urge you: Bite me
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Summary: Sometimes love hurts like a split nail, and sometimes we like it like that.
Sometimes Joel hurts like a split nail, you like him like that too.
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: Raider era Joel; Angst; Obsessive behavior; Possessive behavior; Toxic relationships; Controlling behavior; Mean Joel; Kind of soft Joel too; Frankly, some pretty pathetic behavior; Surprisingly soft sex; Breeding kink; Creampie; Oral sex (f!receiving); Dirty talk; Fingering; Come eating; Size difference; Older man/younger woman; Buckle up we’re going old man trapping!; Joel Miller comes with his own TW
A/N: Idk what to say, she's just in a silly goofy mood, I guess!
Title is from Stigmata: Escaping Texts by Hélène Cixous
Word Count: 9.8K
Read on AO3
You’ve been watching him for close to half an hour now. The longest you’ve probably ever gone without him catching you, barking at you to get lost.
Sometimes… he’s mean.
Cold and brutish and maybe even a little cruel. Not an ounce of patience for the pesky little crush he knows you’ve been nursing for him from the first moment you’d met him. He’s never thrown it in your face, a sort of kindness, you suppose, but it’s always just there, on the periphery, the tip of his tongue, the corner of the room. Hanging over your heads like a black cloud. The reality of the fact that you’re pretty sure you’d do anything he asked of you, in any form, no matter what it was. You’d give him anything if he wanted it from you. This pervasive need to please and impress him. To be strong enough, smart enough, savvy enough to keep up with him and Tess, and yet, you’re always shut out, left behind, scolded or scorned or belittled, and still, and still you want him.
But then other times–other times he could be sweet. Or whatever weak sort of pretense of sweetness a man like him could muster up; like the fruit he brings you on occasion, sweetness. The first time he’d done it you’d cried yourself to sleep afterwards. Heart set to burst, stomach in your throat. Getting down on your knees in gratitude to a man who is just on this side of not completely hating you for a simple piece of fruit doesn’t seem like the best way to get him to respect you, to not look at you as a burden. You’d held off from doing that… just barely.
Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel
You don’t think you’re obsessed with him. Or– you don’t like to call it that. But you do look up to him and you do want him and you would do anything he ever asked of you no matter what it did to you. You’d met him and Tess shortly after you’d arrived in Boston, joined their crew or whatever it was that they called themselves when they went out and did things they weren’t supposed to be doing. You know they have something between them, don’t know the specifics, the technicalities, and you don’t like to think of it. Mostly you push it from your mind and look the other way when they get too close, intimate voices and lingering touches that make your belly sour and curdle, your eyes pinch hot so that you have to call it a day and head home after that.
They live together. Or at least you think they do. They keep you at arms length enough to know that there are two apartments they keep, one that you’re pretty is for contraband and one for fucking and sleeping and eating, but you’re not entirely sure. Another thing you like to close your eyes to.
They never let you do much, don’t trust you, don’t think you competent or strong enough which is fair and fine you suppose. But you’re smart, good with numbers, sound logical head on your shoulders and they know this. Hard pressed as they are to admit it, sometimes you have good ideas, and sometimes they come to you for your opinion on logistics, distances, measurements. These are the times Joel is cruelest. He gets mean when he’s nervous, like a bad dog. And your involvement in their business makes him nervous as hell. Mostly you fetch things for them, and Tess likes to call you puppy sometimes which you know is just another way of saying you’re his little bitch. Something that, deep inside of you where it’s quiet and secret and maybe a little delusional, you think he’d not stand for if she actually said those words out loud. There is, you think, a line to his cruelty and a space he keeps you in, and that line is not to be crossed and that space not to be trespassed, and if it weren't for the way he looks at you sometimes, the fruit or the sweater he’d brought you once, it’s soft, goes with you, he’d told you, you’d not have noticed that line or that space. But it’s there, you know it’s there.
Lately though, things have been… you don’t know, tenser, perhaps. Angrier, on the edge of something, verging on a scream or a fight. Between the two of them, but also towards you. You’d worried they were getting sick of you or that they’d finally realized the little they had you do was not nearly enough to warrant including you in their takings – even though you knew they always cut you short and took the bigger piece for themselves. A few days ago, you’d been exhausted, taking shifts at the old mall for cleanup behind their backs, Joel doesn’t like it when you take FEDRA work, but the dude you rented your little room from had told you last week he’d be upping your rent to twenty rations a week, a truly obscene amount. And you didn’t want to tell Tess and Joel, you didn’t, couldn’t ask them for help, and you also didn’t want to get kicked out of your room. So you’d taken a few shifts on the down low, just as a source of cushion. They’ve been planning a big haul for several days now, and she’d come to you to double check their measurements and distance calculations. Easy work you should’ve been through with quickly, but you’d been so tired. Overworked and underfed because sometimes you’re stupid and soft and share too much with the old lady that lives in the room next door to yours, and your head had been throbbing something fierce, vision glowing bright white. You just needed sleep, and Tess had been so sick of you, angry and snappish, and you’d even thought, just for a second, that she was going to strike you when you couldn’t make sense of their notes and the plan she was disclosing to you. Which had admittedly surprised you for as shit as they usually treated you, they’d never once, either of them, laid a hand on you. And it had surprised you doubly from Tess who, despite the puppy shit, could sometimes be sort of kind to you. You know it’s pity, but you also know she’s a good person. Despite the stealing and the drug dealing, and yeah probably, or most definitely, even the murdering – she’s a good person. Or whatever semblance of a good person a world like this allows for now. So yeah, something was off. A petty and bitter and terrible part of you hopes it’s something between them. That they’re breaking up, that he’s leaving her, that he’s finally realized he wants you as much as you want him. Wishful thinking of a silly little girl.
He calls you soft. Sometimes, he probably even calls you dumb. How could he not when you follow him around the way you do? Half the moon shining in your eyes for him. You could say you don’t care, and most of the time you don’t, but like you’d said, things were different recently. Tense and angry and there was a frenetic sort of energy that buzzed around Joel whenever you came around now, an extra ounce of pity punctuated by something sharp and mean in Tess’s gaze that’s added to you having pulled back a little from them as of late, as well.
And then there had been, well… you don’t want to think of it. You turn your face away from where you’ve been watching him the past half hour, sitting on a dirty bench a ways away from where he’s been having a conversation with another man since you’ve been sat here. They look like they're arguing, or better said, the man looks like he’s trying to argue at Joel who’s scowling down at him with a look of utter disdain and disgust, thick bulging arms crossed across his chest. You cross your own legs at the knee, pressing your thighs together. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to see him anymore. You don’t want to love him anymore because you’d never really loved anyone else before your whole life, but you’re pretty sure you love Joel. As mean or as angry or as cold as he can be, you’re pretty sure you love him. Again, like you’d said, silly girl.
And there had been that thing last week, the bursting of the old rotten fruit the three of you pose as, which you don’t like to think of, but which, if you’re being honest, has lived like the plague, like a parasite inside of your mind the past week since it’d happened. You were supposed to meet them at noon last Thursday at the apartment, but it’d seemed like it was about to start pouring so you’d headed over a little early, had put on the soft blue sweater he’d brought you days back and hadn’t wanted it to get wet. Foolish. And you’d knocked, you had, you always did for this exact reason, but when there’d been no answer you’d stupidly pushed the door open anyways, they’d told you to meet them there at noon it was only ten minutes to noon, you weren’t even that early, only to be met with the sight of Tess’s retreating form into the restroom, shutting the door behind her, and him, a curdle of bile in your throat, his naked torso, thick and strongly built, hard muscle and hair and scars, jeans open and his thick, long cock, lying heavily on his belly, still shiny with damp slick, the white of his spurted semen glistening on the skin of his abdomen and chest. There was a sheen to his collarbones and his forehead and his dark curls were a mess, like fingers had been recently run through them.
When you were ten you watched your parents get killed in a raid right in front of you. The sight of him like this by the hands of another woman was not as bad, but very close. You’d paused for a too long second, hand on the doorknob that felt cold as dry ice, burning your skin, and the two of you had just stared at each other. His gaze had been so vacant, so hard. Like he’d wanted you to see, like he was glad. You couldn’t help the tears that had filled your eyes because you knew that he knew. Knows how you feel. A muscle under his right eye had spasmed at the sight of your emotion, the frown in his brow deepening and as he’d made to stand up to tuck away the source of your horror you’d spun on your heel and ran. Down the stairs and straight across the entirety of the QZ to the opposite end, as far away as you could get from them and that apartment and the sight of his wet and used cock. You’d gone to the far wall of the QZ that spot where you knew there was a little part in the slats you liked to look out of sometimes when you were feeling restless and trapped, and you’d thrown up in the dry and overgrown grass.
It’d been a week and a day since then, and you want to hate him so badly. You want to hate him so badly. But you’re pretty sure the incident had only made you want him more.
And you want to hurt him too.
Which is surprising because you lack a severe sense of violence or hardness a life like this now warrants, but also not because it’s just been too much. Too much of being belittled, too few scraps of kindness, affection, softness, compassion, anything. And maybe you were soft or dumb or too young, too naive, too weak or any of the other things they liked to call you, puppy, but you also have a limit, even though you’d not previously known that it existed, and you’re pretty sure now that you’re coming to that limit pretty soon.
Honest or pathetic or whatever it is that it sounds like, the truth is that you just want someone to be nice to you. To pet your hair or hold you or tell you that you’re good and that it’ll all be okay. You want that very badly, and he will not give that to you, this you know with absolute certainty.
There is also the issue of your friend Adam. Adam who lives on the opposite side of your old neighbor, and who is kind and sweet and patient and who helped you get the clean up job at the mall. He likes you, you know it. Maybe he even wants you. But he’s just so– he’s not– no, you won’t think on that either right now.
Over half an hour now, and he’s not snapped at you to quit staring at him. Come over here and handed your ass to you for following him around or eavesdropping on his conversation. He hasn’t looked over at you a single time. Maybe he hasn’t noticed you, maybe a week and a day is long enough for him to have forgotten about you entirely, and your heart pinches and burns at the thought. You close your eyes to the warm sun. The weather is so unusually nice today. The sun, soft and soothing, and if you tip your head back and let the light of it shine through the thin membrane of your eyelids, you can feel that heat seep into your eyes, feel it on your bare arms propped up on the back of the bench. You’re tired today, again. That sort of bone tired that makes you dizzy and sick in your belly. Not enough food, not enough sleep, not enough anything. There’s a meagerness that lives about you all the time now, but there’s warmth right here in this spot on the bench, and Joel nearby, and even if he hasn’t noticed you, even though he’s never really noticed you, the sun is still there, and it’s still nice to watch him from afar. And yes, you’re pathetic, but you don’t really care about that so much, to be honest.
You want to hate him so badly.
“Where ya been?” He knocks the edge of his boot into the prominence of bone on the outside of your ankle and you hiss, jerking your leg back and away from him, not having heard him come up. He never says your name. Never. You’ve heard him utter the word four times in the entirety of the time the two of you have known each other, and it makes you want to bear your teeth at him or kick him in the shin, scream until his ears bleed. Does he really think you so small and insignificant that he cannot even address you by name when he speaks to you? Asshole.
“I’ve been here,” and there is too much truth to the words.
“On this bench?”
“What?” you look away from him again, swallowing. He is not a funny person, and you would like to tell him so. He’s looming over you, hands on his hips and a pissed off look on his face, and sometimes, you’ve realized that the angrier he gets the wetter it makes you, and you really don’t want to think about that right now either. You’re too tired, you don’t want to think about anything. You wonder if anyone’d notice if you just laid down right here and went to sleep forever. There are two warring sides within you, one that whispers that you could drop dead infront of him, and he’d not give a single fuck, and another that says that if something bad happened to you he’d be truly, truly displeased.
You feel newly hatched, newly made, too exhausted to deal with the enormity of all you feel for him right now.
He tries to knock your ankle again, and you whip your face back towards him “What do you want?” You spit at him, and his mouth parts, a little shocked, you’ve never been anything but meek and sweet and desperate towards him. But the shock of your temper passes quickly, and you watch him harden like stone before your very eyes. His face and demeanor going stony and angry and serious, readying to put you in your place. The sight of it chases all the fight out of you, you deflate like a sadly trampled flower and seem to melt into the surface of the bench. Let him do and say what he will, you don’t care anymore.
“I want you to fucking look at me when I’m speaking to you, first of all. And I want to know where you’ve been and why you haven’t come around?”
Voice dead: “Don’t you also want to know why I don’t knock before walking into other people’s homes?” And you don’t know where it comes from, and you kind of feel like you might vomit at his feet or start crying or a little bit of both, but you’re glad you say it anyways.
Another look of shock, and if you weren’t so beaten down bone dead tired, you’d probably smile a little. But that passes quickly again too and like a knife to a lung or a fist to the belly he says, “You did knock.”
So he knew and let you see anyways. You nod once, “You’re right, I did.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“What?”
“Stop being purposefully fuckin’ obtuse, little girl.” Little girl, fuck you.
“Obtuse. Big word, I thought you needed me for the brains.”
His frown changes, different form anger, more like confusion; “What’s wrong with you today?” You don’t know. You feel sad. Tired. Alone. Angry.
“Nothing,” you lie, looking away from him. “Did you need something from me?” You know what the answer will be.
“No.” Yeah.
A dip of your chin. “I gave Tess my notes. The plan for tonight’s good.” You slide to the far end of the bench so that you can stand without being too close to him, and he takes a single side step towards you. All at once: confused, questioning, angry look on his face. You want to smooth out the little frowning wrinkle between his eyebrows, you want to hate him, you want to take him inside of you. The sight of his wet cock flashes in your mind. If he fucked you it’d hurt, you’re sure of it. You’re also sure you’d like it if it did. Your mother had died before you’d become a woman, gotten your period, known anything about what it would be like to walk around the world with a thing between your legs that men would covet. You’d gone to live with a woman who was kind of her friend, but not really, but who in the end, had been kind enough to shelter a lonely child, told you about the world and set you up so that you’d at least survive on your own, if not thrive. She’d told you that sometimes love hurt like a split nail, and that sometimes we liked it like that. That sometimes people came out a little gnarled and looked for equally strange things in return, and that you should be wary of this but not punish yourself for it. Things were the way they were. You’d not understood at the time, had only thought her to have the saddest sort of eyes you’d ever seen in your short life, but when you looked at yourself in the mirror now as a grown woman, you saw those same sort of eyes reflected back at you, and you felt you understood what she’d meant.
He takes another small step towards you, and you look the opposite way, down the street towards your cold little room with the land lord who you’re pretty sure is eventually going to ask for a fuck instead of rations. The thought of that is somehow tragically better than the thought of his damp and used body and that cold and taunting look in his eyes, Tess’s pity and sharp voice and desire to strike you.
Adam had said he had more work for you tonight, you think you’ll sleep for a few hours and then go find him. “You’re not coming,” he says sharply, interrupting your thoughts, invading your thoughts like always.
You look back at him, the frown, the aggressive, commanding aspect of him. Of course he doesn't want you there. “No, I’m not. I have other things I need to do.” Stupid to add that on, but you can’t help yourself.
“Like what?”
“My friend Adam has been finding me work.” Stupid, stupid. Shut your damn mouth.
“What the fuck are you talking about? That’s where you’ve been running off to these past few days? I thought we had an arrangement the three of us–”
You scoff, “An arrangement? That’s what it was? I thought I was just your puppy,” and the words burn and writhe like something poisoned on your tongue. You’d never said that word aloud to him, never acknowledged what it is they see you as.
He swallows, at a loss for words, “Listen, if this is about–”
“Joel, I don’t care how you keep your dick wet. We had,” another bitter laugh, we, what a fucking joke, “The arrangement served its purpose, but I think it’s run its course, don’t you? I’ll help with plans when you guys need me, but I need more work. Teddy,” the landlord, “s’been asking for more rent rations–”
“That slimy fuck can’t do that to you–”
You ignore him, stepping back and soldiering on, “And I need more work. I’ve been helping the clean up crews–”
His eyes go wide and bugged and furious, and he takes several more steps to match your retreating ones, “You’ve been doing fucking what? And who the fuck is Adam?” he growls, hand coming up to catch you when all you want at this moment is for him to finally let you go. At the same time, the man he was speaking to before, the pseudo arguer, calls out to him from behind, coming up upon the two of you, and when Joel turns to look back at him you spin on your heel and scamper away as quick as you can. He calls out your name after you, the fifth time he’s ever said it, and it is no longer a split nail, but a split limb, a split rib, a split heart, something terrible and devastating.
You make it back to your room in time to collapse into the saddest puddle of tears that’s surely ever existed. Face down, buried in your pillows you cry for a thing you’d never even had the possibility of having, but which still hurts like a blow to the skull nonetheless. Something that you can no longer push from your mind or close your eyes to or swallow and hide away in your belly. He doesn’t love you. He never has and he never will, and there was never the possibility of it, and you have to accept that. And you must also accept that it is not some failing on your part, his inability to choose you, to love you. You know that there are parts of Joel that are broken beyond repair, sometimes people come out a little gnarled and look for equally strange things in return, and you cannot tell yourself either that it’s his loss because honestly, perhaps, it isn’t. Perhaps, it just isn't meant to be, and it is no sort of loss because it was never really anything that was ever supposed to really be. You must tell yourself these things not to hurt yourself but because you are tired of hurting. He doesn't love you, and it isn't your fault, and there's nothing you could have done about it and nothing you can do about it and things move forward anyways.
You sleep after this, lulled into unconsciousness by the pounding of your temples and the slow, cold drip of your tears across the bridge of your nose and into your ear. The wall your bed is pushed up against is a sickly yellow color, deep, old cracks and water damage marring the surface, and it’s such a sad sight it makes you even more depressed, and when you finally close your eyes to escape it, even though all you can see in your mind is the look on his face right before you walked away from him, even though it’s an infinitely painful sort of thing, it soothes you in a sick and twisted sort of way to know he’s out there in the world existing. Even if you want to hate him, even if you don’t, even if his very existence pains you, it’s still somehow comforting.
-
The job Adam has for you turns out to be stupider and more dangerous and bigger than you’d bargained for. His crew is trying to steal a generator from an old FEDRA warehouse that they’d heard about through their grapevine of informants. He doesn’t tell you what the generator is for, nor where it is they’re exactly stealing it from. All he tells you is that he needs you to stand at a previously decided upon spot in the woods near where their drop off location is, and keep watch. There will be another person posted a few miles away from you, and if there’s any movement there shouldn’t be you’re to come looking for the next person who’ll find the next and then the next and alert whoever it is that needs to be alerted that something’s amiss. Stand, watch, signal if necessary, and it seems simple enough, but the catch, the fact that you need to leave the QZ is what you’d not accounted for. Something you’d never done before. After several hours of restless sleep and a slightly revolting can of old chili and beans you feel partially more yourself and not so haggardly terrible. You’ve decided that the conversation with Joel never happened and that you’re going to avoid the two of them for the rest of your life and pretend like you never met them and they don’t exist and maybe you’ll even give Adam a chance to fuck you, and then perhaps, the memory of Joel will be jostled out of your head by another mans dick. Good, sound plan.
It’s raining something awful outside by the time the two of you make it to the meetup point and the place where you’re to stay and keep watch, and you don’t think about the fact that at this very moment Tess and Joel are probably also sneaking their way out of the QZ to go on their own run. You’re comforted by the fact that you know that their raid will lead them in the opposite direction of where you’ll be tonight. The spot you’re to keep isn’t so deep in the woods that the moonlight isn’t able to make its way through the trees, and the rain has abated slightly by the time you’re settled into your spot on the cold ground where you’re to wait and watch. Adam leaves with a short nod and a brush of his thumb to the high arch of your cheekbone which elicits a slightly nauseating flip of your stomach that you choose to ignore. Evasion is obviously your favorite tactic of self preservation, and you wonder when all this burying of your head in the sand will finally catch up to you.
You sit for several hours in the dark silence, and it eventually stops raining and with the cessation of the cold downpour comes your fear. The silence is so loud and the dark seems to swell and throb around you with the loss of the rhythm and movement of the rain. You’re freezing cold, and Adam had said to not move until he came back for you, but he’d not specified how long that’d be, and now that you’re stuck here, shivering and stomach cramping with hunger, fuck those beans, you’re realizing how ostensibly stupid this was of you, and you also can’t help but think that Joel would have never asked this of you, he would have never left you out here in the dark wilderness unprotected, he probably would’ve tied you up and muzzled you before he even let you out of the QZ, and to be perfectly honest, you think you’d probably like that too. Pathetic.
You sit for a short while longer before something shifts. The moon or the wind or something that doesn’t feel right; your level of fear ricochets up to a scream for a second, and then you hear the snap of a branch from what seems to be one side, and then the shift of trees from another direction. You get to your feet and make a slow circle in the place your standing, frightened eyes searching the darkness for something that shouldn’t be there, and as you’re about to call it quits and bolt, fuck Adam and his stupid plan, you’re jerked back into a rock solid, wide chest, large, rough hand clamping tight and painful over your mouth. You freeze paralyzed for a single second, heart racing within your chest like a small animal on the verge of death, but then his rough voice, angrier than you’ve ever heard it, soft in your ear. “You better tell me I’m hallucinating you out here right now.” Your body sags, adrenaline leaving you in a florid rush, so that you’re wilting in his hold. You make a choked, garbled sort of noise in your throat, head hanging so that the weight of it is held in the cup of his palm, and you’re pretty sure you feel his head bend to nose into the back of your loose hair at the base of your skull. The two of you stand like that for a few moments while you catch your breath, and yes, that’s definitely the tip of his nose smelling at your hair, the soft place behind your ear. The feel of his skin meeting yours sparks a sort of frenzy within you, and you snap into rage, limbs jerking and shivering and throwing you into movement, pulling yourself out of his grip and whipping back to face him. In the weak light of the moon you can see that his eyes are darker and angrier than you’ve ever seen them. Even that time you were incredibly stupid and clumsy and had slipped on a ladder you shouldn’t have been climbing, for a job you shouldn’t have taken and cracked a rib. He is definitely more furious with you this time.
“Let me guess,” he spits, taking an aggressive step towards you, “This is the fucking job your little fuckin’ friend got for you.” He says your name again, for the sixth time and twice in one day, and it’s enfolded in a casing of rage that feels bitter and punishing in a way that makes a sharp pain start up behind your left eyeball, deep in your brain. “How fucking stupid can you be coming out here? You’re going to get yourself killed, caught, thrown in FEDRA prison, and I’m not gonna be able to get your ass out, you hear me? You are not fuckin’ built to be out here doin’ shit like this and–”
You rush at him suddenly, using all your weight to slam your palms into his chest, the rain has started up again, and he’s slightly slippery and steaming hot beneath his wet clothes. You slam your tiny and inconsequential fists into the incredible strength of his chest, the other going up to the edge of his jaw to try and shove his face back but he’s too strong and too big and too unmoved so that you’re left to resort to simply digging your nails into the meat of his cheek like a pathetic little kitten. “I am so fucking sick–” you try and shove him again, and he takes a looming step into you, bumping his chest into yours and jostling you into taking a forced step back, “Of the way you treat me.” You drag your nails over the edge of his jaw and down his neck, trying to draw blood, incite a reaction, but he’s made of stone and you hate him. “You’re such a fucking asshole all the time, and I’m tired of it, and I hate you.” There are tears sliding down your face, and you thank the sky for the masking of the rain. “You find me so fucking burdensome, so annoying, so useless or whatever your fucking problem is with me then go away, leave me alone! What I’m doing out here is none of your business.” Another weak slam of your fists to his chest, the drag of your nails down the thick jut of his collarbone, and you shove yourself back and away from him. Chest heaving, throat choked with tears and resentment and fear and love for him.
“You hate me, huh?” he says very quietly and very calmly.
Your face spasms in frustration and rage, and you turn away from him to face the dark of the surrounding woods, hands coming up to clutch and pull at your hair. “Yes. I hate you so much,” the sobbing heaves make it all sound very convincing, you’re sure.
“And you’re tired of the way I treat you?”
Why is he so fucking calm? Maybe you should hit him again. “Yes, I am.”
“Got your little panties all in a twist, don’t you, little girl?” Little, little, little. Your heart dips down into your stomach, your arms falling to hang limply at your sides. “But I bet if I checked, they’d also be wet for me right now, wouldn’t they?” You’ve never heard his voice sound like this. You turn slowly back to look at his face again, but before you can even shake your head, deny it, he’s rushing at you, strong hand clamping painfully around your jaw, smooshing your cheeks together, and he’s seething at you through clenched teeth. “You fuckin hate me? Well I hate you back. I hate you more. More than you could ever imagine, and I fucking hate how much you make me want you.” Your eyes go wide and shocked and full of tears. “Huh? How ‘bout that? Bet you weren’t expectin’ that, were you?” He’s so angry the drawl of his accent is deepened, sharper, amputating the ends of his words with his rage, and he shoves you away by the grip on your face, leaving you to stumble in shock.
You can’t speak, can’t say anything, he’s struck you dumb. Your eyes slither down his wet form. His soaking flannel is plastered to his thick torso, big, bulging arms and wide chest, his long legs encased in dark denim. When your gaze makes its way back up to his face he’s scowling at you. “Got nothin’ to say?” You take a tiny step back and he matches it with one of his own forward, a half jerk of your chin. “Have you let that stupid fuck have you?”
And you really weren’t expecting that, “What?” voice confused and breathy, heat pooling low in your tummy. You look over his shoulder at the dark space behind him, “Where’s Tess?”
He shakes his head, irritated and short, “I pissed her off. She stayed back. Adam – are you letting him fuck you?” Another step forward to match one of your own, and his eyes flash down to your feet, he gives a slight shake of his head as if to warn you off of your retreat.
This angers you. “What do you care who I’m letting have me? What if he is fucking me? As if that’s any of your damn business.” You take two more steps back, and his face spasms in anger.
“Fucking run,” he whispers, “I dare you.” Your legs lock in obstinacy, you’re not doing what he tells you anymore. “Answer me. Are you letting him fuck you?”
“No.” Pathetic.
“But he wants to.”
“Yes.”
Something verging on a snarl deep in his chest, “And he brought you out here? Left you out here alone? When he wants you like that? And you were stupid enough to let him?” But suddenly, something is clicking inside of your mind, and you’re not really paying attention to the things he’s saying to you anymore. He’s angry. He’s jealous. You give him a little smile and oh, that really pisses him off. You give another step back, nod your head gently at him, soft smile widening. Another deep, rumbly sound that makes your cunt go soft and wet and your heart gallop inside of you. “You better fucking run, little girl. You’re not going to like what happens when I get my hands on you, and I’m not going to care.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise, and you don’t need him to tell you twice. You spin on your heel and make a run for it. Weaving through the trees, guided by the weak light of the rainy moon, you know there are houses a short ways west, and you pump your legs and arms as fast as you can in that direction. You’ll hide in one of them. If he finds you, catches you is a thought for when or if he does so. But you can hear the heavy pound of his boots slamming against the ground behind you, close enough to jostle your heart up into your throat, and you let out an entirely inappropriate little squeal as you do your best to speed up. But he’s stronger, legs longer and more powerful and being caught was an inevitability. As soon as the first house comes into view an uncompromisingly strong arm is wrapping around your waist, painfully crushing your ribs in the circle of his grasp and slamming you into his chest. He comes to a jerking halt with you held in his arms, and the length of his panting, steaming body presses into your back, his other arm coming up to circle you as well, and he reaches for your heaving breast, clutching the heavy weight of it tightly in his hand and squeezing a ragged moan out of the both of you at the same time. “Caught you,” he whispers into your throat, pressing a thick, growing erection into your bottom. He spins you in his hold, nothing gentle about the way he handles you, grips you by the jaw forcing your mouth open, fingers digging between your molars and slams his mouth to yours, wet tongue licking into you, tasting behind your teeth, the surface of your tongue. You moan and claw and scratch at him, trying to hit him and pull him closer and push him away, all at the same time. Hand snaking from your jaw to fist in the back of your hair he yanks your head back, wet mouth left open and panting and that anger is different now, something unrecognizable about it when he says, “More than anything though, I hate how much I want this cunt.” His hand on your waist has slithered down over your ass and between your legs to cup your pussy in his wide hand, fingers pressing harshly at the seam of your denim over your clit. You think you must whisper his name because he nods his head once, and then is bending at the knees to press his shoulder into the soft of your belly and straightening to his full height again with you slung over the thick mass of his wide shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You don’t even protest, just lay there limply, arms and hair hanging overhead and swaying with the rhythm of his gait as he starts to walk towards the first house, and all you can think is finally.
He does two slow roves around the house before he tries the backdoor handle, in the end, simply resorting to kicking it in. He pauses at the threshold for a moment, and he’s not even slightly out of breath with the entirety of your weight folded over his shoulder after that chase. The ground is so far away from where you hang, he’s so tall, and you can’t help it when you drag your hand up the denim over the back of his thigh, over the thick swell of muscle of his ass to the edge of his jeans where you tuck your fingers in, feeling the heat of his damp skin. He growls at that, at the feel of your exploration and grips the back of one of your thighs tightly, the other coming up to squeeze an ass cheek in his hand, and then you feel the press of his face and the sharp bite of his teeth as he sinks them into the side of your ass over the thick fabric of your pants with a gruff snarl. You whimper, digging your fingers into the muscles of his lower back. He kicks the door shut behind you and moves slowly through the entire house after that, pistol gripped in one hand, you in the other, making sure the house is alone and secure. When he’s finally assured himself that the two of you are alone, he makes his way to one of the bedrooms, shutting and locking the door behind the two of you and then ripping the old dusty comforter and pillows off the bed where he shucks you off his shoulder, letting you fall to the mattress with a limp bounce. He doesn’t even ask, doesn’t say anything, simply starts at the laces of your boots, pulling them from your feet and then your socks where he lifts your small foot, big hand wrapped entirely around the thing of it, and drags his teeth over your sensitive instep. You moan, trying to pull your limb away from him, but he flashes you a hot and warning look and you settle. What’s the point in fighting, you think, if this is the very thing you’ve wanted all this time anyways? He pulls you up by the lapels of your too thin jacket, which he tuts at recriminatingly, divests you of it. Before he pushes you back to flop on the bed again, he grips you by the throat to lick into your mouth once more, moans deep and wanton in his chest, a vibration of sound you’ve never before heard from any man at the simple taste of you. He works at your jeans and sweater next, then finally your panties and bra. He doesn’t seem to really look until you’re finally entirely bare for him, limbs splayed out, soft and loose and too sticky sweet. His eyes are like fire, they burn, and you stretch and arch for him, letting him scorch you. He falls forward, propped up over you by the strength of his thick arms and dips his head to suck a single nipple into his mouth, opens his jaw wider and bites at the full globe of your breast as if he could swallow the entire thing. He moves to give the other one equal attention, your hands coming up to thread through his thick curls, and when he looks back up at you his gaze is manic, and if you wanted him less, maybe had more sense, it would perhaps be frightening.
“What do you want?” He asks you in a way that tells you he doesn’t really care what your answer is.
“Anything.”
He shakes his head at you as he moves to grip you beneath the bend of each knee to spread you wide for him. “Begging for things you don’t know nothin’ about.”
“I don’t care,” you tell him, “I want them anyways,” because it’s the truth, and he nods his head like he already knew, like he knows everything there is to know about you and maybe even the things that you don’t even know about yourself yet.
“You’re too young,” he shoulders his way down to lay on his belly between your thighs, and when his eyes land on your slick, swollen cunt his voice drops down to an even lower octave. “And you want this too much.”
“I know. I don’t care.” You drag your thumb over the arch of his thick eyebrow, the hairs are coarse but soft and then he lowers his mouth to your pussy.
He eats your cunt like everything else he does, a little mean. Starts with gentle laps, soft kisses, but eventually, graduates to sharp sucks and harsh nips, all teeth and tongue and plush lips so that your hips are arching in desperate and begging little motions, thrusting up into his face. When he presses first one then two of those thick long fingers into your opening it pinches in a way you weren't expecting. Only his fingers have you twinging on the verge of discomfort, and you don’t know how you’ll take his cock, but you know he isn’t going to give you the opportunity for choice or pause, and so you lay there and spread your legs wider and take it. He interchanges between rough and gentle, fingers petting softly at that sensitive place inside of you you’ve always wanted to give him, but mouth sharp and mean sucking harshly at your clit, nipping at the lips of your sex and the vulnerable soft of your thighs, covering the entirety of your pussy with his mouth and then licking at your fluttering hole when he pulls his fingers from you to taste the rivulet of slick you’re weeping for him. He groans and you watch the shift of his shoulders and back, the thrust of his hips as he grinds his cock into the mattress desperately, the gathering of sweat at his hairline. He presses his fingers back in, crooks and shakes them inside of you to jostle your orgasm forward, and like every other time you’ve followed him into complacency and obedience blindly, you gush for him, a broken sob of his name splintering from behind the line of your teeth. He’s sucking and kissing at your clit, the space above where his fingers penetrate you, but when you throw your arm over your eyes to hide the sight of your overwhelmed tears from him he pauses, “Want your eyes on me when you’re coming for me, you understand?” A pinch to your asscheek, a kiss to the top of your mound. You sniffle, shifting your head to rest your cheek on your shoulder and watch him over the swell of your breasts as he resumes the work of his mouth on you. He licks through your folds, pulling his fingers from you to lap up all of your spilled lust, and when he’s done, pulling back to look down at you like some conquering villain he reaches down and pats the top of your cunt, “She’s mine now,” he tells you, and you can’t even dispute it. He kneels between your spread legs, a murmured, wanna look at you, as he starts on the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open and baring himself to you. You’d already seen his naked chest that other time, and the memory of it embitters the moment, you turn your face into the crook of your raised arms, hiding your face away from him, and he tuts at you. “Told you, want those gorgeous eyes on me at all times.” And you love him, Christ, you do. It’s the most unfair thing in the world, the most painful thing that’s ever happened to you in your entire life. You want to cry and scream and kick. You obey anyways. Shifting your face with a small sniffle to peer up at him from beneath your lashes. You want to pull your legs closed, feeling suddenly, unbearably shy and hurt and newly made. Like the orgasm he’d pulled forth from you had brought to light the reality of your existence in the world, in his life. A non entity.
And like he can read your mind, like he’s acquired a direct line of communication for himself to your brain, your very heart: “Me and Tess haven’t been anything for a while.” He goes for the button of his jeans, you listen to the teeth of the zipper parting for you. “Not since you started coming around.” You would like to ask him to stop. You make to close your legs, your cunt like a wound in the shape of your desire for him, bared and obvious to the whole world, but he grips you about the round of your knee, squeezing the joint and keeping you spread for him. “I just couldn’t anymore. And the other day– what you saw the other day was just me being desperate and pathetic and unfairly angry at you. It was me being weak and stupid, and that isn’t an excuse.” He stands and shucks his jeans, he’s not wearing underwear, and God, you want him with a sort of desperation that’s unhinged and maybe even wrong or depraved. “She knows we’ve been through. Told her again today, but still… I needed to stay away to keep you away. This shouldn't be happening right now, and yet it’s going to anyway, and after this, it’s going to keep happening–” Your heart flames into elation, and then goes frozen and bitter all at the same time. You want to kick him away, but settle for trying to twist away from him. Angry and hurt and not wanting to hear anymore, to think about him fucking her, of their shared history, their relationship.
You try and wriggle away, but he pulls you back by your hips, big hands sliding up the slopes of your waist to squeeze and knead at your breasts. You grip and claw at him, “I don’t care, I don’t care. I don’t want to hear any of it. You’ve been so–” you gasp on a sob.
“I know,” he nuzzles into your skin. “I know,” a kiss to your jaw and his bare form is settling between your thighs, his thick, long cock coming to rest heavily over the wet, parted seam of your cunt. You gasp at the feel of him there. “Don’t think I’ve ever wanted to take something for myself as badly as I wanted to take you. It made me mean as a dog.” He sucks a nipple into his mouth, biting gently. His mouth is everywhere, his hands gripping and pinching at your breasts, clutching at your ass to grind his hard cock against your pussy. He pulls back, and the wide head notches at your entrance. Oh, please, fuck me, fuck me. Finally.
“Gonna fuck your little cunt, baby. Make you all mine.”
“Please, Joel.” He goes slowly at first, fat head catching on the rim, popping it in and out, he pauses to look down, only his tip held inside of you, and he spits, right at the place where the two of you’re connected, smears it in with his fingers.
“Hot little pussy. Gonna take the whole thing, greedy little girl. Aren’t you?” You nod your head stupidly, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and wet, and you wonder if he can read that you’re in love with him there. You kind of hope he can. He presses in slowly so that you’re forced to feel every bump and ridge, your hips rocking unconsciously, trying to take more faster, but he’s big, thick and heavy, and the taking is not easy. You’re left gasping and arching, writhing wantonly on his cock by the time he’s sunk balls deep inside of you. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down the slope of his cheek, and you have to force yourself to keep your mouth shut and your tongue inside with the hopes of catching it there. He pants and groans, pulling and pressing you closer into him, grinding deep so that the wide head rubs at the mouth of your cervix. You can feel the ripple and shiver of your muscles, your body trying to adjust to such a large invasion and he kisses and licks at your face, your neck and shoulders and tits, and when your breathing has finally settled he pulls back to look down at you, gives a few light thrusts of his hips, eyes glued to the place where your cunt swallows him, spread obscenely, fit to burst around him. He looks back up at you, “Have you adjusted?” A pause for a brief nod of your head, “Yes? Good. Not gonna be gentle.” You don’t think you’ve ever wanted him to be gentle. After all, the way you’ve always felt about him has never been gentle in turn either. His thrusts take on a brutal edge, the wet slap of his balls against your ass loud and sticky against the slick curve of your ass. “Fucking Christ,” he bends his head to nip at your breast, big hand coming up to squeeze the entire thing and suck it into his mouth, “Got the wettest little cunt, baby.”
You want to beg him to go harder, deeper, to fuck you like he’s in love with you. “It’s yours,” you whisper instead.
“Yeah– fuck yes, it is. Yeah, baby, take my cock. Just like that.” He grips you by the knee, bringing your ankle to his shoulder to bob limply there, folding you entirely in half so that he can drill into you, and you reach up to hook your fingers against the edge of his bottom teeth, pulling his mouth open to peer inside. He laps and bites at your fingers, grips your own jaw, your throat, and you drag your nails down his jaw, his neck leaving little scorches of hurt in your wake. “Wanna see you fucked full of my come. Wanna see you leaking me. You gonna let me fill you up, sweet girl?”
Yes, yes, yes, please. Please, fill me up.
Your other ankle thrown over his shoulder now too, he presses his entire weight into you, his face pressed against yours, whispering into your skin, “And if I fuck you full of my baby? What’ll you do then? Hate me more?”
“No, no, never,” voice delirious and filled with a sort of frenetic energy he seems to be able to harness at whim. “Please, please, fuck me full of your baby. Please, I want it so bad, Joel. I do, I do.” He pauses his thrusts, holds there in the depths of you, grinds and squeezes you so tight you think a lung might burst.
When he pulls back the look on his face is just as unhinged as you’ve always felt about him. “Fucking Christ,” he starts to slam back into you, thumb at your clit, the other cradling the bowl of your skull in his palm, fingers woven through your hair. “Yeah– yeah, I’m gonna do it,” he grits. “Then it won’t fucking matter if you hate me or not. You’ll be stuck with me anyways.” He bends to kiss you again, and he tastes like violence, you lick into his mouth, take in the taste of his tongue. When he pulls back to look down at where he’s fucking into you, you reach down to grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, you want to feel where he’s caliming you, shiny with your slick, you half jack him off with sharp little tugs. “Come inside me, come inside me.” He changes the angle, punches at your g-spot, and the rub of your hand over your clit where you’re gripping him, the feel of his skin, his voice, the slide of his cock, in, in, in, and you’re both shivering and jerking with orgasm, throbbing into one another as he starts to fill you with his spend, his teeth bared in a growl as he marks you with himself. His hips slow, press and grind, and you feel the heavy jerk of his cock inside of you as your muscles work to suck him deeper, milking his come out of him with each tightening pull of your cunt. He presses his face into the damp crook of your shoulder, licks at the sweat gathered there, mouths wetly at your jaw, and you run your hands up the bumps and ridges of his muscled back. There’s a slight tremble running through him, and you hope it means he’s as overwrought by this as you are, that he wanted this as badly as you did, that he’ll want it again as desperately as you already do. He starts to shift, moving down the length of your body, kissing and licking as he goes, his sated cock slipping wetly from your cunt with a shuddered groan from him as he settles back again between your legs and starts to lick the slick from your overwrought cunt. Not seeming to care that he’s eating his own come as well. “Look so pretty drooling me here,” he murmurs, thumbing gently at your trembling opening. “Gonna fill it every day now. Fuck it full of my baby. You want that?” He looks up at you with a sly look, nipping at your thigh, sucking marks into your skin, all you can do is nod. Once he’s through licking you he crawls back up your body, wedges your jaw open and with a puckered mouth lets a long string of spit and come slowly seep out of his mouth and into your open, waiting one. It’s disgusting and dirty and entirely delicious.
As he flops back on top of you heavily, you drag your nails up and down his skin, threading your fingers through his curls and angling his head to hide beneath the edge of your jaw. His breathing starts to slow and deepen after a while, and you smile lightly, wrapping your arms and legs around him like snaking, strangling vines, and pressing your nose into the thick of his hair, taking in the musky, masculine scent of him, you know that after this you'll do anything, anything to keep him here with you just like this.
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Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 3: Lore Dump
Previous Chapter: Out of Character
Summary: After your bombshell revelation, Eddie finds it difficult to wrap his head around what is now his reality to empathize with your shared predicament.
Word Count: 8k
Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader
Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lore Dump (literally), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Criticism of Fanfiction, Meta Fiction
Note: Ok besties here we are and the chapter, or at least one part of it, is very much as the title says. It's a Lore Dump as we figure out how Reader and Eddie have found themselves in this predicament. Warning everyone that it might be a little mind-fucky but a lot more will be explained in detail in future chapters. We've only just scratched the surface here.
You can find my masterlist here.
Please do not interact if you are not 18+.
Enjoy!
You'd never run so much in your entire life.
Alright, that might have been a little dramatic.
But that didn't mean it wasn't true.
"Is it always like this?" you panted as you chased after the flopping brown coat of the man a few steps ahead of you. "With the running?"
"Oh yes!" he called out. He looked back at you with a charming, crooked grin and pointed ahead. "You'll get used to it. Allons-y!"
This whole nightmare started when you crashed your car into, what you thought was, an unassuming blue "police box."
And now, several days later, you were running, ducking, diving...surviving all manner of monsters that seemingly popped up out of nowhere in the middle of Texas. With a goofy man with unbrushed hair and a buzzing screwdriver called The Doctor, and his companion--whatever that meant; it sounded suspicious to you--Martha, who kept staring at you like you'd grown another head.
You supposed adventure was the idea when you left the borders of Port Geneva proper, but this kind of adventure wasn't exactly what you had in mind. Static monsters who could literally take the words out of your mouth and a hive-mind controlling overlord whose goal it was to steal knowledge.
You might have been a lover of fantastical stories, but this was something beyond your wildest fantasies, and apparently something Martha and the Doctor encountered regularly, if their cool reaction to some of the atrocities you'd seen was indicator enough.
They both seemed to have it in mind that you were joining them for this type of ordeal from now on, though.
Especially the Doctor, if that "you'll get used to it" was something to go by.
"Come on, faster, faster," Martha called out to you from the threshold of a solid metal door just up ahead. "They can't get in through the iron."
You pumped your legs faster and ignored the burn in your lungs as you passed the Doctor and joined Martha in the safety of the bunker, with the man of the hour himself following shortly after. Martha slammed the door shut and then used the sonic to ensure the lock would hold.
They let you have a moment to catch your breath as they strategized plans for the next steps, which seemed impossible now that you were stuck in a bunker filled with junk and no exit.
"Nothing's impossible," the Doctor exclaimed as though he could read your mind. Maybe he could; you wouldn't put it past him. "And we're not stuck."
He removed the brown trench coat and got to work sorting through the junk in the bunker, while Martha took a seat beside you and patted your knee.
"You should be proud of yourself," she said gently. "It's really hard, dealing with all of this. And I've been with him for almost a year now. All the running, the monsters, all of the...impossible--
"Nothing's impossible Martha," the Doctor interjected.
"--improbable things," she amended. "It doesn't get easier, but you will get used to it. Besides, you'd think you were on the track team like Sam with how fast you've been running. Maybe you should have been the star relay runner instead of her."
Martha might have laughed.
But you didn't.
You felt a cold sense of dread overtake you. You'd told them about your friends back home earlier in the day, when you'd panicked over your impending doom. You cried and told them you wished you were still back there, safe and sound; in hindsight, it was a pathetic moment.
It wasn't what you'd said that gave you pause now, though; it's what you hadn't.
"Martha," you muttered nervously. "How did you know that Sam did relay?"
Martha's eyes went wide and she looked to the doctor in a sudden panic.
"I...I never told you she was on the track team."
It was a standoff.
A staring contest.
You and Eddie watched each other, unblinking, as if to see who would break first.
Eddie knew it would probably be him because his mind was racing, but he would give you the chance to repeat yourself, or elaborate, or maybe yell "surprise" first.
None of those things happened of course, so he was left in stunned silence trying to formulate the words to respond to your groundbreaking revelation.
We are in a fanfiction.
Fanfiction.
He had heard about fanfiction before. Drove the guys out to some comic book shop in Fort Wayne to celebrate Jeff's birthday and the nerds behind the counter were talking about a Star Trek fanfiction they read in some celebratory fan magazine.
He'd honestly never thought about Kirk and Spock like that and he really didn't want to again.
Even though it kind of made sense.
He just wasn’t that big of a Trek guy either.
But damn, even though he and the guys might not have been the popular kids, they were definitely not dorky like that, were they?
Except that they were. He was.
He wrote his favorite characters into his DnD campaigns as NPCs and he fantasized about what it would be like if he was Han Solo instead of Han himself, and tucked away in a drawer at home, there was definitely that story about you...
"Shit," he finally breathed out, blinking and breaking eye contact with you. "Shit, I did this. I mean, I know I did this, but did...did I do this?"
"What?" You frowned at him. "What do you mean, did you do this? Eddie, did you hear what I said?"
"No, yeah, of course I did," he began rambling. "I just...before you showed up in Hawkins, I...I wrote about you. I wrote about you leaving Port Geneva and coming to Hawkins and meeting me and...fuck...that means you know."
You stared at him blankly.
"You know that Port Geneva is a TV show," he clarified and then ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ, how did I...how could I have done this? Shit. Shit."
You crossed the short distance and took a seat on the couch beside him, comforting hand finding his knee instantly.
"Eddie--"
"I'm sorry I did this. I'm sorry I just...you're my...my favorite character and I..."
"--you didn't do this. Someone else did."
He took a few breaths, heart pounding in his chest, and then swallowed hard.
"Who?"
"That's...a little harder to answer. But I think the thing you need to focus on right now--the thing you're missing--is that we are in a fanfiction. You and me. Together. Because I'm not the only one from a TV show. You are too."
Eddie was dumbstruck for a second.
Well, he was pretty dumbstruck about this whole thing. But he only had a second to really process it, because the next thing he knew, you were in his lap, lips pressed to his, hands fisting his jacket, and the door to the greenroom burst open as his friends walked in.
You pulled away from him as the catcalls and whistles and jokes began and glanced over your shoulder at the guys to bite your lip bashfully.
"Ah, looks like the original song worked after all," Jeff teased.
"Good, cuz then we don't have to play it anymore, bleh," Gareth stuck his tongue out. "You know, for everything you preach about metal and only metal Eddie, you sure wrote some sappy Greg Brady shit."
Eddie's ears rang as he answered. Well, as his mouth moved and voice spoke, saying something that got everyone laughing. Something that he had no control over once again. You turned back to him and he widened his eyes in some silent plea but you simply shook your head at him.
Instead you leaned forward and kissed him again, softer this time. Gentler. Different from the unexpected kiss just moments before, this was one of understanding and comfort.
He relaxed under your touch.
"Alright guys," you announced as you pulled away, words and tone of your voice not quite matching the softness of your gaze as you continued to watch him. "Your set's over. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Bev wants you out."
"What was all of that?" he demanded as you stepped out of your car.
After driving the guys home, he sat on your porch and waited. Chain smoking and lost in his thoughts until you got back to Forest Hills after your shift.
"Can I at least get inside first?" you asked with a nervous laugh. "Do you want to wake Granny up? Jesus."
He was on your heels as you unlocked your door and stepped inside, almost followed you to your bedroom when you said you'd wanted to change into PJs, and even declined a soda when you got settled back in the living room.
And once you couldn't stall for any more time, sitting next to each other on your couch, he stared at you and begged, "please, I need to know I'm not in a nightmare here. Or dead."
You let out a honk of laughter and then reached over to take his hand in yours, and he felt the slight edge of abject terror start to lessen.
"You're not in a nightmare," you reassured him. "Or dead."
"Then...then what is this?" he whispered desperately. "Is this a trick? A joke? Start from the beginning. Please."
You took a breath and began.
"It's fanfiction." You hummed contemplatively for a moment. "This is...I don't know when it started, actually. For me, that is. For you...well, there's no way we could say for sure; I can only talk about my own experience."
You paused and then said your name, the same way that you had introduced yourself originally. And then Eddie realized that you were introducing yourself again as you squeezed his hand in yours.
"I was born and raised in Port Geneva, and then in 1985 after graduation, I left to start my adventure. And from that moment on--for years--I got to have it. I got to have...a hundred adventures. A thousand. A million maybe? As many adventures as there have been people to imagine them. As many adventures as there have been fans to write them.
"Fans like you, Eddie," you smiled at him. "You said you wrote a story where I came to see you."
"Yeah," he nodded, cheeks hot under your gaze. "I did."
"And I'm your favorite character?"
He thought about you, thought about himself and the countless nights that he watched you on the screen.
"How could you not be my favorite?" he asked gently in return.
Your gaze turned soft and you looked down at his hand, clasped tightly within yours, and then you continued with your story.
"I got to see the world, got to meet so many people, I got to fall in love...except I never realized it. Until...until I met him."
"Him?" Eddie asked sharply, thoughts immediately spiraling.
Love.
You said love.
Who was this Him that you were in love with? Even through Eddie's confusion and panic about the predicament he was currently in, he could still feel a bitter jealousy roiling deep inside his gut.
"The Doctor," you whispered.
"Doctor Who?"
You snorted. "Exactly."
"I don't get it," he shook his head.
"Doctor Who...that's...it's the name of a television show. Been around for a long time, but I'm not sure how popular it is here. If it even exists. You have a lot of media that we didn't have in Port Geneva but there's a few things that...I dunno...that your writers haven't mentioned. Or The Writer hasn't included yet."
You explained it to him, or the gist of it at least.
An immortal time-traveling alien and his usually human companion, all of the adventures and misadventures and danger. Being able to go to different times and timelines and universes.
In any other scenario, it would have sounded cool. Maybe a little scary. But now, all Eddie could think about was this mess you were in.
"And...this Doctor...he's what brought you to Hawkins?" he questioned hesitantly, figuring that it made the most sense. "He thought he was bringing you back to Port Geneva's universe and brought you here instead?"
"Uh, no," you frowned. "That was The Writer. The Author. Whatever you want to call them."
"Because this is a fanfiction."
"Yeah. That was. And this is. I just...didn't know it yet. I didn't realize it was fanfiction until later. But, uh, whoever wrote that crossover story just brought me from my world into Doctor Who, and that was when I realized I was a fictional character from a TV Show. Because they wrote me as a character who jumped from a television show into the 'real world' of the Doctor and his friends."
Just like you were now: a fictional character in his world.
"It's hard to explain, but the Doctor made me aware of it. Made it make sense." You faltered. "Well...not really, but that's when it started. He told me that I wasn't real--"
"Wait,” he interrupted you. “But you said I was from a tv show back at the hideout. So you're telling me I'm not real?"
"Ed--"
"Because you’re from a tv show and so am I and this Doctor is too.”
“I wouldn’t try to think about it so hard.”
“Is that...the Doctor told you that you were a character in a TV show and you weren't real? And that's what you're telling me right now too?"
"It's hard to explain--"
"Because I don't know sweetheart," Eddie chuckled sardonically and shook his hands out of yours so he could run them over his face, through his hair. "I...I feel plenty real. And if there's anyone who isn't real here...well, I have a stack of video tapes back home that can provide enough evidence."
He’d thought about the barebones of it when he’d been outside waiting for you to get home, but faced with the truth of it now, the dominoes were starting to fall.
He was real, he had to be. His whole life, all of his memories, all of his friends, what about th—
"Can you let me fucking finish?" you snapped at him with a sharp clap.
His shoulders heaved and he stared at you with wild eyes.
"You're real," you explained calmly. "I'm real. We're both real. Real people. Real lives. Real memories. For the most part."
Eddie didn't like the sound of that.
"But this world...is your world and I don't belong here. Just like I didn't belong in the Doctor's world either. He explained it to me in some way I didn't quite understand; I'm just a girl from the midwest. I barely graduated high school and suddenly he was telling me there was some cosmic anomaly that pulled me out of my world, my tv show world, and that I was transported into his world. It was wild.
“The important thing though was that he didn't know how to get me home. So, until he could figure it out, I was stuck. And I traveled with him for a while. With him and his friend Martha…and then with another friend Donna. Until somewhere at the end of it all...I died."
Eddie's heart stopped in his chest; you...died?
The question was stuck on his lips, the demand to know more, but he felt himself choke up when he thought about it. Even more when he watched the tears well in your eyes as you remembered your own death.
"I died alone, bleeding out in the middle of an alien planet..." you recalled, wrenching your eyes shut. There was a beat of silence and he let you have a moment to recover. He watched your eyes dart around beneath your eyelids as you gathered your thoughts, as you recalled whatever horror you went through. When you were through, you blinked and looked up at him with the weight of a thousand truths in your gaze. "And then I wasn't dead anymore."
"What?!"
"Well obviously I'm alive,” you motioned down to yourself. “Maybe I’m a little worse for wear inside but I’m fine. Back then though...I was dead. One second I was in oblivion. And then next, I woke up in the driver's seat of my car, outside of a hotel in Odessa, Texas. With a man from the future named Hiro Nakamura, who told me I had to save the cheerleader if I wanted to save the world.
"And it all just started over again," you sighed.
You recounted this next place to him. Places, actually; plural. Names that meant nothing to him but seemed to mean something to you--Hiro, Claire, Peter, Sylar--and it all sounded fantastic. Another unbelievable adventure, but there was still something off.
"I...I tried to ask questions. About where I was, about where the Doctor was. It was always ignored. I tried to control things but it seemed like I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. Tried to do things that I instinctively knew I wanted to do, but I just couldn't. It seemed like there was something controlling me instead. Like I was a puppet on a string. And everything that happened around me...never seemed to make any sense, no matter how hard I tried to wrap my head around it.
"Sound familiar?" you asked.
Eddie scoffed, thinking about the traumatic, out of control moments he had had the past few days. That hopeless, helpless, sinking feeling he'd had.
"It fucking sucks, sweetheart. You feel like that...all the time?"
"You get used to it." You shook your head. "Get used to playing along. I learned that really quickly; I resigned myself to this life where I was just a passenger in my own body. Until I realized if I just played the part that whatever forces-that-be wanted me to play, I could have a little more control."
There was a tense pause as you let Eddie absorb the information. And absorb it he did. He didn't like it, the idea that he had to play a part; it was something he'd been fighting all his life. But maybe if you said it was something that would make him feel more in control, he could try.
He turned to the next thought ever-present in his mind.
"So," he cleared his throat to start again. "How do you know this is a fanfiction? When did you figure that out? Because...when you showed up, I thought about all the possibilities--a dream, a nightmare, hell, heaven, a portal, a wormhole like in a comic book--and that was never one of them."
"Because of the interviews."
"Interviews..."
"They're fun and silly, I guess," you shrugged apathetically. "You'll be in the middle of your life, middle of your day, middle of a fight...and then the world goes dark and you'll find yourself sitting in a room alongside the people you know...and The Writer. An Interview with the Characters.
"I was already familiar with the fact that I was from a television show and in a world I didn't belong in. But I was the only person aware of that fact; to the Doctor, I was a fictional character, but here Port Geneva the television show...didn't exist. I was just another citizen of planet earth, and my home was a real place on the map, as real as Odessa or New York.
"But suddenly my friends and I were in that room sitting in front of someone. A writer. The Writer--SylaireIsMyOTP117--and they were all aware that they were characters in a television show called Heroes, that I was a character from Port Geneva, and that we were all in some kind of...story in another universe, written by this SylaireismyOTP117. Something they never seemed aware of before.
"And SylaireismyOTP117...she acted like she was our friend too, like she had our best interest in mind and valued our opinions. Everyone laughed along with all of her jokes. Answered all of her questions. Except me, because then it all came into perspective. She was the one playing with our lives--playing with my life--and putting us in danger. She made us travel through time to dangerous places, she created more dangers, she even killed Peter's older brother--something that apparently hadn't happened in the show. Well...not yet anyway."
Your hands clenched and unclenched.
"I thought I figured it out," you said through gritted teeth. "Found the person responsible for this predicament I was in. Because she was so...sure of herself. She even had the audacity to apologize for pulling me out of my world and into Heroes. I asked her why she made me die with the Doctor just so I could be a part of this world instead... but she didn't know what I was talking about.
"Suddenly she had this pink magazine in her hand. Pulled it out of her back pocket and waved it around, saying she found it in her mom's childhood bedroom. Said I must have been thinking about one of the stories from it. The Port Geneva Teen Fanzine. SylaireismyOTP117 told me she was sad that people had written me the way they did. Out of Character. That she wanted to give me something better than than had. A better adventure. Then the interview was over. And that was the end of that. Or just the beginning actually.
"Mystery solved." You held your hands out in front of you like you were presenting the secrets of the universe. Eddie could even imagine a glowing sphere floating there if he tried hard enough.
You started naming names then, of movies and books and television shows. Heroes and Lost and Vampire Diaries and The Dark Knight.
And. And. And.
The list just kept going and going.
It made Eddie's head spin to hear all of the places you had been, all of the lives you had lived, the things that all of these Writers had put you through.
To hear how sometimes you'd wake up in a new world, sometimes you'd seemingly get your happily ever after, sometimes none of the above. Sometimes you were even back home in Port Geneva--relieved--only to get ripped away all over again.
It never seemed to end the same way, but it always started with you in the driver's seat of your car. Chugging along to the next destination. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.
"And that's how you ended up here in Hawkins?" Eddie asked, then paused. "Do you know...what my show is called?"
"Uh," you winced and folded your hands together in your lap. "Yes. I do. And I know it seems like I know all of these things. I don’t. Rarely, actually. But sometimes the Writers think they're funny and they work the title into the story; that’s how I find out. Because it's out of place.
"But, uh, it’s not the first time I've been here in Hawkins, actually."
It was a record scratch moment for Eddie.
"You...you have?" He smiled and suddenly felt a sense of hope; alright, so his love for you was so undeniable that this wasn't the first time someone had brought you to him. To give him something good in his miserable shit life. "Well so, what happened last time? Why can't I remember? Is that just...well, I guess, what makes this time different? Why am I aware of it all this time?
"Wait! Wait! What's my show about? Is it...is it like...the Misadventures of a Wannabe Rockstar or something? You said that when we had breakfast at Benny's. Is that the title? It has to be."
He rambled for a second, excitedly trying to predict his future, a future where you got to see the ups and downs of his life as he and Corroded Coffin navigated their way to fame.
You let him ramble, let him live in hope for those few moments. Until he realized you weren't chattering excitedly with him.
Until he saw the pain in your eyes.
He deflated, mind suddenly turning to the worst scenarios. At least in his mind.
"We don't make it, do we?" Was the conclusion he could come to. "But it's Wannabe Rockstar, right?. Not Future Rockstar. I'm gonna end up working at Thatcher Tires instead or something. Dead end job, stuck in this town..."
"It isn't your show," you whispered. "Just like Port Geneva...wasn't really mine."
Eddie swallowed hard.
"It's called Stranger Things," you explained. "And it's...I dunno...there are monsters. The first time I was here, I wasn't transported in as someone's favorite TV character. It was 1983, Port Geneva was a real place, and I was a transfer student at Hawkins High. And awful things happened. But there was no Eddie Munson. They must've written you in later in the show."
You continued your own rambling then, as you tried to make him feel better about it all. How he must've been a beloved character for someone to write a story about him. How whatever story they were writing was a good story too, because there didn't seem to be any monsters in Hawkins, not like there were the first time you'd been there.
"And...and The Writer of this story must love you a lot," you concluded. "To bring your favorite tv character in to be your girlfriend. For us to...like each other, love each other--and I do like you Eddie, I want to make that very clear. You make me feel like I'm close to home for the first time in a long time--but it seems like they want to give you a happy ending too. One you deserve."
But your words didn't help. The sinking feeling was back, but this time The Writer didn't have anything to do with it.
It was him, all him. All this misery and he wasn't even the main character of his own show. He should've seen that coming. And yeah he could live with being someone's favorite, enough for them to write a happy ending or something but...
"'s that mean I have a sad ending in the show?" he wondered. "If there are usually monsters here but there aren't, and I get something...something good, does that mean I die or something?"
"Eddie, it's..." you trailed off, but the rest of the sentence was hanging in the air, clear to both of you.
It's better not to think about it that way.
He nodded slowly and pulled his hand away from you to run it over his face.
It was confusing, it was upsetting.
All of it.
The cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his week. His life.
Fuck, but none of it was real, right? Contrary to everything you said. So could he really be upset? Should he? At least he knew he had something good to look forward to. A happy ending.
But how could he look forward to it when he knew that...well, when he knew that he didn't deserve it in the first place. That wasn't what fate had in store for him.
Or the writers of this Stranger Things show.
His happiness was at the whim of The Writer. At the whim of some...loser nerd writing about him in another universe.
A nerd just like him.
Fuck, it was giving him a headache.
"I uh...have a lot to think about," he whispered. You nodded as he stood and crossed towards the door of your trailer so he could leave. He paused at the door, instinctively remembering that he had to kiss you goodbye. Until everything hit him all over again and he decided it was better not to. "I'll, uh, I'll call you. Ok?"
"Yeah," you nodded eagerly. "Call me whenever. Please. It's...it is a lot. And honestly, we only scratched the surface. But we can figure the rest out together. I can help you through it. I promise. I'll be here."
He left without another word.
Denial was the easiest way for Eddie to go about this whole ordeal, or so he thought. How the fuck else was someone supposed to come to terms with the fact that...
Nope he wasn't gonna go there. Not yet.
He knew that he would need to deal with it eventually--need to think it through and talk to you--but until then, he was just going to live his life like he normally would.
So he avoided those feelings, and avoided you.
And it seemed to work.
School, home, trip to Rick's to re-up his inventory on Wednesday, grocery run for Wayne on Thursday, Hellfire on Friday, no date on Saturday.
Dealing at a few parties, band practice where the music was all normal, and then finally back at the Hideout for their gig on Tuesday.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
It was a normal week and aside from the still-obvious markers of this new life he was living, like the mess in the trailer and the fancy renovations at the Hideout, Eddie felt relieved and a little less like he was about to lose his mind.
It was both a blessing and a curse though, because at the end of every day he realized just how much missed you.
You'd rooted yourself solidly in his life--both on tv and now in the flesh--for years. Even when he didn't have new episodes to watch and stories to enjoy, he had his reruns. His tapes. Then you were suddenly there in person and on the phone.
So the you-shaped hole that he punched in his life, when he decided to ignore his predicament, was gaping and obvious.
Yeah, he could tell Wayne about the great battle he'd come up with for Hellfire, or complain to the guys about the bogus chemistry homework. But it wasn't the same. Not anymore.
So he resolved to talk to you on Tuesday after the set, only you weren't there.
"Shouldn't you know Junior? That's your girl," Bev dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She must have taken pity on him at the sight of his sad eyes, and she just sighed and continued. "She called in sick. Took the night off. She seemed fine yesterday; better not be cuz of you, kid."
He feared you might have left town, maybe to spare him or something--how that would work with the fanfiction Gods? Weren't you supposed to stay in Hawkins? He wasn't sure--but your car was in front of your trailer by the time he got home.
Everything was quiet, and all the lights were off, even the porch light which you usually kept on. He debated knocking on your door, waking you up, but decided against it.
If you really were trying to give him space, or simply avoid him like he had avoided you, it was best not to wake you up and piss you off.
"Tomorrow," he told himself. "I'll talk to her after school tomorrow."
Of course, that was the plan and fanfiction or not, sometimes even the best laid plans went awry.
He was still Eddie Munson, after all.
Things never went his way.
Once again, he had Chrissy Cunningham to thank for his plight.
It was on this, the day of his reconciliation with you, that she decided her hunt or conquest or humiliation of him would take place.
Maybe all of the above.
It was raining, he was running late.
He would have cut classes--should have just cut--but despite all odds being against him now more than ever, he promised himself that he was going to try when it came to school.
He had just opened the door to his locker when she appeared, the tips of her pristine white sneakers kissing the sides of his muddied converse.
"Hey Eddie!" Chrissy greeted with a too-big smile and sparkling eyes.
Eddie jumped and looked around the hallway, conveniently lacking its usual amount of students who loitered around before class. Thankfully, no other cheerleaders or jocks in sight either, though; it was either a blessing or a curse, he couldn't tell for sure.
"Hey, uh," he coughed and glanced at Chrissy for a second, before distracting himself with the contents of his locker. Fuck, it was pretty messy in there too; now was as good a time as any to clean it. "What's up?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you," she beamed.
He felt a bubbling of annoyance build within him, somewhat out of his control.
"You can't want to talk to me and also not want anything Chrissy," he scoffed pretty harshly as he grabbed a handful of papers to sort through. "So do you want to buy weed for a slumber party or something? Or have you suddenly decided to throw your Homecoming crown in the trash so you could join Hellfire ?"
She shuffled her feet and clutched her books to her chest and then took a deep breath.
"I wanted to know if you'd like to hang out some time," she announced loudly, bravely. Eddie froze in shock and then turned to her; her cheeks were red but there was a resolve in her eyes that he'd never seen in her before. "There's a new movie playing at the Hawk. Clue. I don't know if you've heard of it, it looks a little spooky..."
She rambled on and Eddie was left to stare at her, dumbfounded.
Chrissy Cunningham? Asking him out? Ok so Gareth was right?
But was Gareth right? Was she really hot for him or was she just using him for her own amusement? Or was this another little...storytelling mishap that the Writer was putting him through?
Shit, how could he tell?
This kind of shit sort of always, sort of never happened to him before.
Plenty of popular girls thought it was fun to go out with The Freak just to get off or to have a laugh, sure. But everything else in his life was turning upside down thanks to the Writer. So was this just another layer to that absolute shit show?
Gah, what the fuck could it be?
The anger bubbled inside of him again, and he had the vaguest realization that the anger didn't really belong to him. It felt too intense, almost manufactured. He was hit with the sense of deja vu that he'd felt this way before--in the cafeteria before the almost-food-fight and then at Family Video--and he decided to put a stop to it immediately.
"Listen Chrissy," he interrupted her with a cool, indifferent tone. "The movie sounds cool, but I'm really not interested in going out with you." He turned back to shut his locker and get to class when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"If this is because of Jason," she began softly. "I'm...you don't have to worry. I'd break up with him if we went out."
"It's not about Jason," he snapped, out of control once again. Well and truly out of control. He felt himself shrug her hand away. "I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend who is actually cool and nice and interesting. Who likes the things that I like and doesn't like silly things like magazines and cheer and scrunchies." He watched in horror as he lifted his hand and flicked at her ponytail, and then felt angry at himself, at this situation, at The Writer when Chrissy flinched and dropped her books on the floor.
"It's almost funny that you'd think I'd be interested in someone like you," he spat at her venomously.
He felt the sudden urge to slam the locker, felt the urge to walk away, felt the urge to laugh in Chrissy's face.
But he resisted all of those urges with every fiber of his being.
He just stood there until the puppet strings were cut once again and he felt the rage and anger dissipate.
All the while, Chrissy went from a fearful, trembling mess in front of him, eyes welling with tears, to...nothing.
She just stood there too.
She looked down at her feet, shuffled back and forth for a moment, and then she scuffed her shoes against the floor, nudging the fallen textbooks.
She suddenly didn't look like Queen of Hawkins High Chrissy Cunningham, or someone that was afraid of the Wrath of the Freak, or some lash-batting temptress like she had been just moments ago.
She just looked like the girl who was hiding in the Auditorium at the Hawkins Middle School talent show all those years ago.
A person. Just like him.
Eddie cleared his throat and knelt down to help Chrissy pick up her books.
"Sorry," he muttered when she knelt beside him. "Sorry I--"
"No, it's ok. I guess...I don't know. I guess I just felt a little lost for a while," she explained softly. "And the only thing that seemed like it could fix it was you."
Interesting.
"But not anymore?" he wondered.
"Uh, no," she shook her head. "I don't even know...why I asked you out Eddie. No offense...but you're not really my type."
The two of them laughed for a second as they stood back up.
"You know," Eddie turned Chrissy's books over in his hand, "if you wanna break up with Carver, you can just do that. You don't need to use me as an excuse."
She froze in front of him, cheeks red again, as she hummed nervously.
"Thanks Eddie," she whispered. They both smiled softly, a silent understanding shared between them, and then Chrissy held out her books so he could stack the ones in his hand atop them.
And that's when he saw the book--magazine--at the top of her stack.
A pink-covered, handmade looking thing with a familiar name printed at the top of it.
Port Geneva Teen Fanzine.
His heart stopped.
That was the thing you said your Writer had shown you once upon a time, in your Interview.
For a second he wondered how Chrissy had it, but then he tried to figure out the logic that you were from a TV show and transported here. If he was a fan, there must be other people watching the show and fans of it too. Maybe the magazine transcended universes. Just like the show did.
It honestly made his head hurt trying to think about it.
"You...you like Port Geneva?" he asked, trying to remain as casual as possible.
"Hmm, yeah," Chrissy smiled down at the 'zine. "It's one of my favorite shows. My mom and I used to watch it together. Sam is my favorite character."
Somehow, that didn't surprise him one bit.
"Do you watch?" she questioned, brow quirked curiously. "It doesn't seem like your kind of show."
"I mean, I'm full of surprises," he teased, trying to keep his tone as lighthearted as possible. "But, uh...yeah. I used to."
"It's a bummer that it's over right?"
"Yeah...hey Chrissy, I know you don't owe me any favors or anything but, uh, can I borrow that?"
"Seriously?" she snorted. "It's just got like personality quizzes and little stories and stuff in it. Nothing special."
Little stories? Bingo.
"Yeah, just curious."
"Sure." They traded her textbooks for the magazine, and then with a shrill ring of the bell overhead, they went off to class.
He sat in his room after school, holding the Port Geneva Teen Fanzine like it was some sacred document not meant for the eyes of a mere mortal peasant like him.
The Dead Sea Scrolls or the Magna Carta or The Declaration of Independence.
It had burned a hole in his backpack the whole day, anticipation getting the better of him, but he knew that he didn't want to read the 'zine in front of his friends.
"So stupid," he scoffed at his own antics. "What was gonna happen? Davey wouldn't want to take the 'which character would make the best chemistry lab partner' quiz."
Maybe just in case there was something just inside the pink paper cover that would change his life forever.
"Like what? It's not like your yearbook picture's gonna be on the first page, idiot," he sighed and tightened his grip on the magazine. "Just gotta rip off that bandaid."
He closed his eyes tightly, took a breath, and flipped open the cover.
When he cracked one eye open to take a peek, he sighed in relief.
His face wasn't staring back up at him. No faces, actually. Just a table of contents that looked a little grainy, like it was copied on a Xerox machine and haphazardly thrown together.
There were different headlines just like there would be in a regular magazine--interviews, behind the scenes, quizzes--and then some unique ones--fan art, fan submissions, show theories. At the bottom of the Table of Contents, there was a little slip that could be cut out, filled, and mailed along with a few dollars to some address in California to get the next copy of the 'zine.
Eddie flipped through the pages curiously, and he truly enjoyed some of the pictures of fans visiting the set and getting pictures with a few cast members. Then an interview with the actress who played Sam's mom, who said what a joy it was to see her young co-stars grow up and come into their own, just like their characters.
Then about half-way through, he reached the Fan Submissions.
A section filled with fanfiction stories.
A section where your name was plastered practically everywhere.
Stories of you getting to go to big cities, ones where you finally returned home. A heartbreaking one where you returned in time for Sam and Pat's wedding and you cried because...
Because...you'd actually been in love with Patrick the whole time?
Eddie made a noise of shock as he read the detailed description of your heartbreak and the way that you recalled how sad you had been the day Pat had come to ask for your help with the proposal.
"Were we even watching the same show?" Eddie scoffed.
There were a few fanfiction submissions that characterized you that way, having this unrequited love for him.
But you never really showed any interest in him, other than friendship. Aside from Mark, you never had any romantic feelings in the show.
How had these so-called fans misread your relationship with Pat so terribly?
Or had Eddie's obsession with you clouded his ability to perceive the signs? Maybe he had been watching a different show than everyone else.
He wallowed in that feeling as he waded through the fan stories slowly--although one story about Bonnie and Bill seemed a little interesting: a Bakery/Flower Shop soulmate romance--until he got to one at the very end that caused the hair on his arms to stand on end.
A story about you...and Alex P. Keaton?
It was the only crossover in the fan submission, and it made Eddie nervous once again that he misunderstood your character.
Alex P. Keaton who read the Wall Street Journal for fun?! And you, and artist who followed your heart and went on an adventure to find yourself?! No, there was no way.
"This is a bunch of bullshit," he muttered. He shut the magazine and ran a hand over his face and into his hair.
Eddie wasn't the one who misunderstood you; it was everyone else who did. And if they had written you so wrong in this magazine, he could only dream of how wrongly they'd written you in all of those other stories you told him about. How miserable you must have felt in all of those different worlds.
Shit, and it was not only you who felt miserable, but him now too.
The wild events of the past few weeks had made him feel like he was going crazy. Yeah, at least he had an explanation for it now, but it didn't negate the fact that he suddenly felt like a stranger in his own life.
And if he felt like that, God only knows how you must've felt.
"Shit," he muttered.
He needed to talk to you.
He quickly got up from the bed and raced out of the house, panting as he jogged across the trailer park to get to your door.
He knocked frantically and impatiently waited for you to answer.
His resolve broke when you finally did.
Clothes--pajamas, actually--mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, you looked a lot like you had during the episode where Mark had broken your heart and you'd cried to Sam.
Had you thought that he was ending things with you because he had been avoiding you? Because of this whole situation? He ached to think that he'd hurt you like that.
"Sweetheart," Eddie whispered softly. "I should've called. Shit. I'm sorry I--"
"No," you sniffed and shook your head. You were smart enough to put two and two together and realize what he was apologizing for. "No, it's...Eddie this isn't because of you...I mean yeah, actually it is but..."
"I'm sorry," you both said simultaneously.
"I'm sorry that I just left the other night," Eddie elaborated. "I'm sorry that I avoided the whole thing, but I needed...I needed some sense of normalcy in all of this."
When he paused for breath, you immediately swooped in with your own apology and explanation.
"Well I'm sorry I seemed to have brought all of this bullshit with me to Hawkins," you stared at him pathetically. "I've never...no one has ever seemed aware of it before. I've been dealing with this alone for so long. I know I sort of dumped it on you; not only to explain, but maybe because I found some sort of relief that I wouldn't be going through it all alone anymore. I'd have you with me at least.
"And then, after you left, I really had time to think...how long it's been. My show aired in the 80's. And your show...Stranger Things? I mean...between my last time here...someone put me in a modern movie for a short time...and then I guess your season was a few years later maybe? Twenty-twenty-something?"
Eddie's throat tightened. They were still writing stories about the 80's that far in the future? Sure there were war movies and stuff. Man, people must've been really nostalgic and weird otherwise...
"It must be like...a historical documentary at that point," he laughed dryly.
"You calling me old?" you choked on a laugh, and then looked down at your hands. "I guess I am, though. I've lived through all of these different stories for...lifetimes. One story might take...I dunno, a few months for its Writer to finish, but it spans years. Years that I've lived through, one day at a time, with no break."
"Shit...that sounds..."
"Terrible?"
"Yeah."
"It is. I've been dealing with all of this...alone...for hundreds of years at this point I guess. Through stories that still write me as a teenager, or a middle-aged woman. I've lived and died over and over. I've been an artist, a writer, a dancer, a private investigator...I can't even remember the last time I got to go back to Port Geneva.
"And now that you're stuck in this hell too," your voice dropped to a whisper. "It made me sort of dread that for you too. Dread what kind of life that Writers might put you through, especially if your story in your show had a tragic ending like you said. They could give you everything you ever wanted, or they could just kill you again and again, for fun.
"And it's horrible and beautiful and great sometimes, but at the end of it all, it's tiring. Talking through it with you made me realize how much I wished I could be free, that maybe...maybe this Writer who brought me here would just be happy writing a story about the two of us for the rest of their lives or something. Spare us both anymore torture.
"Because at this point...I don't even know who I am anymore."
Your eyes welled with tears again and your shoulders heaved as you held back a sob.
And Eddie wished that he could tell you that he understood.
That his few days experience being aware that he was in a story could compare to everything that you'd seen.
He could tell you he appreciated your concern, that he felt that sense of dread that you felt for him. Assure you that he'd be fine. That it would be alright as long as you were in it together, just like you said.
But truthfully before hearing you say it right now, he hadn't come to that conclusion that he might be stuck in some endless loop of happiness and misery forever.
Because he did what he always did: he avoided the bad things. He ran away from this problem.
So what could say that could help you? That would make you feel better?
He wracked his brain for a moment, coming up with the right words.
But if there was anything Eddie did better than run away, it was say the right thing at the right time.
And he did.
"I know who you are," Eddie finally found his voice.
He took one of your hands in his and then cupped your cheek so you could look into his eyes.
"You might have forgotten who you are, but I know. I've always known. From the first time I saw you on screen, I felt such a connection to you."
He felt nervous, revealing his feelings to you. Confessing his fanatic behavior, his love for you. They were things he never said aloud to anyone and it made him nervous and vulnerable. Made him feel like he needed to run again. But your eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he knew he had to soldier on.
"Meeting you was like...the happiest day of my life. And you weren't anything that I expected, but everything I knew you were, deep down. And you...you've always seen the real me too, which is something very few people have the patience for. You're exactly who I've been waiting for.
"So maybe," he paused and cleared his throat. "Maybe we only have a few weeks together, or a few months, or maybe it'll be a few years for this Writer to give us a Happily Ever After. Maybe they'll put us through hell. But at least we're in it together. And I'll be here to remind you who you are if you ever forget, and to make sure you're not alone for as long as I can. As long as you promise that you'll do the same for me too."
In hindsight, a kiss was probably not the best end to his little declaration, but it felt right, so he did it anyway.
He leaned in and softly kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then caught the softness of your lips between his.
The sound of your sigh, and the feeling of you melting against him, were the sweetest sensations he'd ever felt. It was a relief.
For a moment, right before he pulled away, Eddie felt a smug sense of superiority over everyone. All the writers who had made you question who you were, all of the love interests that they'd written for you--Alex P. Keaton could get fucked--and he resolved to make this a story for the ages, even if it never wound up on some fanfiction writer's page.
"Thank you Eddie," you whispered against his lips when all was said and done.
"We have a deal?"
"Yeah," you bit your lip and grinned at him. "It's a deal."
You backed away and, hands still locked together Eddie looked around the trailer park and sighed.
"So..." he scratched the back of his neck. "What happens now?"
Next Chapter: Reader Suggestions Coming Soon
There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#stranger than (fan)fiction#stff#stff updates#stranger things fic
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hi i don’t request stuff so bare with me how would aew boys react to you having a big return like Kris Statlander ex: you lost your title and left and you come back and win the title again sorry if this makes no sense i’m not good at requesting 🫶🏼😢
yall gotta stop apologizing for being CREATIVE CUTIES
AEW Stars React to: You Returning and Winning Your Title Back (Fem!Reader)
Pairings: Hook x Fem!Reader, Ricky Starks X Fem!Reader, Dante Martin X Fem!Reader, Darius Martin X Fem!Reader, Eddie Kingston X Fem!Reader, MJF X Fem!Reader, Christian Cage X Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1.1K
Supreme Speaks: thank you to anon for requesting (yall keep em coming), sorry that this took me so long (shit happening). But please enjoy this and p.s you are loved and appreciated
Warnings: not proofread, my regular react wrestlers, GIFS AINT MINE
Taglist: @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @sheinthatfandom @hookerforhook @triscillal @cassiesworldsworld @eddie-kingstons-wifey
Backstory:
Either you were injured and surrendered your title (you never lost it technically) or you lost it in a fluke to your opponent (just do whatcha want)
For months you spent away from the company, trying to gain your strength and feeling back
But now, you were back and better than ever
And you were owed a rematch
Right when the so-called champion called out for an open challenge, you were the first to answer that call that night
To your surprise, the whole arena rose to their feet and loudly cheered you on when hearing your theme (ex. Kris Statlander and or AJ Lee)
And after the match was over, you stood tall with your title high above your head again as the crowd again screamed loudly
(Or you can skip this and have a great segment like Trent with Sue’s van)
The entire moment/match went viral
However, they weren’t the only ones happy to see you tho
Hook
Mans had no idea that you were here
Was stunned into silence; with a big ass smile on his face
You were picked up into a hug by him; would definitely whisper sweet things into your ear or skin
“I’m so happy to see you back”
I think this will encourage him to try to win back his title quicker
Hook is the type of person (whether you're his best friend or girlfriend) to take this return personally as it is a start of a new era for you
Wants to celebrate with you in private ;)
HE WOULD ALSO WEAR YOUR MERCH TO SHOW HIS SUPPORT
Ricky Starks
OOOOOO THIS MAN IS SO COCKY RIGHT NOW
I also think he would be that person who would almost spoil your return out of excitement
You thought he was arrogant after he won the Owen Hart tournament? PUH-LA-ESE
Would reference you in his promos
“I’m a part of the winning team. I mean have you seen my hot ass champion of a girlfriend (or best friend; whatever you prefer)?”
Would book a photoshoot just for you to show off your championships
Defs would make you guys match in outfits and would get you in a storyline with him
I def see you as his manager/valet (IMAGINE THE (eventual) HEEL HEAT)
You two would take over AEW as the new IT couple or duo
Darius Martin
Tbh, it gives him kind of a nostalgic feeling when he returned during the tag team battle royal
He would be so incredibly happy for you
Would keep up with all your appearances and matches afterward
“I am the president of the Y/N protection squad *poses with lads*”
Genuinely hopes that everything goes well for you
Will do your signature move to show his support for you
Also, expect a celebratory dinner or movie night
But don’t get it twisted this man is mad at you for not telling him about your return
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME? I was just joking when I was gonna carry the cutout of you to the ring”
He was in fact not kidding (he was just a lil goofy)
Dante Martin
THE BABY
With him on the shelf, he is emotional for you
“That was amazing! The crowd really went wild for you!”
Has multiple emotions tbh; happy, anxious, a little sad
Wishes he could really celebrate with you
I also think because of the fact he has been out of action for a while, he’s dreaming of a return like yours; especially with a championship in his mind
I think he would be a little sad because you’re gonna be busy as hell
“I’m gonna miss the off days with just us two.”
To which you promised to drag him all around to wherever you were wrestling
He didn’t have a choice
Eddie Kingston
“THATS RIGHT DAWG!! YALL SEE THIS SHIT?”
Makes a post about you on Instagram
He’s genuinely happy about the two of you being champions at the same time
Will brag to everyone backstage
“YOU SEE THAT BRYAN? I HAVE FRIENDS THAT ARE CHAMPIONS, SORRY YOU CAN’T SAY THE SAME!”
Eddie, just like how I always say, is a very emotional person (even though he doesn’t wanna show it)
But he will make sure that you know how proud he is; even if he gives you a shoulder tackle
I also think Eddie sees every win as a win for the whole crew
Like Darius, he is upset that you didn’t tell him about your return but it made him excited about wrestling again
MJF
THIS MOTHERFUCKER PART 496792466
Would make a backhanded compliment about you
“Although it wasn’t as epic or spontaneous or memorable as my return last year, congrats to Y/N Y/L/N for making her return to the ring! BAY BAY”
After some choice words, he updates his Twitter again
“I reviewed my tweet after Y/N confronted me (with dice, a wooden spoon, and a lighter) I realize that I made some errors. I meant CONGRATULATIONS TO THE WONDERFUL AND ABOVE AVERAGE GENERATIONAL TALENT Y/N Y/L/N!”
Will ask you to shout him out occasionally (imagine having a friendship like him and Adam Cole)
No but for real, he’s happy for you
I think this man would shower you with gifts in private so you can fully get the MJF experience
Will bring you up in interviews; especially about people he can kind of give props to (his words not mine)
Christian Cage
THIS MAN IS MY SUGAR DADDY AND-
I feel like this man would be very proud of you
Would not dare hold your championship as you threaten him about that
But he would announce himself with your title in the same sentence (ex below)
“I AM THE TNT CHAMPION AND I am the significant other/best friend of the AEW Women’s Champion! Therefore, you all should respect me!”
Definitely would tell Luchasaurus to protect you as well
Loves how confident you became since winning
Also remember how I said he’s a sugar daddy?
Mans would buy you anything just for holding the championship at one point it almost becomes an accessory
Even if you didn’t have a championship, Christian would splurge on you just because
YOU DESERVE IT BIATCH
#aew#all elite wrestling#aew imagine#all elite wrestling imagines#aew reactions#eddie kingston#eddie kingston x reader#eddie kingston imagine#aew hook#aew hook x reader#aew hook fic#aew headcanon#ricky starks#ricky starks x reader#ricky starks imagine#dante martin#dante martin imagine#aew darius martin#darius martin x reader#darius martin imagine#mjf#maxwell jacob friedman#mjf imagine#aew mjf#christian cage#christian cage x reader#christian cage imagine
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distant lands and dungeon masters | eddie munson x fem!reader
you don’t know anything about that game your boyfriend loves to play, but that doesn’t mean you can’t indulge in it with him… even if it does feel a bit ridiculous.
words: 2k
c.w. fem!reader, p in v sex, roleplaying (ig? once the goofy shit’s over, it kinda just stops yk + the costume is literally just a slutty medieval dress thing that we’re gonna pretend associates with elf bc i suck with that kind of detail. k? k.), oral (fem receiving), fingering
masterlist
tina gets full credit for the “i love you” during the orgasm thing. her mind is literally gold and i wanna give her the biggest smooch all the time for it. oh! also the bodice of the dress is one that rests under the boobs yk (and this is important briefly lol). and also i suck at descriptions and titles and intros to fics lol so i apologize
Eddie’s laugh rang through the trailer.
The sight of his girlfriend sitting atop the kitchen counter, leaning back on your hands, and wearing a familiar looking, but very little, elf costume is what invoked it.
But it wasn’t real laughter, no. It was a laugh of disbelief. One that came out from a mouth so very dry because of the soft flesh that exposed itself as the short skirt you wore rode up when you crossed your legs in a painfully awkward way you weren’t used to and the way the brown bodice of your dress pushed your cleavage up and on display just for him.
One that came from a guy who believed he had to have been the luckiest fucker in the world to have a girl willing to indulge him like this.
“I happen to be lost, good sir,” your voice came out airy - nervous - and you would’ve felt increasingly ridiculous had your eyes not trailed down to see a very large tent in your boyfriend’s pants. “I’d been hoping to find the help of a skilled… of a, um…”
Eddie’s lips were quick to upturn into a wolfish grin before he whispered into your direction, “Dungeon master.”
You nodded slightly, giving him a shy smile in thanks, and straightened your back as you spoke again, this time more confidently, “I’d been hoping to find the help of a skilled dungeon master.”
Eddie hummed, his grin ever-so-present and his eyes gleaming with unbridled joy. “To?”
It has to be the first time in your entire relationship with him that he’s actually managed to keep his mouth from running - and it just had to be to torture you.
“To… To help me find my way back home.”
“Ah,” Eddie had begun to edge closer to you and your legs uncrossed without you even realizing, thighs now resting flat on the counter and feet swinging nervously. He gestured around dramatically, speaking in a grandiose manner, “You come from a distant land?”
“Yeah! Yes, um,” you cleared your throat, “And I’d… uh, I’d be willing to do-” your legs parted slowly for him “-anything to pay you for…” your brows furrowed slightly before you lit up again, “for safe passage!”
He fits between your legs like a missing puzzle piece and his rings burned against the skin of your thighs when he gripped onto them. “Anything?” his words came out low and playful, his eyes trailing shamelessly over your cleavage and back up to your face to meet your eyes. “I’m afraid a dungeon master such as myself is a little more technical than creative. You’re gonna have to get specific, little elf.”
The statement had laughter bubbling in your throat that you barely managed to restrain in order to get your words out straight, “Not creative? Eddie, you-” The expectant look he gave you made you stop mid sentence, your lips forming a silent ‘Oh’.
“Well,” you resume with a small smile, sliding your hands up his chest and locking them behind his neck, playing with the hairs there, “I’d let you have me any way you wanted.”
“Yeah?” Eddie’s voice came out low and quiet, his hands sliding up your thighs as yours had begun to scratch at the nape of his neck. His eyes drooped at the sensation.
“Mhm,” you continued, “I’d let you put me into whatever position you like ‘nd flip this skirt up,” you brushed soft curls back and brought your lips to his ear, “I’d let you fuck whichever hole you wanted ‘till you stuff me full of your cum,” you laughed softly when he groaned out a loud “Fuck” before you added on cheekily, “Oh, great one.”
The sound that came out of him next was strangled, sounding next to inhuman, as the fingers that trailed all the way up your skirt were met with your bare pussy, lips already wet and clit swollen with want.
His fingers ghosted through your folds before a rumble came from the back of his throat. You pulled back to meet his gaze and was greeted with yet another mischievous smirk. “Why, what a naughty elf!”
His voice sounded ridiculous - three pitches too high with what was his attempt at an overly dramatic British accent - and another spout of laughter bubbled in your throat. This time, your giggles echoed throughout the room - and Eddie’s laughs were quick to join yours.
You managed to laugh until you were both breathless, faces close and lips ghosting over one another. Eddie let out one last chuckle before whispering, still using that stupid accent, “And why, pray tell, do you still laugh, dear lady?” His hands hike up the soft rich green coloured fabric of your skirt for good measure. “I believe I still require payment for my services.”
“You do? Oh, you do, don’t you? Ah!” You yelped, giggles still following every sound that came from your mouth, when he pulled you to the edge of the counter by your hips, urging you to lie down when his hands pushed your legs up by the gripping at the backs of your thighs and leaving you open for him. Heat spread over your cheeks when you felt his breath hit your pussy and you told him breathlessly, yet cheekily all-the-same, “Y’should take your payment then, dungeon master.”
His voice still edged at the line of weird when responded, but your cunt still flooded with slick, “With a pretty pussy like this, how could I resist such an offer?”
It’s messy - like it always is. He eats you out like a man starved - his tongue gliding through your folds and fucking into your fluttering hole until a mixture of his spit and your slick are running down his chin and your ass, dripping onto the edge of the counter and the floor. His lips latched onto your clit and one hand left your thigh to fuck two thick finger into your cunt, forcing a cry from your lips.
His fingers curled up, rubbing incessantly over your g-spot, and your walls clenched around them. His mouth left your pussy and you pushed up onto your elbows to meet his gaze half way. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment when you’re met with the state of his face; his lips swollen shiny with slick and spit, his chin dripping with it too.
A devilish grin never looked more fitting on someone. His dark eyes gleamed dangerously as leant forward, his body casting a shadow over yours, and connected his forehead to yours. His lips met yours in a series of messy kisses, his tongue tasting of you, and you’re both moaning into each other’s mouths; you because of the fingers that continued to work your pussy and him because of the sight you were to behold. He pulled away and laughed lowly, “Beg for it.”
You were just at the brink, he felt it and his thumb hovered over your sensitive clit. You whined softly, “Eddie…”
“C’mon,” he singsonged before he leaned back into you, fingers stopping their movement and his thumb only pressing down onto your clit, tone suddenly turning desperate as he pressed his head to yours again, “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, pretty girl, just beg for it. Beg for me to make you come and I’ll do it. I swear I’ll have you dripping down my fucking wrist ‘nd then I’ll stuff you full just how you like it.”
“Please, baby.” Tears pricked at your eyes when his fingers began to pump inside of you again, the wet squelch of your pussy taking the thick digits echoing throughout the room, and his thumb began to rub light circles into your clit that had you whimpering. “Please make me come!”
His other hand left your thigh and the sound of his fly being unzipped echoed through the room. The length of his cock slapped against your inner thigh and your eyes shot down to see him, the fat tip red and gleaming with precum.
“Want you to fuck me with that big fucking dick, Eddie,” you spoke through gritted teeth, walls clamping down around his fingers as you got impossibly close, “‘till I can’t fucking see straight.”
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie didn’t try to hide his awe with a whisper. He stared down at you with eyes full of wonderment and lust, committing the way your eyes fluttered closed and your nose scrunched up to memory for the thousandth time as you came around his fingers with a cry of his name. His voice was loud and needy - his cock jumped against your thigh. “God, I love you.”
He was impossibly quick to rip his fingers from you and guide his cock to your entrance, pushing in with ease. Your walls, swollen and spasming, molded and gripped onto his cock like a lock to a key.
His thrusts started up immediately, desperation guiding him, and the lewd sounds that were both your pussy gushing around him and his balls slapping against your ass echoed through the trailer.
His hands were back on the backs of your thighs once more, but this time pushing your legs further towards your chest. Still, they were separated enough for him to get his fill of your pussy swallowing his cock, watching as you painted a pretty white ring onto the base of him, and your breasts.
“Hold your leg up for me, baby, please.” Without a second thought, you listened. You brought your hand up to grip the thigh that Eddie released. Now, his hand was free to pull at the fabric that covered your breasts. He groaned in satisfaction, eyes widening in appreciation, “There my girls are.”
You whined as the cool air hit your nipples, but the warm hands that palmed at them quickly made up for it. His thrusts picked up just to watch as they moved against the force of them.
Another grin found its way to his lips as his eyes trailed over your body before he had to pull his bottom lip between teeth to stop the sudden ‘Fuck!’ that was bound to escape him after your pussy clamped down around him with a finality he knew all too well.
Eddie looked up to find your eyes, noting with pride at how glassy and hooded they were because of him, and his hand moved down from your breasts to thrum at your clit - your vision blurred, the knot in your belly snapping with a pitiful cry from your lips.
“That’s it,” his voice broke with the second word - the way your pussy spasmed around him and attempted to milk every drop of cum he had yet to give impossible to ignore - and he had to clear his throat, his voice more desperate than ever, “you like coming on my cock, baby? You look so fucking pretty when you-” he moaned “do.”
“Yea-” your breath caught in your throat when he gave a deep thrust. A triumphant laugh escaped his lips but that didn’t stop you, fucked out, words slurred, and all, “Well, I think I look prettier plugged up with your cum, Eddie.”
A breathless laugh came from him, though his face conveyed nothing but him attempting restraint. “Stop, or-”
“Always feel prettier walking around with you dripping down my thighs.”
That did it.
He gave a strangled shout as he thrusted into you for the last time, a dragged out “fuck” leaving his lips in a lazy drawl.
You both moaned as his cum pumped into you; you because of the fullness and warmth that spreads through your core and him because of the walls that clamp down around him to bleed him dry for real this time around. You bit your lip to fight off a small giggle when you felt his balls twitching against your ass.
He let his body fall over yours as you both caught your breaths. With a grumble, you fought off the messy curls that crowded you, a smile rising to your face when you felt Eddie laughing into your neck.
When Eddie finally got his breath back, he lifted his head and offered you a weaker version of that devilish grin with a hum. “We should invest in some elf ears for the next time, cutie.”
#eddie munson x reader#notsfw#eddie munson#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things
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Read the Demo here! / art account is @valcubust / Da Spotify
...
2027, A voice transcript found on a recording device:
"...can be killed with fire, testing done in..." A french accent. "September of 2025. If I am counting correct."
. . .
"Now, with more testing I can hopefully learn more about them. Learn advantages. Sending someone out to rile them up. Will check in later."
...End transcript.
You're alive.
One survivor amongst thousands of dead. The actual death toll (if there was ever a record of it) is unavailable now. The world ended in 2026.
Now, four-hundred and twenty-three days later, you're here. In the outskirts of Scarswater, Ohio; you live in what used to be a small farming community. Once full of life and a bustling economy, but even before The End, the area had been steadily gentrified. Dead fields, closed businesses, and now, a beautiful wasteland of parking lots and unused plazas.
Whatever caused it is unknown. Of course, you could ask everyone you know and they would all have their own ideas about what happened.
All that you know for certain is that in January of 2026, everything stopped working. Cellphones, computers, televisions... all electronics went on the fritz before shutting down entirely. After that, people started disappearing. Animals, too. And then went the crops, mass death of acres and acres of valuable foods and materials. All gone within six months. Mass hysteria ensued, people got scared, started hoarding goods. Everyone and their mother had a gun pointed right at the road, just in case anyone got any funny ideas.
And all of that was before the bizarre sightings.
The... things. Gooey, tar-like.
They absorb, and absorb, and absorb.
You wondered, for a bit, how they could eat so much. But that thought has long passed. They have no limits, no voices, no care in the world except consume. How long until they finally consume you, too?
FEATURES
Play as a nonbinary, male, or female character; straight, bisexual, or gay.
Custom Pronouns (I'm considering adding duo pronouns as well. like, she/they etc.).
Choice for a ‘common’ name or something bizarre. In which characters will definitely recognize that you have named yourself something batshit.
Asexual routes (this is very important to me)!
A mildly customizable backstory
Several love interests
LOVE INTERESTS
Miles/Mindy (He/they, She/they): A surprisingly bashful stranger with a farmer's tan, M has the means to keep to themself alive and safe, so why are they bothering to make sure you make it, too? Circumstances have thrown the two of you together, whether or not they stick around is up to you.
Audria (They/them): Goofy and a little out of touch, Audria is a certified genius, not that it matters anymore. The key to your protection — and your group's — is them. They often head out of the camp to scavenge, and know how to keep a car running. Audria is one of the few people still around who knows anything about electronics. They often seem preoccupied with something important, but Audria always makes time for you.
Calvin/Carissa (He/him, She/her): The unofficial leader of your group — not that they'd want to claim the title — C is in charge of food collection, distribution, and growing. They have a chill attitude about life, and a whole mess of conspiracies. Still, you wonder what's hidden behind all of the easy smiles.
Lola (She/her): Lola is an unfriendly, hot mess. You've never met someone so flighty in your life. She is distrustful and stubborn, and you suspect even the name she told you might be fake. It might be hard to get to know her.
Sandy (She/her, He/him, They/them (genderfluid)): Sandy is a transfer from the West Coast. during a yearly visit to family, they got caught up in an unfamiliar setting. Sandy floats about life, taking very little seriously. They remain fickle in just about every category in their life; they have an easygoing attitude and a tendency to make everything into a joke.
OTHER CHARACTERS
Bea, Preston, Courtney
Bea (She/her): Bea is soft and caring. Not just to you, but the other people in your group as well. Being the only person around with any knowledge about healthcare, she is charge of medical.
Preston (He/him): Preston is a proper hill-billy, not the most likeable of people, but you can't deny he's a good shot. Preston keeps watch and hunts for the group.
Courtney (She/her): The younger sister to C, Courtney juggles many tasks, usually helping out with what others are doing. She always wants to go with you when you leave.
The rest will join later!:)
WARNINGS
Definitely some bad language, and slang that might not immediately understood by everyone. I’ll most likely include a glossary if it is too ‘Ohio’ of me.
A warning that there is definitely going to be reference to death and hardship (often), as well as active death among background/side characters.
I’m still waffling over a couple of the names I’ve chosen, but for now I think I’m satisfied with them. We shall see!
General warning for horror elements, there’s for sure going to be body horror in the future, and as well as I can write grotesque imagery.
Mentions/explicit depictions of drugs/alcohol/addictions/guns
content/trigger warnings for gender and body dysphoria, plus mild transphobia ( NOT EXPLICIT, it is implied, referencing a point in time in the past )
This setting is (obviously) very specific to me, as I’ve always wanted to tell a story about the type of scenery I see often. I’ve gotten to see a fun mix of rural yet urban in the area I live in that I haven’t seen someone really tackle before.
I’m also super busy, so writing will come pretty slow for me.
Important note: This story may be enjoyed by people who have the same tastes as me, but it’s mostly being written for myself! I love my characters dearly and it absolutely tickles me to see them finally coming to life in text. But it’s very sculpted to my preferences. This story is for me, and it is about my experiences and those I know closely. Give or take a few monsters.
#split if#valcubust#choice of games#interactive books#interactive fiction#split intro sheet#no one has ever been this nervous#as i am right now
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Man you know what i would really want. Kind of like a site that could compare all duck media (or hell, all disney media would be cool too) and how much people like them. Like put the ducktales finale against a barks 10 pager and see which one people prefer, which one has a higher score. If the entire top 100 would be dominated by comics or if a few animated things would slip in too.
And you cant like compare imdb scores to inducks scores because 1 inducks has a weird rating system, and 2 the people voting are completely different audiences. It’s never gonna be a fair logical comparison. But imagine if there was like a site where they had both and where everyone was equally fan of everything and then they would fairly vote i just want to knowww.
Ratings are cool, but cross media ratings are even cooler. How does episode 3 of the this duckburg life podcast/audioplay compare to Paperino skipper from Giorgio Pezzin. I need to know. Has chapter 5 of totem decapitato a higher rating than the first ever episode of dt87? Do people like the ducktales lost lamp movie more than the solving mysteries and rewriting history book? Has the first story of PKNA more historical significance to the fans than Donalds first ever appearance in general? Will they go as far as rate Evroniani higher than The wise little hen?
These ridiculous questions about things that are impossible to compare but I just want to because it’s fun i need that. Because Duck Avenger: Shadow of venus is completely different from: Mickey Mouse Clubhouse: mickey gets sick (or whatever i dont actually remember any episode titles) or Mickey Donald and Goofy go on a roadtrip (whatever that cartoon was with the trailer its a fun one) but they’re somehow also all the same ‘mickey and friends’ franchise. I just think it’s interesting and i will probably now not rest until these questions are answered oh help
How does the Scrooge McDuck and money cartoon compare to the kingdom hearts manga? Is Donald Duck going quackers better than episode 7 season 1 of darkwing duck? Is Donalds appearance in who framed roger rabbit better than his orange juice? Is the Toontown in Disneyland Epcot a better experience than The Dark Side from MMMM? Would you rather be stuck in a room for an hour with only a donald duck colouring book from the zeeman or disney crossy road? Do the fans like the donald duck clock more than an extremely goofy movie? Is the Scrooge McDuck boardgame a better experience than that Donald Duck’s birthday childrens book? Did people get more enjoyment out of Sora’s super smash bros ultimate trailer or the Daisy Duck lego brickhead?? IS THAT BOOTLEG DONALD DUCK UMBRELLA FROM CHINA I GOT AS A KID BETTER OR THIS YOUTUBE VIDEO I WATCHED YESTERDAY ABOUT MICKEY MOUSE COPYRIGHT??? (both those last two things did not happen to me im sorry)
going a bit far there but thats because the general idea without all of the insanity just seems so incredibly fun to me. Even the brickhead and trailer comparison. Yknow what who cares about unfair voting. Just compile all the normal unweighted inducks scores, all imdb and letterboxd and rotten tomatoes and whatever more exists ratings, amazon reviews, to videogame ratings that you always see on wikipedia and just put them all together and see what the result is and also implement the inducks ratings because its a very easy and handy rating system and let people rate on the site on too of that.
Okay no dont do that that would be stupid but like all the cartoons and comics and audio things and games and boardgames and books and maybe not boardgames but everything that is a story and see which stories people like the most i just think that would be so cool.
I dont think im making sense i think Im going to bed now lmfao.
#disney comics#mickey and friends#disney#donald duck#duckverse#disney duckverse#DO PEOPLE PREFER THAT REDDIT POST ABOUT DUCKTALES#OR#THE HIDDEN MICKEY I SAW IN MY BREAKFAST CEREAL
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Pamtseo Si > Lo'ak's route!
request: Can I get a Neteyam or Lo'ak x Human reader. Where he ends up spending an entire day at the lab with them. I just imagine them getting into a play fight and that messing us each other's hair and they end up doing different hairstyles on each other. 🥺Maybe you can also include a part where the reader shows Neteyam/Lo'ak her music playlist. Bruh- I just imagined Neteyam/Lo'ak hearing the lyrics of Kill bill and kinda staring at the reader wide eyed at the 'I just killed my ex part'. 😅
A month's of constant doing chores, intense training, doing whatever lo'ak has got to do just to have ONE day off. A day of freedom. A day in whatever he wants to do without having to be with his siblings or his parents nagging on him. NOPE! Once the sun rose up from the Pandora skies, he was quick to wake up first, collect a lot of fruits for his family to enjoy breakfast, freshen up, and dip out.
Making his way to the laboratory where many of the humans he comes to care about, live in. One human in particular is his lovely PamPam, well, she has a name but lo'ak enjoys teasing her by calling her PamPam. His cute yet loud girlfriend.
Lo'ak and Pampam started dating a little over 1 year, and so far, it is the peak of lo'ak life. He enjoys spending time with his human lover, every time he is with her, all the stress and worries just vanish. He can be his fun, goofy self when he is around her. It is always fun and never boring with his pampam.
Just the other day, Pampam said to come to the lab when he has a free day, cause she had something she wanted to show lo'ak. Feeling giddy, he speeds to the lab. So many things going on his mind, a flower she found? old recordings of some of the now dead science guys? some cool junk?
When lo'ak entered the lab, everyone greeted him, and he in return. Saying good morning as he passes by, he felt at ease and safe among the humans who were loyal to his people.
With big steps, he managed to reach pampam's room, which it was a decent size, full of trinkets and gifts lo'ak personally gave to his cute little lover. Speaking of, there she was laying on the floor playing with something small.
She looked up, her eyes sparkling in excitement, "lo'ak!" she shouts happily. Jumping from where she want, launched herself into lo'ak's arms, hugging tightly they both take a moment of silence to feel each other. "I have all day today just for you" lo'ak tells her, she gasps happily and brings him to sit on the floor with her on his lap.
"so what is it that you wanted to show me?" he asks. With an excited tone, pampam explains, "well norm was clearing out some of the back storage and found this!" show him a small rectangular black shiny...thing. It felt cold to the touch but something that can be easily broken. "It's a miracle there are no cracks this whole time" remarks pampam.
Lo'ak was exposed to limitless demon technology, heck, he can operate a computer all by himself, when he knows what he it doing. Knows how machines in the laboratory works, how touch screens and holograms work. And yet, demon technology still surprises him.
Curious he asks "what is it? how does it work?", pampam happily answers. "This is an old music player, can hold over a thousand songs! so many types of songs are in here! I don't know who it belonged to but this thing has a loooooooooot of music!".
Kind understanding, he leans in a bit more, "let me pick a song?" he asks, pampam nods and holds it out for him. He scrolls for a bit until one title catches his attention. Pressing it to play, the music blasts it out.
IN THE LAB!
Everyone was doing their thing until two high loud voices was heard in a hall. Everyone was wondering what the heck was going on, they got closer. Max and Norm taking the lead, they get closer to pampam's bedroom door to hear what the chaos is going on....only to hear Lo'ak and pampam singing the infamous song...
"Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you!!!"
That will be all for this request! ngl I had fun with it! until next time!
#avatar#na'vi x reader#na'vi avatar#na'vi x human#avatar the way of water#lo'ak#lo'ak x fem!reader#lo'ak x reader#lo'ak x y/n#lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan#rick astley#meme#omaticaya clan#lo'ak x human reader
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Weird White Men That Defy Classification: The Television Genre
How To with John Wilson, 2020
When you sit down to watch an episode of television it’s a real shot in the dark, you pray to find something truly special yet you brace yourself for potential mediocrity. The day I took a chance on 2020’s How To with John Wilson I sat on my couch, eyes glued to the screen, absolutely mesmerized. For those not in the know, How To with John Wilson is this odd thing that exists, it follows the daily exploits of New Yorker, John Wilson, as he goes around the city showing us how to do a certain task. At the same time it is absolutely not a walkthrough tutorial as rarely will I be able to execute the task described by the title card by the end of each episode. Likewise, the show isn’t really about the man named John Wilson as much as it is a lovely stroll through the people he meets on the street, the charming places he explores, and the little glitches in the matrix that stand out to him.
A typical episode of the show is more like a flowing conversation than a narrative arc, it branches out from its origins to go someplace entirely foreign and new. An episode about wine tasting leads to Bang energy drinks, scented bowling balls, and a lavish mansion party complete with historical wardrobe. John Wilson frequently interviews the everyday people on the street that we’ve all spent our lives passing by. He often highlights little niches in the city as he brings us to a fan club infatuated with James Cameron’s Avatar who go as far to learn the language and in another episode we explore the first ever Mandela Effect Convention. No matter how odd, John Wilson treats these spaces with respect and gives off an eager enthusiasm to learn more.
It is a show that defies classification and genre conventions. Sure it is technically a documentary but the genre usually insinuates an informative motive which is hardly the case for How To with John Wilson. If the show isn’t intending on spewing a steady stream of factual information then is it a reality television show which markets itself primarily on entertainment? Well, while thoroughly entertaining, John Wilson’s nasally narration and awkward insights aren’t the traditional host. It is a comedy that had me constantly laughing throughout its runtime and yet it is interested in so much more than just giving the audience a chuckle. Try as I might, I could not place this show in a box and I adore that about it, and in my search for quality programming I’ve found some other shows that similarly leapt out of each box I put it in. The only connection between all them besides having my undying adoration is that they prominently feature weird, extremely awkward white men talking at you.
The Rehearsal, 2022
Nathan Fielder’s 2013 comedy hit, Nathan For You, had me flabbergasted by its absurdity and awkward wit. While more clearly defined in the square labels of comedy there is something about Nathan Fielder’s persona that makes you want to unpack whatever the hell is going there. Nathan For You follows Nathan Fielder, a graduate from one of Canada’s top business schools, as he gives out business advice to real life struggling local businesses in the Los Angeles area. The only thing is, he's awkward and his solutions to their problems often read more like goofy schemes out of a cartoon than sound business advice. There is a mix of reality and fabrication as you are never really sure if what Nathan is saying is sincere or not as he constantly gives half truths and lies to the audience, the people around him, and perhaps himself all at the same time. His outlandish persona is juxtaposed with the business owners who reluctantly go along with his plots and blatantly unpolished ideas. One episode has discount Santa Claus pictures in the summer following the idea of how jackets are cheaper during the summer season.
The little oddities in Nathan For You become the core focus of Nathan Fielder’s latest TV venture. 2022’s The Rehearsal vehemently defies classification, it expands on his persona established in his previous work and blends reality and fabrication to a new degree. The premise of the show is a bit difficult to even explain, like Nathan For You he helps everyday people but rather than giving business counsel he allows real people to “rehearse” a scenario. Some episodes involve having a difficult conversation with a friend or simulating what it’s like to raise a child. It’s still a documentary, reality comedy but there is an earnest dedication to recreating and simulating the conversations and scenarios Nathan clients demand. Nathan creates an exact replica of a bar in episode one of the series, stains and all, in another he fabricates a relationship between one of his client’s and an actor posing as another actor’s grandfather to recreate something as abstract as feelings. This is a show that dissects the reality of its own production, peeling open layer after layer leaving us with something entirely unique.
In that way The Rehearsal is oddly transparent about its own continued creation, Nathan is open to showing us the monitors behind the scenes, the child labor laws that cause Nathan to have multiple actors for the same child, and the fact that extras can't talk which forces Nathan to have a completely silent birthday party in one episode. It is constantly reopening its own veins and reinventing itself, the core premise is under constant development as the show goes on. It’s an entertainment Frankenstein of mismatched ideas and concepts all slamming into each other creating dichotomy after dichotomy. Nathan draws out the acting we all do in everyday life through a show about rehearsing while Nathan is simultaneously playing a character. And yet sometimes he acts with such a sincerity the audience never knows what to expect. The final episode of The Rehearsal is absolutely dizzying in its conundrum, the lines of reality become marred as we follow a child actor who’s too young to even know he’s acting and Nathan being forced to confront this blatant contradiction. It is a supremely daunting task to write about that final episode and honestly I can barely wrap my head around it. I don’t want to spoil it too much but it is unlike anything I have ever seen and I highly encourage you to give The Rehearsal a chance.
Joe Pera Talks with You, 2018
The final show in this little bundle of uncategorizable strangeness is Adult Swim’s Joe Pera Talks with You from 2018. It’s the only show on here I haven’t finished as I remain in the midst of season 2, hoping to really take it slow and appreciate every little moment but rest assured from episode one I was absolutely hooked. Like How To with John Wilson the premise is much more slice of life but unlike the other two, this is completely scripted. It’s offbeat and awkward as the titular Joe Pera excitedly talks about whatever is on his mind in a somehow passionate monotone. Things just seem to happen the way our everyday happenings occur. There comes a ringing at the doorbell that introduces a new cast of characters or a conga line waiting to be partaken in. Inside of these natural happenings is delivered a wonderful simplicity, Joe Pera Talks with You ignores the narrative necessity for conflict during the majority of its runtime. I often braced myself for a cringe inducing failure in moments where Joe Pera is forced to dance or when he’s reading the church announcements. Miraculously, he never trips and falls or gets booed off the stage and although not everyone he interacts with is always happy to meet him, he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.
That might be my favorite thing about Joe Pera, his unconventional happiness that is soothing to my occasionally anguished soul. Whenever life beats me down I just turn on an episode of Joe Pera Talks with You, his indifference to people’s expectations of what a good life is supposed to resemble reassures me that everything is going to be alright. It reassures me that I am enough. It’s a message I’m not used to when consuming media, much less a show that aired on Adult Swim. It is heartfelt and simple and enough to fill my heart and lull me into a lazy night after even the most stressful of afternoons.
I do hope at least one person reading this takes a shot in the dark and watches an awkward white man talk to them for about half an hour. These are all delightful shows that oddly feel, at least for me, paired together despite their differences. Season 3 of How To with John Wilson premiers July 28, 2023 and I for one am absolutely stoked for what this man tells me next. There’s talk of a second season of The Rehearsal in the works as well. I implore you to check at least one of these shows out! If you see any awkward white men talking about interesting things do let me know so I can grab my popcorn, thanks in advance and stay tuned besties <3
-Ghost Emoji 👻
#organmart#om-ghostemoji#personal essay#writing#how to with john wilson#nathan fielder#nathan for you#the rehearsal#joe pera#joe pera talks with you#tv#tv recommendations
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Jojo I've been listening to the Kingdom hearts 1 title screen music non-stop because a friend of mine told me that It was good and now I actually want to start playing the entire series like you don't understand. The song just gives off a calming atmosphere and I'm legitimately curious on where to start.
I know that you Played Kingdom hearts before because I see you mention it on your blog multiple times. And I was wondering where you first started on the Kingdom hearts series.
(I know Kirby is your main priority at the moment but I couldn't resist asking this question, also FNAF rules ngl)
OHOHOHO. OHHHHH. These are floodgates I have yet to open on this Tumblr but I am a huge, HUGE Kingdom Hearts fan. I am not currently in a Kingdom Hearts phase (since it’s been a few years since we’ve gotten anything new). But when I am, I am utterly consumed hahaha. It was the first game series I was a truly a fan of. Years and years before I learned about Kirby.
Kingdom Hearts music is INCREDIBLE and I could talk forever about it. I’ve been to three of their World Tour concerts when they came to the US. The OST albums on Spotify consumed my top statistics this year :P with every new game, I always quietly sit and listen to the new version of Dearly Beloved on the main menu for a while before I begin as a personal sentimental tradition. :’)
I started playing Kingdom Hearts almost at the very beginning. I followed the series across all the different platforms it released on over the years. Thankfully it’s easier than ever to play now! If you’re interested, I recommend getting your hands on the “All-In-One Package” for the PlayStation or PC- whatever you happen to have (however I hear the switch version is extremely flawed. I don’t have it but maybe be careful with that one).
Some people would recommend playing them in chronological story order since it can be quite a wild ride. You can look up the chronological order out there. But my personal recommendation is to play the games in the order they released so you get the same experience as the people who followed the series from the beginning like me hehehe. But do whatever you’d like! I love this series very very much, through all of its triumphs, and even for its flaws and the absolutely wild story it has,
…because where else can you have a frame with a realistic looking Orlando Bloom as Will Turner Pirates of the Caribbean, with a cartoonishly bright Goofy staring blankly in the background? Or Yao from Mulan socking Donald Duck in the face?! I love it I love it I love it anyone can talk to me about Kingdom Hearts whenever they want!!
Here’s a condensed version of how I got into the game. Just for fun. :)
Free games?! I already loved my PS1. Now could I pass this opportunity up?! Thanks EJ, for changing my life with your generosity. If you ever see this, hope you’re well. You rock.
Anyway- The life-changing part of the game happened to me almost immediately lol. Like in the opening of the game and the tutorial section haha
I was instantly hooked. It’s been a huge positive influence in my life. 20 years later, I still remember the emotions I had playing each of the games for the first time. I’ve probably played KH2 a few dozen times, just on the PS2! I can’t wait to see where the next game takes us- but if there’s one thing you have to be as a Kingdom Hearts fan…. Is patient! xD
TLDR: I love Kingdom Hearts and I hope you do too.
#jojo rambles#I have so many emotions about this series hahaha thanks for asking me i love talking about it#I am just over here quietly dreaming of a soriku endgame haha#but I am excited for the future of the series no matter what!!#Sora Donald and goofy IN THAT order- my beloved trinity team#kingdom hearts#ask
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ASM ISSUE 30. I HAVE OPINIONS. SIT DOWN.
I told you I was gonna review any issues that are vaguely superior spidey related and that includes this one. And this one was certainly intriguing! Intresting ideas, the issues it has just stem from the entire run itself sooooo
So here we goo- superior spidey (but like the bootleg)
So here's the things I do like:
Superiors memories, or whatever echo of them are in the arms do affect Peter and while it was brief it was pretty fun. I like how Peter's posture shifts to look like Superiors (in like one panel but shhhh)
Otto and Peter (bootleg superior edtion) bickering was kinda fun to see hshdhsh Thats a concept I kinda love hehsh,.z.
The arms try to sacrifice themselves for Peter in one panel. Me when sad character growth,.,. Nice to see them technically working together tho
It's pretty much confirmed now that superior is in those arms, probably just an echo of his memories, but it could also literally be him because of how aware the arms are and that's a bit freaky and now I feel bad
The implications behind whatever was left of superior in the arms trying to literally strangle doc ock, that's harrowing in context but a intresting concept they could use because man is gonna need some SERIOUS therapy when he gets out
Also also I love that the arms punch Norman every chance they get 100% the most superior spiderman thing they would do
Things I'm a bit iffy on:
Kinda weird that everyone still kinda treats the arms as pets. I mean Jameson does at least. I know we don't know for sure how the arms work with like, Doc's memories but if he is like, aware and sentient in there OOO MAN that makes this so much weirder. Free my boy and don't treat him like that
How the fuck does Peter not suspect somethings up with the arms seemingly containing a separate consciousness. Bro hasn't even really investigated them yet
All my other complaints aren't for this issue but rather complaints for the entire Zeb Wells run itself like Doc Ock back to being an evil goofy villain that needs to get beat up again (like can we not, he doesn't need that anymore) and also on a 10x worse note, reminding me that Zeb Wells killed Ms. Marvel for no reason. I know she'll be back alive soon ut she didn't have do die the way she did 4 issues ago and Aughhhh I cannot get into that rn do not start with me
But yeah those things aren't exactly complaints with this issue so YIPPEE MOVING ON
Buddies.,., pals even
Yeah the only other thing I'll mention is what I talked about in my last couple of posts is that I'm a bit worried on how they are bringing superior back into the present without using time travel or clones (because giving the title back to og doc ock seems a bit out of the question cuz hes still evil for some reason ((I'll rant again if I go into that more)) but unfortunately that seems like it's the case rn)
It might not be that big an issue, I'll still read the new series when it comes out, but I'm just really hoping that they do him right. STILL EXCITED FOR OCTOBER THO YIPPEE NEW FOOD AND CONTENT LETS JUST HOPE ITS GOOD <3<3
Also apparently the next issue is gonna have a teaser for the next superior book, so I'll be sure to post about that :]
#otto octavius#doc ock#spiderman#superior spider man#norman osborn#superior spiderman#garfyspeaks#spiderman comics#comic spiderman#comic spoilers#coping and seeting until the next issue#i just want my boy to be treated well#or i will rewrite everything#or rant#anyways gotta go write fanfics specifically catered to me#see you when the next one comes oug#im going to be thinking about this so hard for the next 3 months#crying#superior spider-man
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Green Arrow Villains - Copperhead
So I know what you’re thinking; “Copperhead is not a green arrow villain, he’s a Batman villain!” This is true! However, he hasn’t had much connection to Batman in recent years, and doesn’t really have the Gotham vibe with how classic goofy comic book villain he is. If anything he should be branded under Justice League since his appearances are sporadic across titles. Thing is Copperhead isn’t a huge threat so he deserves to occupy someone’s rogues gallery. There was one episode of Batman: The Brave and the Bold where green arrow thwarted Copperhead stealing a gem or something, and for whatever reason that extremely brief scene stuck with me. Since then, I’ve always considered Copperhead a great addition to Green Arrows cast of villains. So that’s where he ends up for me.
I started out with the expectation to do a little more redesign to his costume because it really is ridiculous. But after analyzing him, its really easier said than done, because the huge snake helmet and tail is his whole character, and removing that is really removing his character. Other redesigns have really failed to capture the true essence that is copperhead. Arkham origins went too realistic, and thus kinda bland, and the New 52 took the easy way out and made him a were-snake which I also find lame. There was a brief period (Post crisis?) where he had this long snake-tail hood, which was ok, but that’s Crimson Fox’s look so he can’t have it. Suicide Squad: Hell to Pay is the only redesign that I think really captured him with a complete design overhaul, and I really like that look, but it lacks the goofiness that I love about comics. Therefore I stuck with the classic design for my version.
If you actually read that entire dissertation, I love you for it! I rant about DC characters here because my friends don’t give a shit. I especially love giving my thoughts on super niche D-listers.
Oh also, I consider my canon Copperhead to be Sameer Park.
#my art#green arrow#copperhead#sameer park#nathan prince#dc comics#comics#comic redesign#character design#dc villains#green arrow villains
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So I rewatched Sport Goofy in Soccermania (I was having a day and sometimes my comfort media is deeply cringy, ya know?), and I can never get five seconds into this thing without turning into the Wheeze Laugh Meme because:
1. This is actually largely a Scrooge short. You’d never guess that from the title.
2. Scrooge is somehow both more and less of an asshole than usual. Some Italian Scrooge energy here.
3. Why does Scrooge sound like this and where is Alan Young???
4. Oh, hey, Grandma Duck!
5. Goofy introduces himself as Sports Goofy. That is his name in this short. He goes by this the entire time. I don’t know why. As far as I know, this was produced in English for American audiences, so this isn’t a translation thing, but every time someone says “Sports Goofy” it sends me and I don’t know why.
6. Scrooge is the worst at motivational speeches here (I cannot through the entire motivational speech scene, I’m dying, this is hilarious and I don’t know if it was intended to be. I think it’s just supposed to be depressing and make Scrooge even more hateable but the funniest choices were made here and it completely undermines whatever they were going for).
7. The running soccer commentary I just *dies laughing*
8. This whole thing is ridiculously funny but I don’t think I’m laughing for any of the reasons anyone who worked on this intended and I’m sorry
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Buffy Summers for the character ask. 😊
Send in a character and I'll answer the below questions
-/-
do I like them: Having recently watched the show, becoming a fan in the year 2023, I’m going to say, yes – but as with any character, there are moments where you roll your eyes or arch an eyebrow at the behavior exhibited – even by a favorite. But what I will say definitively is, I knew Buffy as an icon before I watched the show, and now, I know that the title was not given out lightly, but with the absolute of pure intentions.
5 good qualities:
In her friendships (for the most part/in general), she’s not afraid to be confrontational, have hard conversations.
I didn’t really know where to place this (good or bad), but I ended up placing it in the good pile…the space for judgment. I think that can be both good and bad…and with Buffy she tended to really see things as this or that in the beginning…and by season seven she’s in a much different place when it comes to this quality, in how it influences her decision making and how she interacts with certain characters…
Tied to the above is also the space for growth – both within herself and in her opinions of others – and I think that’s such an admirable quality to have –to open the space to accept change within ourselves and in others…or just about the world…about our lives.
As much strength as Buffy possessed, I like that she also had this incredibly goofy side – that not all her movements were graceful and that she was allowed the space on the show to be silly.
The girl had style – what can I say I love a 90’s look.
3 bad qualities:
I understand it comes with the job description, but Buffy doesn’t really understand the meaning of self-care…
This is one of those that isn’t necessarily bad because sometimes it was deserved, but Buffy did contain the capacity to really put characters down when she felt she was wronged by or she was frustrated by or whatever malice she had believed was their intention toward her – she wasn’t afraid to utilize her words for cruelty. Again, sometimes it was deserved, but sometimes, I had to cringe.
Going back to the perils of the job (but let’s be honest it’s not the entirety to blame) is noticing her friend’s problems or emotional state…which I guess means she’s not very observant if the stakes *sorry for the word use* are high – but to me, your friends are a part of your life, maybe have a bit more emotional compassion/observance? (I also think her friends didn’t do a stellar job of this either at times so maybe it was a shared fault all around)
favourite episode/etc: There’s so many outstanding performances, but I’m going to be a bit nontraditional for this specific ask game…
1x01 – it’s not be the best, it’s not even my favorite - at all - but I always argue, if you don’t find something intriguing, one scene, one moment, with the main character within that first episode, you aren’t returning – so within that, with that idea in mind, I think it has to be listed as a favorite for Buffy’s character because otherwise, if there’s nothing intriguing within the framework of the show at the beginning, the story falls apart…and the viewer leaves.
Yes, there are iconic episodes through the series… all deserving of awards and recognition…but for the purposes of this ask…I’m going with that answer.
(also that exempts me from choosing a more iconic episode as a favorite because it’s impossible)
otp: Spuffy (Spike/Buffy)
I need an entire ask to explain why and this has already gotten lengthy, so I’ll leave it simply with the answer.
brotp: Her friendship with Willow…Buffy’s dynamic with Tara (I wish we had more of this on the show)…
And this isn’t really traditionally listed here, but it is a friendship-ish in a sense, and that’s Buffy and her mom…and while we are on the subject of parental figures…Buffy and Giles…even though sometimes it wasn’t seen in the best light at times during the show, for the most part, it was a caring loving supportive dynamic.
ot3: Especially in season seven, I think there was more to explore in the Faith/Spike/Buffy dynamic – I think if there had been another season or more episodes or opportunities in the television format to explore that, it would have been really interesting.
I do also really enjoy the scenes with Buffy/Spike/Dawn in the late season five era of the show…that shift post 5x18 is so special to me as a viewer and I really enjoy seeing the softness in those scenes.
notp: Riley/Buffy. I’m going to say this with the biggest caveat in that on the spectrum of quote safe or normal, he was the closest relationship that could have given her the stability she needed – but – that’s also not what Buffy wanted…and there’s a difference between maybe what’s good for us by definition and what we need, what actually compliments us as a human beyond the ideals or societal standards of good. *heavy sigh*
best quote: “…the hardest thing in this world... is to live in it. Be brave. Live….”
head canon:
Ok this is spuffy related (I can’t help it)
Buffy finds a tarnished silver ring in a thrift store amongst her travels post finale. She buys it and wears it on her right hand, every day, leaving it unpolished, leaving it on through every sunset, sunrise, midnight, and daydream until…
Until he returns to her with a diamond, and she wears it on the left.
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i can not guess much from these stills jamie wise, can you? like possibly a jamie and henry and will scene but idk. also defo agree that we might get the jamie keeley hug this ep<3
They are not very revealing I will say :(
I assume the "We'll Never Have Paris" title is mostly about Michelle & the therapist going to France while Henry stays with Ted. But I'm wondering if it's also got a second meaning pointing towards a Keeley & Jack breakup.
I think somehow the leak is going to escalate Jack & Keeley's end tbh; if the hug happens this episode I assume Jamie looks so worried and keeley is in her bathrobe because of a combination of the embarrassing and/or harmful leak/Jack breakup/possible KJPR job implications (the last one has me worried most for her)
It's so hard to know if I'm reading way too into stills lol but I'm wondering if the Will & Jamie, locker room himbos & coaches in their office pictures are after they just saw online whatever leaked about Keeley. None of them look particularly happy. (Even roy's face is like, well, that could just be his resting face. But he also seems even more frowny than usual?) and Will & Jamie look upset in that image if you zoom in on their faces. But they could also just be judging someone together LOL.
will showing henry around his job is so CUTE. no notes!
This is so goofy and I'm sure I am connecting zero dots here but: Literally why is Jamie wearing the same outfit??? Maybe some of the same outfit components but no it's literally the entire outfit, same styling??? Has he ever worn the exact same thing twice on this show? Seems OFF to ME!
#ted lasso#ted lasso spoilers#ted lasso speculation#keeley jones#jamie tartt#jamie wears the same outfit and i am like oh no shit he's spiraling#looks like a very ted centric episode which are never my favorites but yes i do realize he is the main character lol#asks
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Get To Know Me!
1. IF YOUR ENTIRE LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT TITLE WOULD BEST FIT?
* Dazed and confused lol. 🤣 (not smoking btw just the title describes my life haha)
2. WOULD YOU RATHER BE A FANTASTIC DANCER OR BE GREAT AT MATH?
* Definitely math. I’ve always struggled understanding math in school and it caused me a lot of frustration. I don’t need to be a math wizard, just being able to understand it is all I need!
3. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE COMEDY MOVIE?
* I love slapstick and potty humor. I don’t have a particular favourite comedy movie as I tend to lean towards animated movies instead of live action. But I guess if I had to choose I would choose The Minions, I love those guys!
4. ARE YOU MORE OF A CAT PERSON OR A DOG PERSON?
* definitely a dog person. My mom is super allergic to cats and my dad is allergic as well. (They are also allergic to dogs, but we managed to get a hypoallergenic dog which has helped with their allergies)
5. WHAT CELEBRITY WOULD YOU RATE AS A PERFECT 10?
* Tom Holland of course! Not just looks wise either, I’m in love with his personality. 😍 I love goofy, funny and nerdy hot guys like Tom Holland. If only he was a musician too. 🤤
6. WHAT’S THE CLOSEST THING TO REAL MAGIC?
* Manifestation! Technically that’s not magic, but whatever. I believe that we are all born with some type of psychic ability, we’re just not all awakened to it.
7. WHAT IS THE BEST AND WORST PURCHASES YOU’VE EVER MADE?
* Hmm, I’m not sure about this one. I often go by reviews because I have a tough time making up my mind about which thing I want to buy. I try to analyze each thing I buy to make sure I’m buying a good product haha.
8. IF IT WERE POSSIBLE TO COLONIZE MARS IN OUR LIFETIME, WOULD YOU GO? WHY OR WHY NOT?
* Heck no! Space is scary haha. Plus Earth needs help healing so I’d rather spend my time helping people here and devote my time to bettering the planet we currently live on. Now that being said, if I lived in a reality like in the movie Interstellar I would go because it’s our only option to survive haha.
9. WHAT IS YOUR DREAM VACATION ON YOUR BUCKET LIST?
* Japan for sure! It’s been my dream to travel to Japan since I was a pre-teen. And not just because of anime haha. I’d also love to visit Europe and the United Kingdom where my ancestors are from.
10. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL AS A STUDENT?
* I took singing vocal class in high school which I really enjoyed, but I had to drop it in my second half of high school due to my mental health which sucked. I also really enjoyed communications class!
11. IF YOU COULD LIVE IN A BOOK, TV SHOW, OR MOVIE, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
* This is a tough decision to make. I can’t decide on which one. I’d like to travel to different stories and experience life in them first before making a permanent decision.
12. HOW MANY SIBLINGS DO YOU HAVE?
* I have three half siblings, they are all about a decade older than me. I have two half brothers and one half sister. I don’t see them that often, only at Christmas time.
13. WHAT’S THE CRAZIEST THING YOU’VE EVER DONE?
* I’m not a very adventurous person, so I would have to say just meeting my spirit guides during a meditation and having my spiritual awakening?
14. IF YOU COULD MASTER ONE SKILL YOU DON’T HAVE RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
* Housekeeping and adulting stuff haha. As well as manifesting if you count that as a skill!
15. WHAT WORDS OF WISDOM WOULD YOU PASS ON TO YOUR CHILDHOOD SELF?
* Don’t be so hard on yourself, learn to love and accept your uniqueness and don’t worry about what others think of you. It’s also okay to feel emotions, don’t be ashamed of feeling sad or angry!
16. HOW WOULD YOU SURVIVE A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE?
* I wouldn’t haha. I wouldn’t be able to survive in such a place. I don’t think I would want to anyway. I tend to get very affected by apocalyptic stories so I’m trying to distance myself from them more these days.
17. IF YOU COULD ABOLISH ONE PIECE OF MODERN TECHNOLOGY, WHAT WOULD IT BE AND WHY?
* Nuclear weapons! We don’t need them and they’re dangerous. Peace and love man!
18. WHAT IS YOUR GUILTY PLEASURE?
* Hmm… not sure I have a guilty pleasure. The thing that comes to my mind is comfort food that isn’t good for me, does that count?
19. WHAT WAS YOUR NICKNAME YOUR GRANDPARENTS USED TO CALL YOU?
* I don’t think they had nicknames for me, but my dad always calls me pumpkin.
20. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CLIMBED A TREE JUST FOR FUN?
* I don’t think I ever climbed a tree haha. I wasn’t an outdoorsy kid (by choice).
That’s all for now! I will post more later.
#get to know me#questions#answered#intro post#introductory post#pinned intro#introduction#introducing myself#hello tumblr#who am i#come say hi#spiritual awakening#spirituality#new age
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