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#there is nothing romantic about murder

edwardshundredyearoldspunk · 2 months

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oh you're in love with me? well would you chop off my crush's dick so I can sew it onto you because your's fell off because you've been a corpse for 100 years but you want to have sex with me before I kill myself because I don't want to die a virgin?

#lisa frankenstein #i loved this movie so much #everything about it i loved it!#truly nothing more romantic than murdering someone for their dick because you want to fuck me that bad

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haledamage · 2 years

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Lady’s Luncheon

for my dearest @queen-scribbles HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAIT!!! 💖💖💖 continuing my theme from previous years, here’s two ladies sharing a meal and a chat ;) though Xaeryn and Iorwen are both a bit more reticent to talk about their infatuations than AJ and Kira were.

1920′s AU tLBT-verse, after they briefly run into each other in chapter 4! Xaeryn is Cait’s and Iorwen is mine and both are our MC’s from @shepherds-of-haven 💖

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“Well, well, well. Detective Xaeryn Shrike.”

Iorwen called out the name as soon as she spotted the lady detective, and Xaeryn looked up from perusing a small notebook to stand and greet her.

Without the pressure of work and without Trick and Trouble’s pistols pointed at her, it was easy to recognize Ryn as the girl she’d known in school. They’d never been especially close, but they had both been part of Red’s circle of friends, so they’d at least been familiar.

Then again, it was rare to find anyone who wasn’t part of Red’s circle. He could charm the bark off a tree, if he had half a mind to.

In fact, he was the reason they were meeting here, too. Once it had finally clicked why she recognized Xaeryn, Wen had called Red to find out if he knew how to get in contact with her. It wasn’t surprising that he did; the two of them had always been stuck on each other, even if they’d never acted on it. Or noticed.

One thing had led to another, and now here they were, at a tidy, quiet little cafe that Wen had never heard of. It was certainly much nicer than the jazz halls and speakeasies Trouble liked to drag her to.

“Iorwen,” Ryn greeted with a smile, taking her hand in a warm, firm handshake. “It’s just ‘Miss’ Shrike. And should I call you ‘Captain’ Emroth?”

Wen shook her head as she slid into the seat across from her. “Only when I’m on duty. Otherwise, it’s technically ‘Doctor’. But just Iorwen to you, please.”

“You find time to practice medicine while hunting cultists?” Xaeryn slipped the little pad of paper into her bag as she asked the question.

“More like hunting cultists is why I practice medicine,” Iorwen replied with an easy laugh. “Keeping the Shepherds patched up is a full time job in itself.”

A waitress came by with drinks before they could say more. They waited until she was well out of earshot before continuing; apparently, being a detective made one just as paranoid as the Shepherds did. Or maybe it stemmed from being Mages.

“How’s your thief hunt going?”

“Still in progress.” Ryn’s lips pursed in frustration, eyes going distant with thought. Iorwen could almost see the gears turning in her head, rereading that notebook of hers from memory. It made sense that she was a detective; she had never met a mystery she could let lie.

“I don’t know how much help I can be, officially speaking,” Iorwen said slowly, making sure she had the other woman’s full attention before she continued. “But off the books, I have a few contacts I can ask to keep a look out. Discreetly.”

“And how much would this ‘off the books’ help cost?” Ryn asked carefully.

Wen waved off the idea. She wasn’t going to make an old friend pay her to essentially trick Trinaeste into being helpful. “Remind your bo to answer the damn phone once in a while and we’ll call it even. I’m tired of making the drive to Capra every time I need to consult with him.”

Xaeryn suddenly found the table runner fascinating, smoothing a hand over it to flatten out the creases before doing the same to her already immaculate skirt. “I’m afraid you have the wrong idea.”

Oh, Liefred, you sap. Iorwen barely stifled a sigh. He was so effortlessly charming, except when it counted. What a mug. “My apologies. The way he talks about you, I just assumed…”

That got the detective’s attention, though she still didn’t ask about it. Apparently Red wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to get the words out. Wen let her have her secrets, for now, and pushed the subject back into shallower waters.

They let the conversation meander wherever it wanted to. It revolved around work, mostly; being a workaholic was clearly a trait the two of them shared. They talked about the Shepherds and Ryn’s work as a detective, about Haven, about Solhadur and their travels since leaving the academy.

“Where’s the farthest a job has ever taken you?” Iorwen asked, swirling her drink in her glass. The ice had long since melted and it was more water than anything else now.

“Hmm.” Xaeryn tapped a finger against her chin in thought. “Heth Macoll. The son of a well-to-do local family had gone missing. His mother thought he’d been kidnapped, but it turns out he’d run away and eloped.”

“Lack of communication is the real culprit once again. Those are always the best outcomes. And the worst.” Wen knocked back the last of her drink and dropped the glass to the table. “I bet Dearest Mother didn’t give you jack.”

“That’s why you always get payment up front,” Ryn laughed. She sat forward in her seat, elbows on the edge. “What about you? The Shepherds must send you all over Blest.”

“I went to The Reach a few months ago. Endarkened-born plague. Ugly business.” She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying more. That wasn’t the kind of talk for a nice joint like this. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. Someplace a little less... ritzy.”

Xaeryn was clearly getting antsy too. She did a good job of hiding it, but she kept reaching for her bag, patting it like she was making sure it was still there. Her mystery called to her again, begging to be solved.

“I should prob’ly get going. Blade will start to worry if I don’t check in soon.” It wasn’t entirely the truth - if only because Blade was definitely already worrying, with her off on her own while there was a known cult presence in town. But Ryn was too polite to leave first, so Wen gave her an out.

They paid their meals and donned their hats and gloves, stepping outside together. Instead of a farewell handshake, they gave each other a quick, friendly hug.

“We should do this again sometime,” Xaeryn offered. Despite the call of work, she still hesitated to leave.

“Bet on it. Here,” Iorwen dug in the pocket of her jacket to find a card. She didn’t use them often, but always kept a few on her just in case. “If you need a doctor’s slant on a case, or if you just want to grab a drink. Give me a ring.”

The card joined the notebook in her bag, alongside gods-only-knew what else. “I will. Thank you, Dr. Emroth.”

“Anytime, Detective.”

She watched Xaeryn walk away, waiting until the steady click of her heels on pavement faded before lighting a stick of charch and heading off in the opposite direction. Time to hunt down a grifter and see if she could convince him to help look for a different one.

#happy birthday my dear 💖 hope it's a fantastic one!#iorwen emroth #xaeryn shrike #this is a little shorter than I wanted it to be #but it was either this or they were going to have a whole novel involving a murder mystery #where ryn brings in wen to consult on the cause of death #(that may still happen but that's a mystery for AFTER the solimer's torch is found)#I had a bunch of ideas that I was working on but after their brief run-in I KNEW it had to be ryn and wen #so I've been waiting to reblog that because I didn't want to give this away :3 #they give me very miss fisher and mac vibes #the lady detective and her doctor friend #also iorwen being like HEY DO YOU LIKE RED but saying NOTHING about her own complicated romantic entanglements is very in character for her #(shhhh yes I know xaeryn has already run into chase but iorwen doesn't know that okay let her flirt with her thief)

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faetedforglory · 2 years

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🪄

lyrics i'm not normal about

"i'm feeling strangely happy now, contented and serene. . . oh, don't you see? finally, i'll be somewhere that's green." somewhere that's green (reprise) -- little shop of horrors

i cannot be normal, even if i wanted to. SHE JUST WANTED TO BE HAPPY. it's so tragic and my heart will never not break for audrey. she did not deserve the terrible things that happened to her and even the "good" was bad and just--

audrey deserved the world. and it makes me cry that she suffered so much and didn't even get a happy ending.

#( ooc. )#pidgeyatto #{restrains myself from going off more about how she literally did nothing wrong}#{and how her romantic options being a sadist and a murderer is so fucked up}#{like yeah seymour had some good qualities but. he was doing so many bad things}#{and he didn't care if she loved him or not. he was willing to kill so the plant would make her love him and}#{refused to stop doing bad things because what if she didn't really love him and it was just the plant manipulating her}#{idk idk i have so many thoughts about how she deserved so much better}

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llycaons · 2 years

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may have to come out as a hua cheng disliker after this reread I'm following, and it may be because I'm biased towards mq but like. okay I have a lot to say actually

it's nice that hc is always on xl's side and defends xl when he's not as powerful as the people around him but like...mq and fx really love xl. they really want to look out for him and protect him. they WERE loyal in the past and it was only under extraordinarily desperate and miserable circumstances that mq left - mq who has his own mother to take care of, and who freely admitted to making mistakes, and still tried to come back and give xl and fx food!

and fx who literally NEVER LEFT and was in fact TOLD to leave by xl. mqfx were more loyal than most people would be expected to be under the circumstances, and still for mistakes and things they did literally 800 years ago hc treats them with such contempt and cruelty. like there were many many reasons that the events of book 2/4 happened, mqfx aren't the people to blame. not everyone can be expected to be as single-mindedly devoted as hc, something the narrative actually points out. and it kind of necessitates hc having literally no other responsibilities, relationships, or even interests besides xl. like, mqfx's lives didn't revolve around xl, they still had their own things going on and that's normal. And it's kind of depressing that this is the only avenue for a romantic relationship bc its so unfeasible and cuts out so many people

I would get it if hc was angry on his own behalf since mq was very cruel to him as a child but he only seems to hate him bc of him leaving xl…and seeing hc now in this powerful position sneering at people and wishing death on them honestly kind of makes him look like a bully. but then again a lot of these people looked down on him as a kid so it's KIND of justified?? idk it just all seems so immature for him to constantly be so unkind esp when mq is practically being imprisoned or at risk of being forced to descend.

and yeah I get that I'm reading a fantastical romance and it's not supposed to be "realistic" but goddammit those are xl's friends and it feels weird to see xl laugh at hc openly mocking them. I feel like I'm too old to enjoy that kind of dynamic. I laugh once but when I actually start to think about it, it's quite unpleasant

#don't know why it's such a surprise that this book I've been a fan of for 2 years is immature but I guess I never pinpointed what bothered #me about it besides the general *gestures at backstory*#add the fact that hc has literally nothing else to live for/said he'd die if xl did #he called xl his beloved WAY back when he was a soldier/ghost when he literally never got to know him personally #and the fact that xl never addresses this just thinks it's all so High Romance etc. etc.#I'm often frustrated by choices authors make in writing relationships...I am frustrated by things in cql #but there's enough there that I really like that I don't mind it or I can work around it #but for h/l...they have some nice romantic lines and excellent chemistry but literally everything else about them holds no interest for me #even novel wx had a better grounds for a relationship and more consistent goals and more similar viewpoints and I do not say this lightly #and imo what jc did to wwx by abandoning him and murdering the people he was protecting is much worse #than what mq and fx did to xl. who did not die and actually did recover #but lwj treats jc with much less open hostility iirc. like there's still hatred and pettiness there but he generall acts like an adult #well. she did say "after writing a story where the couple was bonded by shared views I just wanted one where love was unconditional'#whichis great for some people yeah but. hm. not for me #tgcf txp

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saetoru · 8 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ JUST YOURS — LYNEY.

contents. archon quest spoilers, reader finds out lyney is from the house of the hearth—and all the drama + betrayal that comes from that </3 so big rip </3 but it has a hopeful ending tho !!

lyney has knocked on your door three times today—you haven’t opened up once. you can’t.

“please,” you can hear his muffled voice, “i just want to talk. will you let me explain?”

magicians must always make their audience believe in the impossible, he’s always told you with that sweet, alluring little smile on his face that makes you hang onto every word of his. he’s right, you think—magicians are simply those who have mastered the art of deception, and lyney is no exception. he’s deceiving you even now, with that broken voice as if he’s the one who’s hurt.

word spreads fast in fontaine—lyney, your sweet, romantic, devoted lyney, is of the house of the hearth. his trial mortifies you at first—but deep down, you know in your heart that lyney is no murderer. and then, in an instant, you’re not so sure anymore when somehow, within less than a day, lady furina is able to uncover more about your boyfriend than you have in months.

lyney is of the house of the hearth. he’s of the fatui.

“i’m sorry,” you hear a thud of his forehead resting against the door, “you’re mad, i know—but let me explain the—”

for the first time all day, you open the door. you’re not sure why—somehow, you need him to know you’re not just mad. you’ve been mad at lyney before, being mad is easy. being mad means he’ll pull a rose from behind your ear and make you smile against your will. being mad means you’ll realize you can’t stay mad at him for long, not when he looks at you like that. being mad is temporary—but this? this feels permanent.

you’re not mad at lyney. you simply can’t trust him anymore, and he needs to know that, needs to understand that he should stay away and never find you again.

you’re glaring at him, staring at the face that has always done nothing but make you smile. you wonder, for a small, doubtful moment, if every smile lyney has ever pulled from you has been built off of pure lies and half truths and withheld information.

you’ve given him every bit of yourself, told him everything there is to tell and then some, let him discover things himself that no one has yet to learn. and lyney, as you learn, is someone you can’t even begin to know, not really—maybe not ever.

“you’re with the fatui,” your voice is cold, but you know he can hear the waver—you hate him for that. for being able to pick you apart when you don’t know the first thing about him, “you’ve lied to me all this time—”

“i didn’t lie,” he says quickly, “i just…didn’t tell you everything—”

“that’s not any better,” you cut him off, finality in your voice that makes his eyes widen a fraction, “i have no business with someone of the—”

“wait,” his foot stops the door before it can close, stepping in despite your protests as he inches closer and closer. you take a step back every time—the hurt on his face is palpable. “can…can i explain? please?”

“explain what?” you furrow your eyebrows, “explain that you’re with the fatui? how is there any explaining that? how can you look me in the eye and tell me you’re not bad—”

“i’m not,” he insists, “i’m not bad.”

lyney has never looked at you like that—like you’ve hurt him right where he’s most vulnerable, right where he’s weak and fragile and can’t bear to be hurt. you hate that you want to apologize for a moment, that you want to cradle his face and kiss the tremble off of his lips.

“then what are you?” you challenge, crossing your arms.

“i’m trying to save people,” he croaks, “our organization has a lot of people—a lot of goals. father and i want to—”

“your father has hurt people,” you cut him off.

“father saved me,” he says firmly, “and lynette. she gave us a home. and she wants to save the people of this nation—”

“she’s taken advantage of your weakness and—”

“she did what no one else would for me and my family.”

“then go,” you spit, “go to her and do her bidding. but i can’t turn a blind eye to the fact that you’re with the fatui.”

“even as a member of the house, my decisions are my own,” his hand grabs yours—you can’t find it in yourself to pull it away. it’s familiar, warm—it’s lyney. your lyney. “i’m doing what i believe is right. to break the prophecy.”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to do,” you admit, tired, defeated, “or who you are, frankly. but i’m tired of lies, lyney.”

“then i’ll tell you the truth,” his voice trembles, “anything you ask.”

“i’m not sure that’ll help,” you say quietly.

and then his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck as he pulls you close. you want to push him away. you want to melt into his arms. you want to tell him to leave. you want to ask him to always stay.

lyney is of the house of the hearth, the fatui. but he’s also your lyney—the one who brings you flowers and tucks them behind your ear, the one who does tricks for children and makes them smile, the one who gives his heart and soul for his family to keep them safe.

you don’t know if the two can coexist as one, but you know despite it all, you still love lyney, and you don’t know if you can stop. the thought is haunting.

“i’ve always done what i believe is right,” he promises, “i’ve never hurt someone innocent. you have to know that much.”

“lyney—”

“i love you,” his voice breaks, “i’ve always loved you as just lyney. i promise.”

“i’m scared of who you are when you’re not just lyney,” you whisper—and you suppose you’re also weak, because your hand slips into his hair, stroking through the strands so that if it’s the last time, maybe you can commit the feeling of him to memory.

you can feel his tears fall onto your skin, and you can feel his fingers grip your shirt as he clings onto you, onto the last bit of hope that you’re his—that he’s yours. your lyney, the one you’ve always known and loved.

“i’m always just lyney,” he promises, “no matter who i’m with.”

“i just…need time,” you sniffle, “to think.”

“okay,” he says quietly. you can feel his lip quiver against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck, “i’ll wait. however long you need, i’ll wait. i love you.”

“i know, lyney,” you sigh, caving and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head. you savor the feeling—just in case you’ll never feel it again.

maybe you can—maybe he’s telling the truth. maybe lyney has always been yours, the one you think you know. you don’t know, but you hope you’ll find out.

i would forgive him i can’t lie to you no amount of fatui crimes could outweigh how badly i need to kiss this little shrimp of mine

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney angst #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact angst

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queenimmadolla · 2 months

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.

Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”

“Wha’?”

“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.

While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.

Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.

The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.

Someone.

Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.

Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.

Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.

Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.

He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

NOW, 1989

“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.

When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.

You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.

You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.

So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

Your mother was murdered.

Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.

The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.

Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.

You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.

The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.

He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.

So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.

“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

It was a little odd, but you did.

When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.

You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.

“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”

Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.

“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.

“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”

You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.

“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”

Didn’t feel like it.

Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.

“And I can. Please, let me do this.”

You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.

You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.

“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.

Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”

You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, spill.”

Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”

This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.

“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.

“Steve Harrington.”

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.

“Does he flirt with you?”

“No.”

“See him flirt with any girls?”

“Nope.”

“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

“He’s on the spectrum?”

Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

It got quiet for a few moments.

”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.

She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

“Reefer Rick?”

“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

Munson.

You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

“H-He’s your favorite…?”

“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.

“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.

“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

Maybe a drink would calm you down.

You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.

“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

Oh, shit.

Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

”Funny seeing you here.”

You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.

“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

“Oh.”

He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

OH, THANK FUCK.

“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

“Hey, Carol.”

Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.

“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

“Oopsie.”

But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.

Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.

You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.

Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

“Wall.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

“Great Wall of China.”

Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.

Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.

“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

“Does that feel good?”

You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”

Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.

She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.

His right arm was out, palm up.

He was waiting for you.

You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

“Sissy. . .”

“Sissy…”

“SISSY!”

You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.

What the hell?

“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.

You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

“Oh my god…”

“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

“Ooh, your knees…”

You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.

“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.

“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.

“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.

You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

“THAT WE DO!”

You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

“Mm. White wine?”

It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

You shot him a glare.

“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.

You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

Then your eyes snapped open.

Oh, god. You were a loser.

After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.

“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

“Yes, we got a free soda!”

Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”

“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

“I bet you can.”

After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.

Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.

And it was coming from outside your front door.

You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.

You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

“Uuuhhhnng…”

This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”

You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.

You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

“Stop it!”

“Leave me alone!”

“Go away, I’m just a girl!”

The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.

On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.

You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.

Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”

He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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callmerainman · 3 months

Text

Alastor with a pure hearted s/o

a/n I'm fully aware that Alastor is aroace. My scenarios are meant to be interpreted as a deep, unconditional love, not necessarily romantic. I'm not aroace but I'm all for educating myself, so please if something's off let me (gently) know. Hope you enjoy :)

TW! canon typical violence

being a twisted person is not a requirement to reincarnate in Hell. Sins depend on religion, culture, societal norms. You were more of a victim, in fact.

you never got used to being in Hell. Surviving not only the Extermination but also the inhabitants becomes harder and harder every year.

it's kill or be killed, but you just can't bring yourself to do any harm to anyone, even if it means risking your own life.

as soon as you hear about princess Charlie Morningstar's new hotel for souls who want a second chance, your bags are PACKED

it's not like you really need redemption, you are pure hearted already. it's more a matter of understanding the reasons why you ended in Hell and coming to terms with them. maybe then the gates of Heaven would open for you. it's also a safer place for you to be.

Charlie welcomes you excitedly; Angel Dust, Husk and Vaggie aren't that friendly at first since your personalities don't match, but they eventually grow fond of you

and then there's, well...the Radio Demon.

you never met an Overlord before, and Alastor was supposed to be gone for years. But his presence wasn't frightening. A big smile spread across his face, he welcomed you like a gentleman.

you heard stories about his lifestyle and even previous murderous acts as a human, but for some reason you just can't bring yourself to fear him.

at first you were kinda pathetic to him. so naive, out of touch with the evils of Hell. he didn't dislike you. just thought your life was so easy to throw away in a society like that and that you wouldn't last long.

it seems like you two don't have much to share. he just wanders in his den, while you spend time in your room. you greet each other and have small talks, but nothing more than that. that's until he hears jazz music play behind your door.

he mentions it during dinner, and you start talking about your interest in 30s jazz music, especially the one of the Roaring 20s. you come from a later era, but you're very much cultured about jazz and its forms and that's enough for Alastor to develop an interest in you.

he has so many jazz artists recommendations, and you share some of your favourite pieces with him through your gramophone.

without even noticing, Alastor starts spending hours in your room just listening to music. some time even practicing swing dancing. and talking about jazz culture all around the world, and entertainment in general. he has many fun facts about the history of radio too!

the others at the hotel notice your growing bond and low-key support it, in their own, weird way. Angel Dust is especially convinced that you two are hooking up, as Husk not-so-kindly explains that it's more likely for Alastor to ascend to Heaven than express interest in sex.

you would start to open yourself up a bit to the Radio Demon. he doesn't understand why, since it didn't ask or never showed much empathy. but he just can't bring himself to tell you to stop. he wants to listen.

you manage to make him talk about some glimpses of his own life and thoughts. you knew that he was the complete opposite of you. incline to Evil, an enjoyer of all things that made your stomach clench. but he's still the one person who spends hours with you just listening to both jazz and your fears.

one day, Alastor decided that in no way you are walking around the city without him. it's just too dangerous for you. he tries to teach you how to use weapons and demonic powers to defend yourself but he doesn't feel like you can make it into Hell by yourself.

you like strolling through the streets with him, arms intertwined, chatting and laughing even if demons around you are shitting their pants just by seeing the Overlord walking around.

but one day, Alastor can't find you.

you're not in your room, or in the Hotel hall. No one saw you that morning. He starts to feel something he never felt in his life: fear.

he darts out the Hotel, trying to find you. that's when he sees you just a few streets away.

a group of animal-like demons is encircling you. you are on your knees, arms over your head to protect yourself. A lion-demon is holding a knife over you and your arms are covered in cuts. you hold something close to your stomach.

that's when Alastor realized that he had feelings for you.

when he threw himself between you and the demons attacking you.

it's the first time you see Alastor without a smile. his teeth are gritted, face full of unprecedented violence and will to kill, breathing heavily in and out in a sort of animalistic way, but there's no trace of his characteristic smile you love.

his body starts to morph into his full demon form. his horns grow exponentially, his body too as it hovers menacingly on top of your aggressors as they start to feel a pure fear they never felt before.

in a matter of a second, they are gone. Alastor has always been a calculated, elegant killer, but this time he only felt a raw, ferocious instinct to kill.

as he's done, he turns around towards you. he doesn't want to, but he snaps.

"W̶̞̐H̷̻͒Y̷̰̅ ̶̠͛D̸͕́I̸͔̍D̴̿͜ ̷̯̇Y̶̭͌Ỏ̴̬U̵̖̍ ̷̛͎Ģ̷̕O̸̩͑ ̷̹̈́O̶̮͆U̸͍̇T̴̙͆ ̷̧̀W̴͓̅I̷̞͑T̸̗͒H̴̹͒O̴̺̓Ṷ̵̂T̵̺̚ ̵̢́M̴̜̅E̶̬̋?̸̻͋!̸̦͂"

you flinch, you never saw Alastor lose his composure. he was always so calm and collected. his voice was static, choppy.

the tears that were cornering your eyes start streaming down your face "I-I..."

"Ţ̶̈Ḧ̴͙́Ė̵̩Ỳ̷̳ ̷̳̒Ã̸̡L̷̛͚M̶͇̚O̸͈̔S̴̜̎T̸͚̊ ̷̤͝K̷͊͜I̵̺͝L̵͚̎L̴̤̆Ẽ̴͖D̶͍̈́ ̵̻͝Y̵̰̑O̸̜͘Ù̶͍!̵̻͝ ̸͓̾D̴̯͒O̶̅͜Ṉ̶̌'̷̹͒T̵͎͋ ̶̺́Y̴̹͂O̶͍̅U̴̘͌ ̵̘̾Û̷̪N̸̩̊D̵͎̋Ȅ̴͜R̵̮͂S̸̰̄T̸̝̅A̵͓͘N̷̩͂Ḏ̴̀?̵̗̍!̸̭̎"

suddenly, your bleeding arms fall from your head. you expose what you've been protecting all along.

a vinyl, a really old record from Alastor's favourite jazz artist. a rare find.

"I-I know but...tomorrow it's your death anniversary and I wanted to give this to you...as a surprise. I'm sorry"

Alastor's face immediately softens. Eyebrows raised, smile still not seen. He's just surprised and...moved.

He doesn't say anything, he just picks you up in his arms and takes you back to the Hotel where he bandages your arms.

Feeling guilty for putting yourself in danger, you ask Alastor to come to your room in order to apologize to him.

As he closes the door behind him, he says that there's no need to apologize.

"I'm...glad that you are still in your room. Listening to jazz, alive"

words didn't come easy, but he did feel the need to say it. you smile at him.

you propose to put his gift on the gramophone and so you do. music starts to flow between the small space you shared with the Radio Demon.

that's when you and Alastor start slow dancing. his arms around your waist, yours encircling his neck. his smile is back, but soft and...almost loving.

with his silent agreement, you reach for his cheek and graze it.

"Thank you for saving me, Alastor. Even if you are everything I distance myself from in this life...I'm glad you are the person that you are with me. In my next life, I'll make sure to be a sinner again if it means dancing with you like this"

Alastor now understands his feelings. It's something deeper than care. It's love. But not the same love you reserve to a friend and not even romantic. It's something deeper, more visceral.

He doesn't answer, just closes his eyes and leans in to press his forehead against yours.

you later fall asleep on your bed to the quiet sound of the gramophone playing, hands intertwined on Alastor's chest.

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #hazbin hotel #vivziepop #alastor x reader #alastor x reader headcanons #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #writers on tumblr #headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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luveline · 6 months

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hiyaa girlyy!! so i have a fic request and it's totally fine if you don't want to write / don't feel comfortable reading or doing it: and also, i'm not sure if someone thought of this yet, but how about spencer just being friends with a stripper. like their are murders ongoing abt strippers and spencer sees reader at one of the crime scènes and everybody's shocked since their sooo sweet and comfortable together? (and bonus point if she wears his jacket or something since it's cold)

thank you for your request! if you have more requests for this pairing please send them my way!

"I tried to call you!"

Hotch looks up from his phone at the shout. He'd been texting Jessica one handed in an attempt to tell her and Jack that he won't be home tonight, and he isn't usually easily startled, but he isn't expecting you to talk to him. Or call him.

He blinks back his fatigue —you're obviously not talking to him. You're almost nondescript in your hoodie, but Hotch isn't confident you're wearing any pants, or underwear. It was a rush job to bring everyone out from the club, and you and the rest of the dancers stand on the sidewalk in various states of undress.

"Can we get some jackets, please?" Hotch asks, turning back to the beat cops standing by. "Thermal blankets? Anything?"

When he turns back, Spencer's not where he was. Hotch casts his gaze back to you near the club doors, your hair messed up from the scuffle but your face intricate and untouched, just as pretty as the rest of your fellow dancers, and doubly so as you throw your arms around Spencer Reid's tall shoulders.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Spencer says, squeezing you hard, your heels lifting off of the rain-sullied sidewalk. "I told you to stay home!"

"I can't stay home, Spencer. How would I make money?"

"I'll pay for the hours you miss, I told you that, too."

"Baby, you couldn't afford it," you tease lightly, setting back down. Your hand immediately rises to Spencer's cheek, your painted nails scratching delicately at his skin. "I've missed you. Where have you been?"

"California, then Albuquerque."

"Killing bad guys?"

Hotch doesn't consider Spencer a lonely guy, and he doesn't think he'd ever be collected enough to enter a strip club, and yet. There he is, hugging and checking over a stripper with as much care and tenderness as he'd show any member of the team. And judging by your smile, you're enamoured with him. Whether romantically or otherwise is anyone's guess.

Morgan's, apparently. "Sorry, I'm sorry, does Reid have a girlfriend? Like, a…?"

"You can say stripper," Emily says, though she's similarly nonplussed. "I mean, there's no way. Right?"

"They're just friends," JJ says.

The team turns to her in betrayal. Clearly, JJ knew about this and said nothing, and Hotch has things to do but this is so thoroughly bizarre that he gives himself five minutes of curiosity; he lets the others berate her for answers.

"Come on, JJ! When did this happen? How did this happen?" Emily asks, her voice dropping to a scandalised whisper.

In the background, Spencer peels out of his jacket that barely fits around your shoulders. You wear it anyhow, wrapping your arm through his and leaning on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dr. Reid."

"I really wish you'd stay home when I tell you too." He rubs your arm amicably.

"Her old boss was a typical heavy-handed sleaze," JJ explains, voice soft with sympathy. "Spence said he used to see her at the grocery store with bruises. She stayed with him for a few days and found a new club… He said she can smile through anything, even a broken wrist."

Hotch understands. This part of Virginia pretends to be better than it is, and while you seem happy enough now in your profession, he knows it can't be easy. Spencer did for you what he would've done for anyone. You've clearly seen the good in him, treating him with a real and easy affection, adoring through shivers as you look up at him and ask, "Are you eating enough? You look tired."

"I'm exhausted worrying about you. You're exhausting. Like, where are the sweatpants I got you? You'll get hypothermia."

"I was trying not to get murdered. You're lucky I grabbed the hoodie." You turn to the team, as though you've known they were watching the entire time. "You wanna introduce me to your friends?" you ask. Hotch detects a hint of insecurity under all your bubbly sweetness.

Spencer laughs loudly, ushering you forward with a hand on your shoulder. "Don't chicken out this time."

"Don't embarrass me in front of the special agents!" you whisper.

"I'm a special agent."

"No, you're a doctor. He's a special agent." Your gaze narrows in on Hotch. "Hi, you're the boss, huh?" You eye his naked marriage finger briefly, and he knows you're kidding, but he still has to fight to stay expressionless as you continue, "How come handsome guys like you don't ever wanna see me dance?"

Hotch puts out his hand. "Aaron Hotchner. It's nice to meet you."

You shake his hand, though you stay as close to Spencer as you can manage without stepping on his shoes. "Right. Too respectful. It's really nice to meet you too, Agent Hotchner. Can you catch the bad guy soon? I'll end up on Spencer's cough again if I don't make rent."

Morgan opens his mouth and Hotch promptly shuts him down with a raised hand. "We will. You have my word."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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wordsarelife · 5 months

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"why are you always flirting in near death situations?" With Mattheo and bestie reader or girlfriend reader please. I love your imagined so much and this is my first time requesting 🥺

—willow

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: mattheo has a brilliant idea for a date.. not

warnings: mentions of sex, a bit suggestive but no actual smut

notes: this was so fun to write anon, thank you!! please send more of these asks in the future! at the moment i mostly enjoy writing for mattheo or theo (or theo and belle -> from my fic call it what you want)

"this was the stupidest idea ever" you mumbled walking next to mattheo "you really outdid yourself this time"

"isn't it romantic?" he gestured in the air around you

you looked around confused "horrifying is more the word i would use"

"don't be so negative all the time" mattheo outstretched his arm and intertwined your fingers "this is the perfect spot for a quickie" he smirked

"you disgust me" you rolled your eyes, while still watching around you uncertain. mattheo had dragged you outside for a walk. in the forbidden forest. at night. "you really are pushing your luck"

"ahh" mattheo almost made a noise that sounded like a giggle "you wouldn't leave me"

"go on with that behaviour and you'll find out" you smiled sarcastically. mattheo relaxed when you squeezed his hand "can we please go back now?" you muttered

"are you scared?" mattheo laughed

"of course not" you shook your head "i just don't want to explain why my boyfriend disappeared"

"are you planning to murder me?"

"no body, no crime" you shrugged

"yeah.." mattheo trailed off and you grew suspicious

"matty?" you asked

"huh?"

"you do know where we are... right?"

"pfff" mattheo looked behind you "of course" he raised his arm to point in a general direction "there's that thing back there"

"you have no idea" you sighed, more to yourself than to him

"i was busy looking at you"

"don't do this right now" you breathed "this is just great" you turned around, trying to find a hint of the way that would lead you back to the castle "did you never read hansel and gretel?"

"what?" he asked flabbergasted

"the muggle tale about the siblings getting lost in the forest, who find their way back using bread crumbs" you got a bit heated and started speaking louder

"no?" mattheo replied offended "why would i?"

"because we are in the exact same position as they were, aren't we? where are our bread crumbs?"

"i'm not sure what you mean, the kitchen has been closed for hours" he said confused

"i'm not talking about actual bread crumbs" you replied frustrated while messaging the space between your eyebrows.

"ooh, yeah.. i understand what you mean" matty nodded and for a short second you had the hope that he put a bit of planning into this idiotic idea "whatever the equivalent of bread crumbs is.. i did not bring it" mattheo admitted and shrank under your gaze

"did you bring anything? a map at least?"

"ehh.. no"

"what was your plan exactly, matty?" you crossed your arms

"well" mattheo said, scratching his neck "my plan was to come here and have sex behind a tree. yeah.. that was it"

"do you ever think with your head?"

"not about you, no"

"okay" you tried to calm yourself down "i'm gonna get us out of here"

"i'm so proud to have such a brilliant girlfriend"

"flattering won't get you anywhere tonight, baby" even though his strategy didn't work, mattheo was glad that you didn't seem as angry as before

"sure" he nodded "what are we gonna do"

"first we're--" you paused, suddenly noticing something that send a shiver down your spine

"baby?" mattheo asked, confused why you had suddenly stopped talking "is everything alright?"

"no" you shook your head, before you grabbed his arms, gently turning him around so he could see what you did

"shit" mattheo said as he noticed the webs and the signs, that had warnings of spiders plastered all over them

"this is my worst nightmare" you panicked. there was nothing, really nothing in the world you were more scared of than spiders. mattheo knew that. his eyes softened as he noticed you shaking and grabbing at his hand.

"don't worry" mattheo whispered to calm you down, suddenly remembering something very important "i did bring a map" he took out a parchment and held it in your direction. theo had been as impressed as you by mattheo's stupid idea, so he had drawn a map, just to make sure you both would survive the night. "theo coulnd't talk me out of it, but he gave me this"

"i need to tell theo that i love him" you said relieved. theo's handwriting was neat, so you had no problem to read what he had drawn.

"this kinda turns me off, baby"

you send mattheo a look. "you better be kidding. why are you even turned on in the first place?"

"you look so hot in that dress" mattheo smiled "my pretty lady" he kissed you on the neck longingly

"why are you always flirting in near death situations?" you asked, impressed how he was still able to concentrate on sex while you were literally surrounded by possible danger

"we're not dying, are we?"

"i suppose?"

"i will never not get turned on by you as long as i can breath"

"matty" you giggled as he sucked on your sweet spot "i'm not gonna have sex with you right now and definitely not here"

"too bad" mattheo acted disappointed "how about my room? i'll get rid of theo"

"don't you think he already did enough for us tonight?" you asked, raising theo's map "we can go to my room" you sighed "but get us out of here first"

"yes ma'am"

#mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle smut #benjamin wadsworth #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harrypotterimagine #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #theo nott x reader

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heritageposts · 1 year

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how do i start to read marxist leninist/leftist stuff ? i searched on the internet but it’s super confusing lol

the most important value for me as an ML is anti-imperialism, so i guess i'll always recommend that people start with works centred on that

some suggestions below (all books should be available either on marxist.org or as pdf/epub files on libgen)

American Holocaust by David E. Stannard

about the colonization of america. not explicitly marxist, but it's probably done more to radicalize me than any other piece of writing. this is the pile of corpses capitalism is built on:

Within no more than a handful of generations following their first en counters with Europeans, the vast majority of the Western Hemisphere's native peoples had been exterminated. The pace and magnitude of their obliteration varied from place to place and from time to time, but for years now historical demographers have been uncovering, in region upon region, post-Columbian depopulation rates of between 90 and 98 percent with such regularity that an overall decline of 95 percent has become a working rule of thumb. What this means is that, on average, for every twenty natives alive at the moment of European contact-when the lands of the Americas teemed with numerous tens of millions of people-only one stood in their place when the bloodbath was over. To put this in a contemporary context, the ratio of native survivorship in the Americas following European contact was less than half of what the human survivorship ratio would be in the United States today if every single white person and every single black person died. The destruction of the Indians of the Americas was, far and away, the most massive act of genocide in the history of the world. That is why, as one historian aptly has said, far from the heroic and romantic heraldry that customarily is used to symbolize the European settlement of the Americas, the emblem most congruent with reality would be a pyramid of skulls. - David E. Stannard

2. Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism by Vladimir Lenin

Imperialism is capitalism at that stage of development at which the dominance of monopolies and finance capital is established; in which the export of capital has acquired pronounced importance; in which the division of the world among the international trusts has begun, in which the division of all territories of the globe among the biggest capitalist powers has been completed. - Vladimir Lenin

3. The Wretched of The Earth by Franz Fanon

Let us look at ourselves, if we can bear to, and see what is becoming of us. First, we must face that unexpected revelation, the strip-tease of our humanism. There you can see it, quite naked, and it’s not a pretty sight. It was nothing but an ideology of lies, a perfect justification for pillage; its honeyed words, its affectation of sensibility were only alibis for our aggressions. A fine sight they are too, the believers in non-violence, saying that they are neither executioners nor victims. Very well then; if you’re not victims when the government which you’ve voted for, when the army in which your younger brothers are serving without hesitation or remorse have undertaken race murder, you are, without a shadow of doubt, executioners. And if you chose to be victims and to risk being put in prison for a day or two, you are simply choosing to pull your irons out of the fire. But you will not be able to pull them out; they’ll have to stay there till the end. Try to understand this at any rate: if violence began this very evening and if exploitation and oppression had never existed on the earth, perhaps the slogans of non-violence might end the quarrel. But if the whole regime, even your non-violent ideas, are conditioned by a thousand-year-old oppression, your passivity serves only to place you in the ranks of the oppressors. - prefrace by Jean-Paul Sartre

4. Discourse on Colonialism by Aimé Césaire

Yes, it would be worthwhile to study clinically, in detail, the steps taken by Hitler and Hitlerism and to reveal to the very distinguished, very humanistic, very Christian bourgeois of the twentieth century that without his being aware of it, he has a Hitler inside him, that Hitler inhabits him, that Hitler is his demon, that if he rails against him, he is being inconsistent and that, at bottom, what he cannot forgive Hitler for is not crime in itself, the crime against man, it is not the humiliation of man as such, it is the crime against the white man, the humiliation of the white man, and the fact that he applied to Europe colonialist procedures which until then had been reserved exclusively for the Arabs of Algeria, the coolies of India, and the blacks of Africa I have talked a good deal about Hitler. Because he deserves it: he makes it possible to see things on a large scale and to grasp the fact that capitalist society, at its present stage, is incapable of establishing a concept of the rights of all men, just as it has proved incapable of establishing a system of individual ethics. Whether one likes it or not, at the end of the blind alley that is Europe, I mean the Europe of Adenauer, Schuman, Bidault, and a few others, there is Hitler. At the end of capitalism, which is eager to outlive its day, there is Hitler. At the end of formal humanism and philosophicrenunciation, there is Hitler - Aimé Césaire

5. Blackshirts and Reds: Rational Fascism and the Overthrow of Communism by Michael Parenti

probably the most accessible introduction to communism that doesn't demonize countries that have undergone—or attempted to undergo—a transitation into socalism (like the ussr, cuba, etc.)

The very concept of "revolutionary violence" is somewhat falsely cast, since most of the violence comes from those who attempt to prevent reform, not from those struggling for reform. By focusing on the violent rebellions of the downtrodden, we overlook the much greater repressive force and violence utilized by the ruling oligarchs to maintain the status quo, including armed attacks against peaceful demonstrations, mass arrests, torture, destruction of opposition organizations, suppression of dissident publications, death squad assassinations, the extermination of whole villages, and the like. - Michael Parenti

#i'm too lazy to write an introduction for all of them #but i've included some quotes #get reading sickos #this is now on the tumblr university curriculum

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aphroditelovesu · 5 months

Text

Yan!Husband Maegor the Cruel/Six Wives Headcanons (Poly!Romantic)

❝ — 🐉 lady l: This is more based on his wives than on Maegor himself, but I wanted to test something. This is dedicated to dear @gulnarsultan, hope you like it! If you just want one of Maegor, feel free to ask!! ❤️❤️

❝tw: polygamous marriage, murder, jealousy, possessive and obsessive behavior, mention of stillbirths and death on childbirth.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!maegor the cruel x female!reader, yan!six wives x female!reader.

You must have been a very cursed woman when you were chosen to marry Maegor I Targaryen. Not only because he already had wives, but because of his well-known reputation and cruelty.

You begged your parents not to let you marry him, but it wasn't a choice to make. It was an order. Your parents couldn't deny it or they would be killed. Your family was well known in Westeros and had a good reputation for being fertile, maybe that's why he chose you. You cried a lot that day, but you had no choice but to leave for King's Landing.

Once you arrived, you were immediately greeted by one of Maegor's wives, Tyanna of the Tower. You were hesitant with her, knowing the reputation she maintained, but to your surprise, Tyanna had been nothing but kind and courteous to you, explaining everything she could about the court and Maegor. That being said, you quickly warmed to her, hopeful that you had a friend through it all.

The other wives were also nothing but cordial with you, some a little hesitant and others more open, but all kind and polite. You felt calmer about it.

Maegor has an explosive temper and everyone is directed towards his anger, not even you are safe, although you are the only one who can truly calm him down. Whenever he is having a temper tantrum or cruelty, you are called to defuse the situation.

His behavior is violent and difficult, his cruel acts became more common after he became obsessed with you. You must do what he wants, after all, you don't want your family to suffer the consequences, do you?

Ceryse Hightower was as sweet and kind as she could be. She was the warmest to you, hugging you and wishing you happiness and many children. She expected you to give her husband heirs.

She was kind, so sweet to you that she quickly became your friend, your ally. You adored her, and even though she was your husband's first wife, you had no problems with her or she with you. Ceryse has truly come to adore you like a sister.

Alys Harroway was the second wife and one of your closest friends, whom you mourned the loss of your friend deeply. She became pregnant with Maegor and quickly became happy and told you, leaving you excited and Tyanna jealous.

Alys was your closest friend, protective and calm. Her obsession with you was hidden but it was there, and she fiercely protected you from anyone. She wanted to be your only confidence and only friend and that was her undoing, after the disastrous birth.

Tyanna of the Tower was Maegor's most feared wife, and your friend. She was kind and courteous to you, staying by your side and whispering sweet and poisonous words in her ear. She wanted you for herself, not for Maegor or anyone else, she wanted you.

She was largely responsible for Alys' downfall, and Tyanna, even though she liked you, would still be willing to deal with you if you got in her way. She loved sharing you with Maegor, when the three of you slept together and she caressed your belly, sincerely hoping for a child that would be not just yours, but hers as well.

You loved them, all of them, but you couldn't help but feel awkward, especially with Tyanna. However, after Alys' death and the confession that Tyanna was to blame for the abominations being born, she was killed by Maegor and he soon took three wives at once. The Black Brides.

Elinor Costayne was the youngest and the most delicate, gentle and sweet. She quickly warmed up to you and soon stuck to you like gum, much to her surprise. Maegor didn't seem bothered by this, however.

Even after her fertility was proven and she managed to get pregnant with Maegor, the child was stillborn and with wings. She survived the birth, however, and clung to you as a source of protection and affirmation against her husband.

Rhaena Targaryen was one of Maegor's most fearless wives, perhaps because she was from the House of Dragon. She never wanted to marry him, but she was forced to and found comfort with you, in her friendship with you, and came to love you like a sister, in the Targaryen way.

She viewed Maegor with bad eyes and as a threat not only to her but to you. Rhaena couldn't let anything hurt you, not when she was already so attached to you. Her obsession grew and she felt jealous of Maegor when he was with you. It was just a matter of time.

Jeyne Westerling was shy and beautiful, with dreams that didn't include marrying Maegor, but one good thing came out of that marriage, and that was you. You were her only friend in the midst of all this and she considered you above everything and everyone.

You could still feel the fear in Jeyne's voice when she found out she was pregnant, the terror she was feeling. She cried in your arms when she found out, fearing she wouldn't be able to carry a healthy child. You tried to comfort her, but it was in vain, not when she gave birth to yet another abomination and died after giving birth.

You mourned the loss of your friend and Maegor the loss of what could have been a son. Now it was up to you, his beloved wife, to give him what he wanted so much. You were afraid of him, but Maegor loved you in his own way.

Possessive and incredibly cruel, he has no qualms about killing anyone who looks at you the wrong way. You are his, his wife, his Queen. Not from others.

Your life with him would be difficult and although you found comfort in your friendships with the other wives, you still felt lonely, far from your family, and forbidden to leave the Red Keep.

Maegor's possessiveness worsened when he discovered your pregnancy and this time he would be sure he would have the heir he so desired. It doesn't matter what means he has to take for this. You will give birth to a healthy and strong child.

Your fate was sealed the moment he chose you to be his wife.

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a-hazbin-reader · 2 months

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Hi there! I love all your work and I saw wife!reader and alastor getting married when they were alive and wanted to know how they met or who fell in love first.

You don't have to do this though, have a lovely day! ❤️

I really love this...I won't do how they met because I want people to be able to decide that for themselves but..

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Reader goes on a date, Implied Murder, Alastor being jealous, Suggestive

Description: ☝️⬆️

You are most likely the one who falls first, not that anybody could blame you, Alastor is F I N E

He's a well sought after man with his good looks, charming conversation skills and various other talents

So it makes sense that when you meet him and get to know him a little more, you're smitten with the radio host

But you're well aware that the chances of becoming an item with Alastor are slim to none

He's never once showed an interest in being in a relationship and visibly tenses when someone flirts with him

So you resolve yourself to try and get over this little crush and keep your friendship with him intact

If you were being honest with yourself, then it's more than just a crush, you're head over heels in love with him

You two do become fast friends though, something always drawing the two of you close, a sort of magnetic pull

You're practically the best of friends, always together, inside jokes, judging people together

A dozen almost kisses, romantically charged interactions, almost sexually charged drunken escapades

You even bring him food when he's at work so that he doesn't forget to eat and take care of himself

He sets aside time to take you to different restaurants, clubs, parks, anywhere that might be enjoyable

People are quick to assume you two are a couple, but you're always quicker to correct them

It's the truth but it sort of bothers him

He can't deny that you're great company, or that you're beautiful, or that he hates it when you're not smiling

Or that he has a great...fondness for you and your little quirks/talents

He's very attached to you to say the least, you're an important person in his life

That's what he tells people anyways

He doesn't even realize that he's in love with you until you're suddenly gushing about meeting someone new

You look so hopeful, so excited that some guy asked you out but the idea of you on a date makes his skin crawl

But you're only so hopeful and excited because you think maybe this guy will help you get over your feelings for Alastor?

He's a very sweet man, cute, funny, a little touchy-feely but nothing you can't handle

You don't notice the way Alastor's smile twitches ever so slightly whenever you bring up your date

Or his sour tone and the way he tries to discourage you from going

"Y/N, do you even like him? Can you picture yourself having a future with him?"

"That's why I'm going on a date with him, besides... he's very sweet to me!"

Another eye twitch and a sound that's almost like a snarl, Alastor is sweet to you, this guy isn't special

Okay, you notice but you assume he's just being protective

Alastor doesn't even realize his thunderous expression until your soft hand grips his chin, forcing him to lock eyes with you

"Alastor, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl and I can handle myself, you don't need to worry about me.."

Even though you want him to worry about you, you want him to beg you not to go, to tell you that he-

But he won't

His attitude only gets worse once he actually sees the guy who asked you out on a date

Oh no he's hot

If Alastor knew the word, then he would surely call him a himbo but he doesn't know that word, so he just calls him "Next."

Watching you interact with him was something that was truly sickening, seeing someone so clearly enamored with you

And you're enjoying the attention, Alastor gives you attention, he compliments you and takes you to fun places

Just never with obvious romantic intentions before...

Your date kisses your hand and Alastor wants to scrub it clean for you, Alastor can kiss you-

Kissing you wouldn't be so bad...or possibly more...

What was all that sickeningly sweet stuff you used to talk about couples doing together? Dates, cuddling, sex? He could do that, with you that is-

It's a little hot under his collar all of a sudden

It's not like Alastor hasn't already been practically taking you out on dates, courting you

Everyone already thinks you two are a couple anyways

Fuck he's in love with you and he's probably already missed his chance

He wrestles with himself over the sudden revelation all the days leading up to your date

It's not until you come out looking like the most heavenly creature on earth that Alastor realizes you're actually going on a date

"You... you're really going to go out with him? You can do so much better, Y/N."

He doesn't miss the frustrated look on your face and the way you hug yourself

"Well, he's the only one who's taken an interest in me, Al."

"And if someone else asked you?"

He's cautious with his words, already formulating a plan in his head based off of your reaction

"...there's only one person who I want to take notice of me."

Oh he's stealing you away now

He stands up and slaps his hands on your arms, giving you a charming smile as he leans in

Your body instinctively reacts, and you lean in to meet him halfway, your lips drawn to his-

"Make sure you guys tune into my show later tonight, okay? I'll have something special whipped up for your date!"

He hugs you and leaves you feeling more conflicted than ever, the feeling doesn't leave even after Alastor sees you off for your date

Your lips still tingle from that almost kiss

Your date is absolutely ruined, Alastor having completely taken over your thoughts with his strange behavior

Not that he didn't always take over your thoughts already

But you can hardly focus on your date, who's very sweet, very dumb and a little too touchy for your tastes

You end the date early, already knowing there's no shaking off your love for your best friend

You'll just long for Alastor for the rest of yours days...

Then you remember he asked you to tune into his radio show! Without even realizing it, your feet have taken you to his radio tower

You can hear him in there, getting ready for his show, you grab the handle and press your ear to the door

"Good evening, folks! I would like to dedicate this special song to the love of my life! My soulmate, Y/N!"

You feel your body freeze as a familiar song fills your ears, a song that was special only to you and Alastor

It's the closest thing to a confession that you'll probably ever get from him-

You'll take it

When you open the door to the broadcast booth you can tell he's surprised to see you there

"I thought you would at least be letting him drive you home by now..."

He's nervous but clearly trying to hide it, making his way towards you slowly

"I just wanted to be here with you..."

His arms are sliding around your waist, the nervousness he had before melting away into a smug grin

He's so fucking handsome

"You missed me so much that you ditched you date~?"

Your fingers are tangling in his hair as you pull him in closer, lips nearly touching as the emotions between you two threaten to burst

"And you just dedicated an entire love song to me on air to steal me away from my date."

His warm breath hits your face as he chuckles, bypassing your waiting lips to kiss your ear softly instead

"What can I say, my dear? I'm a fool when it comes to love~"

His voice nearly makes your knees buckle, but Alastor easily holds you up, pushing you up against the door while giving you a bruising kiss

For someone who's never really taken an interest in relationships, he's a really talented fucking kisser

I really hope you like this one! I had so much fun with it!

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

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