#he doesn't have a standard reaction for this and it's fucking him up

[wordsinhaled]

so i just opened up netflix and the movie hit man was on the front page and i haven't seen it, but couldn't help thinking the summary sounds like it should be a dreamling AU???

"A mild-mannered professor moonlighting as a fake hit man in police stings ignites a chain reaction of trouble when he falls for a potential client."

okay, like, maybe the endless family is fuck-off wealthy, so wealthy it's almost inevitable they're doing something illegal but it's just hard to say what because they're good at obfuscating it. hob's initial contract with law enforcement, his singular goal when being hired as a "hit man" by dream is to solicit his murder-for-hire confession, generally speaking, so the family can finally get pinned for something.

but then he spends some actual time with dream, and realizes he likes him. a lot. dream is acerbic and brooding and traumatized and always on the defensive. but he lets hob in, a little bit, because he has to. dream's dearest wish is to be a writer, but his family wants him in the family enterprise. they've stuck him with a useless branch of the corporation as punishment for not being enough aligned with the family's goals, and dream is miserable, trying to do what he loves on the side, and not to mention terribly repressed.

hob finds out dream was kidnapped and held and tortured unspeakably for a year by roderick burgess and his son. dream wants the burgesses taken out so he can finally feel some measure of peace in the world. dream even thinks some of his family were in on his kidnapping, but he doesn't have proof. having been invited to one function, as part of his cover, as dream's "friend," hob has met the family and let's just say wouldn't be surprised if dream's suspicions proved true.

dream lives in an eclectic flat full of paintings and books and ferns. he keeps a raven named matthew as a pet. his fingers are always ink-stained. he looks like he came out of a gothic vampire novel. he is, objectively, weird as fuck, and this is not the kind of case hob ever expected to be on. hob is hopeless about him. and the more he learns about what happened to dream, the more he starts to think all of fawney rig deserves to burn to the ground, with the burgesses inside.

but hob is not a real hit man. he's a fucking medieval history professor! he could tell you all about the history of weaponry, sure, but he's never wielded a weapon to actually hurt someone in his life, he could hardly wield a butter knife, he traps bugs in cups and takes them outside. yeah, hob looks tough, and he could trust himself to win in a barfight or defend the two of them from getting mugged on a street corner, or something. but that's just about it. standard stuff.

and he's been lying to dream, who trusted him, about what he does, what he's here for. if he tells dream the truth now, he's going to lose their tentative connection; betray the confidence of someone who has already been so harmed by the world, wronged by his family, and hurt unimaginably by the evilest dregs of mankind.

can what they have even be called a friendship? it doesn't matter. it might be becoming one. hob wants it to be a real friendship. he wants it to be more. he doesn't want to lie anymore; wants to be able to protect dream—never mind that he doesn't know how to. never mind that that's not what his job is actually to do. never mind that he's probably in danger now himself.

[quadrantadvisor]

My headcanon about Richard Simmons is that he has a few beliefs that he struggles with, including, but not limited to: toxic masculinity, puritanical ideals about work and worth, internalized homophobia, general queerphobia, etc., etc. And that trying to reconcile those beliefs with his own feelings of inadequacy and his place in the wider world causes him constant mental suffering for many, many years. And that dealing with that suffering and trying to compensate for his own self-loathing and hypocrisy makes him act like an absolute ass.

And then one day there's enough evidence, there's enough understanding of the people in his life, there's enough budding respect for himself that the switch just. Flips. And he's like "wait none of that fucking matters."

The thing about Simmons is that he doesn't do anything halfway, when he believes in something he gives 100%.

What I think is funny about that is, from an outside perspective, one day Simmons is trying (and failing) to do """locker room chat with the boys""" and the next day he's read 7 books on queer theory and he's haughtily telling people that their gendered language is reductive. Like everyone knew he was in denial but there were NO SIGNS that he was getting over it whatsoever, he is Just Suddenly Like This and trying to pretend that if he ever said something that wasn't socially progressive no he didn't.

Like he's still overcompensating for something and he's still kind of an asshole about it but now it's even funnier. To me and maybe also Donut. For the rest of the cast it is the most confusing day of their lives.

[ttoddii]

"really? a man?"

pairing(s): flirty bestfriend!bada x cheater!f!reader

cw: smut, MDNI, bada is jealous, howl (i know but it's for a good reason i promise, and i only mention him once or twice), semi-public sex (bathroom stall), fingering, thigh-riding, ruined orgasm, edging, praising, degrading, cheating, bada is a bad person in this ngl, lots of cussing, bad grammar, bad descriptions (i'm so sorry), lowercase intended.

summary: you're dating your boyfriend and you guys are so in love but having a taste of your bestfriend remind you of some undeniable feelings.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i would like to remind you all that this is my first time writing smut, please be nice to me i'm learning i swear ;-; personal thank you to @beomjunnchoii25 because without her i would not even finish this. (she gave me a pep talk, honestly ilysm)

"really? a man?" bada scoff, her face full of disbelief as she cross her arm in front of her chest and she furrows her brows.

"what?" you ask, "what's so bad about me dating howl?" you straighten up your back, facing your bestfriend as you drink from your cup, your eyes still bore into bada's face attentively as you see her biting her lower lip annoyed.

it's a normal saturday morning, and like every other saturday morning, you would meet up with bada, your bestfriend and also your dance teacher, at your usual coffee shop.

as you two had always update each other on your life, you thought that it would be a good time to tell bada about your relationship that you had been keeping a secret for a while. but judging from her reaction, it's clear that your decision is not a good one.

"well, to start off, he's my co-worker, how can i ever look at him the same way knowing that he's screwing my bestfriend? secondly, he's a man" bada raise one of her eyebrow, clearly in dismay. her pointer finger keep on tapping the coffee table, and you slowly put your cup down.

"don't be so dramatic, and you don't have to mention the screwing part, we barely do anything, like maybe once? twice? we're both very fucking busy you know" you scoff, rolling your eyes at bada.

"he's a nice guy, he buy me food, take care of me when i'm sick, he always give me flowers and gifts on our anniversary, and he wrote me a hand-written letter to confess his feelings! he's such a dork, i love him!" you exclaim, trying to persuade your bestfriend to at least like your boyfriend.

"don't get me wrong, as a co-worker of his for years, i think i know him longer than you, and please, he's a man" bada shake her head, she keep reminding you that howl's a man and her voice sound serious when she told you about how long she had known him. she put her arm on the table to lean into you, completely denying your effort on persuading her.

you sigh, slumping yourself back to your chair as you shake your head "he's good to me, bada, gender doesn't matter if they're good to you, you used to say that" you defend yourself.

"yah! as an attempt to make you like me! not for you to have such a low standard!" bada suddenly raise her voice, her hand hit the table as she tell you to quit your yapping about how great howl is as a boyfriend.

"yea right" you roll your eyes, turning away from bada as you need a break from all this unreasonable nonsense she's talking about.

you know she's joking about liking you, so you pay no mind to it, she usually just flirt with other girls, and then she would slide into their bed for one night before dumping them into her 'girls i had fucked' list. it's a normal thing for her to joke about relationship, but for you relationships are serious. and thinking about bada like that make your mouth taste all bitter.

"don't just roll your eyes at me", bada said, her eyes staring daggers into your form as she take a sip from her cup to water her dry throat. and by the time she jug down all the water, she give you a whole speech.

"everything that you said he did for you, from buying you food, giving you gifts, writing letters to you, that's the bare minimum. what? i never do all of that to you or something? and why didn't you swoon over me, but him? howl this howl that, how about he eat my ass."

her voice full of jealousy as she spit out every word. to your surprise, bada doesn't seem like she's joking, her body tense up as she bite her lower lip, bada stare at you, her chest heaves up and down as she's clearly mad. her state make you panic a bit. so you straighten your back again and take a hold of her hand, squeezing it lightly so she could calm down.

"alright, i'm sorry, let's just move to another topic" you said, attempting to calm bada down and move on from this awkwardness.

in your point of view, she look like she would either cry out loud from being mad by the way she bit her lower lip, or she would rush to howl's house to commit arson. whichever one it is, it's not a good thing, you had known bada for a long time, long enough for you to understand that once bada feel something, she feels it hard, she would not take it lightly, and she would not drop the topic until it's done.

"does he fuck better than me?" bada asked, low enough for no one else to hear, but loud enough for you to catch it. yet you decide to ask again, acting like you didn't hear her.

"what did you just say?" you asked.

big mistake

bada look at you attentively, and you could see her rolling her tongue from the inside of her cheek before she sigh loudly, her shoulder relax and bada redirect her gaze onto your hand that is currently squeezing hers. she grabs you by your wrist as she yanks you up to your feet and pull you into the bathroom.

instinctively, you followed her as she drag you in one of the stall and lock the door behind her. you follow her movement closely while you furrow your brows at her action.

"i said, does he fuck you better than me?", bada ask again, this time her voice much more lower and aggressive, she let go of your wrist, her tall figure tower over you as she push you down to sit.

"what do you mean?" you ask while looking up at bada. and in this small confined space, she look like she could eat you up alive.

bada crouch down, her face lean in closer to yours as she said "we fucked before, didn't we? before you date that little pathetic dude, it was one hell of a night wasn't it? i still remember you moaning my name darling, don't act like you forget. i know you miss how i fuck you senseless that night."

you pursed your lips into a thin line. you hate to admit it, you hate to think that you love bada and just use howl as a distraction. you hate to admit that when you have sex with howl, all you could think about is bada's touch, her name, her voice, her kiss. and that's why you usually deny his touch. you hate to admit that you're in love with your bestfriend.

"cat got your tounge baby?" bada chuckle, she knows she's right, she doesn't need you to confirm for it to be true. she lean in again, dangerously close to you as she kiss you on your lip.

it's a soft kiss, she only kiss you lightly, not even fully put her lips onto yours yet.

it's a teasing kiss, you realize, it's a trap. a trap in which you would gladly jump in, and so you put your arms around her neck and pull bada closer to you, almost slamming her whole body onto yours as you kiss her hard.

and fuck, you can feel bada smirk from behind the kiss as she knows you had fully jump into the bottomless pit. she knows you're all hers to love, to care, just her baby.

her hands roam around your body as she let one of them get under your shirt, pulling down your bra to squeeze your chest softly. and you moan into the kiss as she did that, your body voluntarily curve into her touch.

"so needy" she said softly, breaking apart from your kiss to hold your chin up and take a good look at you. your face all red and flustered, your lips puffy from the harsh kiss, and your breath quicken to have some air in your lung "such a pretty girl for me."

bada chuckle lightly, her tall figure bending down to give you a quick peck on your lips as a way to comfort you before she slowly kneel down on the bathroom floor, all while keeping eyes contact with you.

her hands travel up to your knees as she spread your legs apart slowly, and you groan in frustration at her action "stop teasing" you breath out lightly.

bada smirk and kiss your inner thigh, giving you only a small amount of what you actually need, and at some point, you decide to just grab her tie to pull her head up and low your upper body down to talk.

"it's either you fuck me right here, right now, or i'll be sliding my way back to howl."

bada groan at your comment, "so demanding i see" she said softly, and then she chuckle "well, if you already know what you want" she pull you up to stand on your feet before she switch place with you and place you on her thigh "ride it".

you stop in motion, shock at what you just heard.

"why the face darling? you were so demanding just a second ago, and now you can't even do it yourself?" bada ask, her left hand hold on to your waist to keep it in place before her right hand slide down to pull your panty to the side and she dip two fingers inside of your wet folds, her eyes bore into the way you would jump lightly as she insert her fingers in.

"fuck" you breath out, feeling bada moving her fingers inside of you slowly, dragging it on your gummy wall, her thumb is place on your clit as she draw circle around it.

"such a slut, your pussy is so wet and yet you don't have the gut to ride on my thigh? pathetic bitch" bada laugh, her voice low and dark as she fasten her pace.

"fuck, bada" you moan, your eyes hazy from how good she makes you feel, you wrap your arms around her neck as you rest your head on her shoulder, having no energy to even sit straight anymore.

"so loud, remember we're in public baby, anyone can walk their merry way into here right now, so you better shut your mouth" bada whisper into your ear.

fuck she is such a tease, she told you to shut up, but she keep quicken her pace, and you swear you could hear the squelching sound from your own pussy as she finger you senselessly.

her long fingers hitting all the right spot inside of you as you groan softly into her ear, your leg shaking lightly as your body keep jerking up from the build up stimulation.

"bada" you call out to her softly, indicating to her that you're very close.

and yet, she suddenly stop, her face display a smirk as she raise her eyebrow at you, and you oh so hate her right now.

'ride it' she mouthed, her fingers still inside of you, and she teasingly curve it a bit to hit your G-spot.

you bite your lower lip, your mood slowly going down from the ruined orgasm, but you are still not satisfy, and you suck your pride up before you slowly move your hip, giving in to bada satisfaction. all you know is that you have to please your bestfriend if you want to let go of the tension in your lower part.

"now we're actually on to something" she whisper into your ears, her fingers match your pace as she circle your clit "such a good slut for me, so obedient aren't you, good girl."

you moan lightly, your hip moving on her thigh, trying to make her fingers hit the right spot, you're desperate. you move your head to kiss bada harshly, you bite onto bada's lower lip every time you want to moan, and your tongue find its way into her mouth as you give her a sloppy kiss.

by the time you're done kissing, bada groan as she plunge another finger into you, and she just hold your waist down before her fingers curve up to hit your G-spot, her thumb that is circling your clit fasten its pace.

"who is fucking you?" she ask, her fingers quicken its pace again, dragging around your wall and abusing your spongey G spot.

the air is so hot, you can feel yourself melting into bada's touch, her hand on your waist seems like it's burning a mark into your skin. permanently mark you as her own.

"bada" you breath out, your chest raise up and down quickly as you try to get in as much air as you could, sweat rolling down your forehead as you groan into the crook of bada neck, and as you slowly reaching your orgasm, your back arch and you shake lightly.

"that's right baby, it's me that's fucking you, not howl, not anyone else, me, the bada lee."

and with that, you reach your orgasm, you groan loudly and your body shake as you see stars in the back of your eyes. your head rest on bada's shoulder as she slowly pull her fingers out of you. she plant a soft kiss onto your hair before asking you a question.

"so, you still want to date him?" she ask.

and you softly shake your head.

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

What I Mean When I Say, "I Ship Huskerdust"

When I say, "I ship Huskerdust," I don't mean that I think it would be a perfect example of a healthy relationship. Because it wouldn't be.

They've both got issues that they would need to work through if they wanted their relationship to succeed.

On Angel's side, there's the fact that his prior interactions with Husk basically consisted of him flirting with Husk, and Husk making it clear that he wasn't interested, and Angel ignoring that and doing it again. That's harassment.

Yes, Angel stops doing it after Episode 4, but he never explicitly apologises for it. That was a missed opportunity, in my opinion. It was a change for the show to say loudly and clearly, "Hey, trauma sucks, we get that, but it's not an excuse to treat people badly yourself. You grow by owning up to your mistakes and trying to be better than the person who hurt you."

Speaking of trauma...

Angel is being abused by Valentino and exploited in the porn industry. That's not a personal failing. It's not Angel's fault. But it has affected him deeply, and it's something that he and Husk would need to work through.

It's not going to be all sunshine and rainbows. Angel will cry, Angel will get angry, Angel will lash out. He will behave inappropriately, and he will keep being hypersexual because he knows how to do it and sometimes it feels like the safest option. And he will have no idea how to just rest with a loved one and trust them. So Husk will need to be the bigger person and take all the ups and downs and keep loving Angel through the dark days.

But I don't know if Husk has what it takes to do that.

That leads me nicely onto the issues on Husk's side. For starters, there's his judgemental attitude. He's a gambler, and therefore believes he can read people and know everything about them. Angel's "It's not an act!" outburst shakes Husk and makes him realise that he didn't really know what was going on.

But even after that, Husk is still judging Angel. It happens in Episode 6, when Angel is offered drugs by Cherri Bomb and Husk says, "Look, you wanna fuck up all your progress, be my guest. I just ... I just thought you were better than that."

Addicts can relapse if they go back to their old environments and old relationships. It happens. And it's probably not a good idea to be so condemnatory about it.

Can you imagine what Husk's reaction would be if Angel really did relapse? Would Angel feel safe opening up to Husk again if he knew how badly Husk could take it?

Sometimes, it seems as though Husk puts Angel on a pedestal. In Episode 8, when he tells Angel, "I guess you have changed," Angel doesn't look convinced, instead changing the subject. Husk sees Angel as better than Angel thinks he is.

And that goes hand-in-hand with when he was judging Angel more harshly in earlier episodes. Husk applies higher standards to Angel.

I think part of the reason why Husk is so hard on Angel is because Husk sees something in Angel that he doesn't see in himself - youth and potential. Husk has made it clear that he isn't trying to get into Heaven. He probably doesn't think he deserves it. That's why he told Angel not to look for answers to problems at the bottom of a bottle, but continued to drink himself.

My theory is that Husk is working on Angel because he finds it easier than working on himself.

It's much easier to judge and boss around others than to acknowledge and rectify your own flaws. To borrow a metaphor from Jesus Christ himself, Husk is trying to take specks of sawdust out of Angel's eye while he's still got plenty of planks in his own eye.

One of those planks being his complicity in the Overlord system.

Yes, I should probably mention that Husk used to be an Overlord. He used to participate in the very system that is now trapping and torturing Angel.

And he gambled with the souls that he owned! He put their afterlives at stake! Can you imagine being owned by Husk, thinking you knew where you stood, and then waking up one day to be told that you were now owned by someone else? Potentially someone as bad as Valentino?

(Now, I don't think Husk ever actually played a game with Valentino, given that he can't seem to remember Val's name in Episode 6, but still, the implications are horrifying.)

Angel didn't have too big a reaction when Husk opened up about his past. But that's probably because he was still reeling a bit from his own outburst. Once it had sunk in, how did he feel?

How can Angel feel safe and loved around someone who used to own souls and gamble with them carelessly? Someone who apparently still has his Overlord powers? Someone who could turn into yet another Valentino in the wrong circumstances?

How can a romance work?

Can a romance work?

Despite all of that?!

No, when I say, "I ship Huskerdust," I don't mean, "I think they're fluffy and adorable and 100% unproblematic." I mean, "Huskerdust contains interesting dynamics that are fun to explore." There's something about their interactions that I enjoy.

And Huskerdust could be a good way for the cartoon to dive into its themes of redemption and second changes.

Husk could change Angel for the better. We can see that, after Episode 4, Angel is willing to be more honest about what he's going through. He actually tells Niffty about the gruelling 16-hour shift Valentino put him through, instead of trying to pretend he's been all right.

If they became an official couple, Husk could show Angel what it's like to have someone genuinely care for him and his wellbeing, not just use him for money-making or self-gratification. Since Husk isn't interested in Angel's hypersexual porn star persona, it would be a chance for Angel to take the time to figure out who he (Anthony?) really is.

Angel could change Husk for the better, too. Other Tumblr bloggers have pointed out that Husk seemed to be drinking a little less after Episode 4. Perhaps watching Angel attempting self-improvement encouraged Husk to give it a go as well, albeit in a more low-key way.

And if Husk was the one who got Angel out of his contract with Valentino, that would be a great culmination of his character arc. It would be his own personal redemption for participating in the cruel Overlord system, because he'd be freeing someone from an Overlord's control. He'd be correcting his past mistakes. I for one would love to see that in a future season.

That is what I mean when I say "I ship Huskerdust."

TL;DR Angel and Husk are not perfect people, not by a long shot - but they could be perfect for each other.

[teddynivvy]

um okay i cant get this out my brain no matter how nonsensical it is😭 there’s a lot of talk in the schlatt tag about lunch club era virgin schlatt but imagine current schlatt being a virgin…….

like you go to have sex for the first time and this big man just crumbles and is so nervous😭😭😭

no bc why do i love this.... (mildly nsfw but not really, reader has boobs but otherwise gn)

i could totally see schlatt being really nervous about it. because you're in his bed, after a few dates, and he hadn't thought about what would happen if you got this far.

you're on top of him, kissing him deeply with your hands roaming his face, caressing his jaw and grinding down onto him. he's painfully hard already, worried he won't even get to fuck you because he's gonna cum in his jeans, feeling your warmth against him as he lets his hands sit on your hips.

you sit back on his lap, and he's a little out of breath at the sight. your arms coming to pull off your top, revealing your breasts to him, as you start to undo the button on the top of his jeans.

he's nervous now, because he has to tell you at some point that he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing, and it's matched with the pressure that he's probably a little too old to be a virgin by society's standards. he's also got such a persona he puts on, he knows you'll be surprised.

"hey, uh," he starts, and you stop undoing his pants to look up at him. "hm? everything ok?" your eyes are earnest, and he feels comforted by the way you're reacting to him stopping this fun. "this is embarrassing to admit..." he trails off, hands over his face, feeling the blush creep up his cheeks.

"i've never really um," he can't seem to get the words out, but you've got a soft smile on your face, as you rub his arm comfortingly. "i haven't done this before." he braces for your laughter, you to get up and leave... whatever negative reaction he knows you're going to have, but it never comes.

"oh, that's fine," you smile, bringing his knuckle up to your lips to kiss it. "we can stop if you want, i don't wanna push you too far or anything." he feels himself flush with embarrassment at the way you're being so nice about it. "no! no, i don't wanna stop," he laughs.

"well, just let me know, ok? we can go slow," you come back up to kiss his face, softly on his lips, warm and sweet as your hand cards through his hair. "just tell me what feels good, yeah?"

[thewertsearch]

According to the spectagoggles, there are currently 13 Daves scattered around the incipisphere, including Davesprite. That is an absolutely preposterous amount of Daves.

Interesting that you're picking up two Dream Daves. I'd assumed that all his time-travelling duties would be handled by his realself - especially since Dream Dave is missing his sylladex, and therefore his time machines.

You're also picking up Davesprite, which would have convinced me he was still alive if you weren't also picking up Doomed Dave's corpse.

At least there's only one Dave corpse in play. Small mercies.

Hang on… The Davecount suddenly dropped from 13 to 12. Maybe one of them time traveled away? You hope it doesn't mean what you think it…

Wait, he only died now? I thought he was already dead in the previous image.

Ah, I see what happened - I mistook the section of Quest Bed that Doomed Dave was sleeping on for a pool of blood. He was alive before, which means the spectagoggles don't detect the dead.

But they did detect Davesprite.

You hear that? That's the sound of hope filling my heart.

GG: dave i just saw you, and you were dead! […] TG: […] dont worry it was just a doomed dave no big deal really […] GG: what about your… […] GG: oh no i dont even know if you know about this […] TG: my bro TG: yeah jack killed him too […] GG: is it something you would like to talk about TG: not much to talk about TG: this is some pretty serious existence threatening shit going down and some people are going to die i guess

Dave's reaction is cold, but completely understandable. Bro was by far the least parental of any of the Guardians, treating Dave more like an apprentice to be violently trained than a child to be raised.

He probably doesn't know what he feels about his brother's death - and even if he did, he'd hide it behind his shades, as usual.

GG: you were pretty close with him right? TG: meh it was a pretty bizarre relationship by any standard TG: fightin off wave after wave of face pumicing puppet ass every day TG: always being on guard for stealth attacks in the middle of the night while getting up to go to the fucking bathroom

I also wouldn't be surprised if his feelings were closer to relief than grief. After all, Bro's death is a guarantee that he'll never have to deal with the man's puppet ninja horseshit ever again.

[lxvvie]

And now we have Part 2 to the madness.

Alejandro wouldn't necessarily forget but would think it was a dream. He wakes up with worse bed hair than Price. In fact, he tells you about said dream and the grin on your face is all the confirmation he needs to know it was, in fact, not a dream.

Rudy apparently didn't even get to finish telling you he was taken before he fell asleep. He snores loud enough to wake the dead. His clothes are scattered around him, too. You just put a blanket on him, get back in bed, and power through the night.

Alex mumbles something along the lines of 'Oh shit' like he just had a realization and leaves the bedroom together. Mistakes the hallway closet for another bedroom and passes out there. That's where you find him the next day and he has a killer crick in his neck.

Keegan's reaction is a variation of Simon's but he's bent down so he's eye level and all up in your face, staring you down with blurry eyes trying to figure out who the hell you are. And then he topples over and is out like a light. It's like he fell in slow motion.

König pretty much initiated a staring contest with you; while you're in the bed staring at him, he's on the floor clutching a pillow to his chest and staring at you because there's no way in hell you're his beloved Schatz when he already has you (the pillow) in his arms.

Graves just chuckled that sleazy, smug chuckle of his, got a pillow and blanket, and departed for the couch. Per his words, your assertion was "bullshit" because he "doesn't put out for just anybody and he has standards, too." Whatever the hell that meant. Enjoy the couch and that hangover headache, motherfucker.

Horangi stands ten toes down on what he says, gets on the floor, and lays down facing you (which doesn't last long) because you "won't get the best of him this time." This time? That's when you find out that the last time something like this went down and someone said they were his significant other, he woke up broke as a fucking joke. Um...

[jo-harrington]

Leave of Absence (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie has royally fucked everything up and he needs to fix it. But after an unexpected emergency back home, he steps up to be there for Reader, just like she's always there for him.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.05

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Slow burn, mutual pining, angsty, emotional, fluffy, family problems, death in the family, loss, grief, pain and comfort, road trip, avoidance of feelings, Minor religious themes, mention of Catholic Church/Reader's family is Catholic but no overarching catholicism (that's what my other story is for)

Note: Woof ok this was an uphill battle FOR A YEAR. I'm gonna say the reason that Store Manager Verse exists in its present form is because of THIS CHAPTER RIGHT HERE. Before I could bring my two silly babies here to this moment, they needed to have some serious foundations laid down. Is it the best chapter? Probably not. But I'm incredibly happy that it's here and it's done.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other Eddie stories.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

He was nervous.

"Stacey."

Of course he was nervous.

"Freak."

And what did he do when he was nervous? He talked.

"Hey now, I'm wounded," Eddie laid a hand across his chest, trying to keep the cool guy exterior. "Calling me a freak? Did I or did I not just help you with that flat tire last week?"

He was surprised when Stacey paused, a barb surely caught on the end of her tongue. She even looked a little embarrassed for a moment before her own frosty expression returned and she had the decency to look down her nose at him.

Sticking to the status quo.

"I know you're trying to put my boss under a love spell or hypnosis or something," she rolled her eyes. "So don't act like you would have helped any other time if she hadn't asked. Gotta keep her buttered up so you can get in her pants. Gag."

The typical stab of insult was welcome; the rest of it...wasn't. Not when it came to you. Not after what happened on Sunday. Not when he was nervous.

Sunday...

What started out as a normal night for the two of you had quickly become a nightmare. For him at least.

Well...it had been a dream at first. Hanging out. Food, laughter, music; it was nothing out of the norm for a Sunday night together. But then he had to go and suggest a little weed, where you had some kind of...bad reaction. To try and get your mind off the panic that had quickly taken over your body...he'd done the first thing that came to mind.

The only thing that came to mind lately when you were around.

He kissed you.

And he kept kissing you because you hadn't pushed him away. In fact, you’d kissed him harder.

For minutes or hours, he couldn't quite tell, he was overjoyed and he basked in being surrounded by you, in finding pleasure with you.

Finding pleasure. God, there was that poet's heart Mrs. Mills always told him he had. Almost fucking. Grinding one out on his couch. But yeah...finding pleasure worked too. Because it wasn't just a meaningless romp; he was kind of crazy about you, so of course it was gonna be special. Poetic.

How long had he been on the edge about confessing his feelings and ruining your friendship? He was the only one to blame when it came to keeping his mouth shut; Kyle had been telling him to just ask you out and plant one on you forever. And then Eddie did and it was perfect.

Until it wasn't. Until Wayne came home and Eddie had seen the panic and the fear and the...realization in your eyes, and he knew how badly he'd fucked up. Let alone the fact that you immediately ran away.

You’d been avoiding him for a few days. “Avoiding him,�� as though school and work hadn't been putting you on opposite schedules. Still, there were no phone calls. No waiting to take your breaks with him. Only awkward glances as he passed your store on the way to start his shift, or a strained smile as you passed each other in the parking lot as he was coming and you were going.

And now Stacey was…being Stacey.

Had you told her? Complained about him? Made it known to your employees that the two of you had made a huge mistake.

No you would never…

Still, his nerves got the better of him and although he didn’t want to seem desperate, especially around Stacey of all people, he was.

"...did she say that or..." He paused and shook his head. "Where is your boss anyway? She’s supposed to close tonight right?”

Stacey looked a little unsure again and this time it made his stomach turn.

People were usually nervous around Eddie, but he had grown plenty used to that reaction from a wide array of classmates and neighbors.

Once again, when it came to you, especially given the circumstances, things were different. Maybe that's what was happening here? Maybe Stacey knew something he didn't, and you'd told her not to say anything so you could let him down easily.

Eddie was generally a level-headed guy but sometimes...sometimes...it didn't matter if he had a level head because the entire world was tipping on its side.

Who had you told? Stacey for sure...maybe Chrissy? Chrissy always avoided him at school thanks to his resident freak status, Starcourt Mall be damned. What about Mindy? Mindy was your only other confidante outside of him; what did she know? Had she convinced you to...to what? Dump him as a friend? Take the time you needed to avoid him? Somewhere between Sunday and today, had you finally come to the realization that he had been dreading all along. That he wasn't worth your time?

"Um, yeah,” Stacey finally replied and Eddie blinked himself back to reality. She picked at her cuticles and avoided his eyes. Never a good sign. “Well she was supposed to but Mindy was here when I clocked in. She's sick or something, I don't know. Mindy wouldn't say exactly...but she never calls out so..."

“Well where’s Mindy now?” he asked, almost desperately.

“She’s finishing up her break in the back,” she explained with a nod. “I can go see if she’s done.”

She disappeared into the stockroom, leaving him alone in the store.

He was unsure how to feel. Relief coursed through him; you weren’t avoiding him, you were simply not here. But on the other hand, what if you weren't here because you were avoiding him?

What if Stacey didn't know anything but Mindy did. Because no, you never called off. Ever. A fact that you had told him when he suggested playing hooky one busy Saturday when you were overwhelmed by a never-ending mid shift.

“I never leave early. I never take a sick day.”

“Well, shit, did you have perfect attendance in school too?”

“Uhm,” you hesitated, biting your lip naughtily. “I’m not at will to say.”

“Oh, you bad girl.”

"If it isn't our resident Van Halen impersonator," Mindy greeted as she walked out of the stockroom. Her usual sing-songs mom voice replaced by a gentler one as she smiled at him solemnly. "She's taking a few sick days. Should be back in time for your night out on Sunday, I hope."

"She's sick?" Eddie asked skeptically. "Wasn’t she here yesterday, she looked fi--"

"Why don't you give her a call," she insisted. She glanced over to the stock room door and as Eddie tracked her gaze, he saw Stacey eavesdropping. "Actually I was gonna stop by after work. Why don't you go? That way it's not a game of telephone.

"I'm sure she could really use a friend right now."

---

Eddie had never been inside of your apartment before.

He knew where you lived, sure; he'd dropped you off or picked you up a few times, especially once the two of you started planning dates outings outside of the usual Sundays. He'd never even rang the bell, if he was being honest. You usually watched out the window eagerly when you were expecting him to arrive.

The realization hit him as he stood there at the little residential door between the bakery and the furniture store, staring at your name on a little Dymo punch label next to the buzzer that he'd just jammed his finger into, and it filled him with doubt.

You'd been to the trailer a few times. Seen all of his favorite places, tried all of his favorite foods. Listened patiently to his insecurities and issues. Still, you seemed to keep him at arms length, if he didn't even know what your apartment looked like; did you have posters on the walls or pictures of your family? What color was your couch? Or the towels in your bathroom?

He knew so much about you but did he really know you, and did you even want him to?

The door buzzed open and Eddie took the stairs up to your landing two at a time, all the while worrying and overthinking: You weren't expecting him and he was beginning to doubt that you even wanted him here in the first place. Sure, Mindy told him to go over...but was this taking it a step too far?

He started preparing an apology as he closed the final few distance to your door and it swung open--

"I'm sorry I fucked up, I didn't mean to break your trust. I'll do anything...anything...if you'll just forgive me. If you just give me another chance."

--and he saw the sorry state you were in.

Hair and clothes mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, a bundle of black fabric clenched tightly in your hands; the shine of tears and snot was accentuated by the incandescent lights in the hallway.

"Eddie," you whispered in a strained, broken voice, then you dropped the fabric to cross the threshold of your apartment and bury your face into his shirt. He panicked for a moment, arms held uselessly at his sides as your tears penetrated the worn fabric at his shoulder, but he quickly engulfed you in a hug.

"I'm sorry," you both spoke over one another, then you pulled back and stared him straight in the eye. "You're sorry? I'm sorry."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I...I should have done better, I shouldn't have--"

"I crossed a line and I ruined our friendship and--"

You both continued talking over one another, each half-listening to what the other had to say as you got your own apologies out, until you both synced back up again.

"I fucked up and I'm sorry."

Your shoulders and chests heaved from the cacophony of emotion and a tense laugh was shared between the two of you. Then Eddie came to a realization.

"If you're sorry..." he frowned and let his eyes rake over you again. "If you thought that you hurt or scared me--which you didn't, by the way. It was...it was me, my mistake--why are you crying?"

You worried your lip for a second and a lone tear escaped your eye and trailed down your cheek; his hand immediately came up so he could thumb it away.

"Mindy told me you were sick," he muttered, taking advantage of the proximity to be a little gentler, a little smaller than he was used to being, so you could put your trust in him again. "What happened?"

"Uhm..." you croaked. "I'm not sick. I'm just taking a few sick days. Bereavement days...actually. Little leave of absence. Just through the end of the weekend."

The word was distantly familiar to him; the memories, though, would stay with him forever. Rick picking him up from school, a phone call from Wayne to his boss. An appointment for all three of them to get suits rented...and then some flowers ordered. Shiny shoes that he could see his teary-eyed reflection in.

He swallowed painfully and watched you do the same as you prepared your confession.

"My...uh...my grandpa died last night."

And before he knew it, it was 12 hours later. 12 hours that he spent relatively quietly.

He let you fill the silence; let you talk and cry, only opening his mouth to comfort you when the realization hit again and it got to be too much.

He helped you pack your bag for the trip back home. That was when your grief finally turned into anger.

Towards your family. Towards yourself.

"I feel like it's my fault," you sighed as you showed him how to find a pair of tights that didn’t have runs in them, whatever that meant. "I was the only one who took care of him. Doctor's appointments, took him on walks, made sure he didn't have the food he wasn't supposed to. The works. And I left. It's my fault he's gone. At least, that's the way Michael made it sound on the phone."

Eddie almost didn't catch the last part, said under your breath as you stuffed a shiny pair of shoes into your duffel bag, but he did. He wasn't going to let you do this to yourself; how many times over the years had he questioned how he might have been able to keep his mom from dying? On those days where he needed her most. He knew he couldn't stop you from those thoughts, at least not now but he could do his best to fight them away until you could do it yourself.

"Michael," he spoke up, startling you with the realization that he heard. "That's your brother right?"

"Older brother," you nodded slowly.

"Sounds like a shithead."

"Yeah," you let out the briefest laugh and then fiddled with the zipper tab. "He kind of is."

You complained about perfect Michael and his perfect life until your stomach rumbled and Eddie offered to order dinner for the two of you. When you mentioned that you hadn't eaten all day, he made sure you had more than your fill of beef lo mein and garlic string beans as Monty Hall played on the television.

At a certain point, your takeout carton made it to the coffee table and you started to doze off as your head rested on his shoulder. It was a relief, but only for a second, because you startled back awake and dumped all the clothes out of your bag again.

"I didn't pack the right dress," you muttered. "Aunt Amelia's gonna say something about it. I just know."

So Eddie stayed up with you all night as you packed and unpacked and packed again, uncaring that he had school in the morning or Hellfire that night. Fuck it all. It didn’t matter. None of the doubts and self-hatred and worry that had plagued him all week since Sunday night even crossed his mind. All that he worried about was making sure you weren't alone.

When dawn came, and you tiredly tried to wave him out of your apartment so that he could get ready for class and you could hit the road, he pulled you into his arms and just...held you.

He closed his eyes and rocked you back and forth as you hummed softly and gripped the back of his t-shirt tightly beneath his jacket.

He thought of all the things that he could say in that moment...

Drive safe, call me tonight so I know you got there, I'm sorry, take it easy on yourself, it's not your fault.

...but none of them were able to fall from his lips.

"Welp," you sighed. "This is it."

But neither of you moved.

"Thank you for coming over Eddie. I really really appreciate it."

Still nothing. No forward momentum, no motivation to move on to the rest of the day without one another, no reassuring words from him to give you the strength you needed to go forth alone, and no will for him to leave you.

You'd both be ready when you were ready, it seemed.

But as you finally pulled away from him, and he thought about you getting in your car and driving for what might be one of the toughest weekends of your life, all he managed to say...

"Why don't I come with you? I know it's not a road trip or fun or anything. I know I have school and work but...fuck it. We can stop at the trailer, I'll leave a note for Wayne and grab the nicest clothes I own, and...I'll come with you. I just...I don't want you doing this all alone."

...resulted in him sitting in the passenger's seat of your car for 5 hours as you zoomed down the highway away from his whole life in Indiana to the great unknown of Chicago.

---

You talked for a majority of the drive.

Eddie already knew some things about your family—strict parents, pesky brothers, too many cousins than he could keep track of—but you seemed to want to prepare him because he would effectively meet all of them.

"Big Catholic family and a funeral," you glanced at him from the corner of your eye and shot a tense smile. “It's a lot. You sure you still want to come?”

You’d done that throughout the drive too, asked him if he was sure he wanted to come with you. He’d joked several times already that you’d have to leave him on the side of the road, which you wouldn’t, or turn back altogether if he chickened out.

Besides, he already called Jeff when you stopped at his place to let him grab some clothes, and canceled Hellfire; he wouldn’t chicken out for anything. He needed to be here for you.

If he was being honest, yes he was nervous. He hadn’t met any girlfriends' families before or anything, and this whole situation wasn’t exactly the way he’d ever imagined meeting yours. As you crossed the state border into Illinois, though, your breath got shallow and your hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and Eddie wondered if you were looking for a way out because you never wanted the two parts of your life—family and friends—to clash.

“I don’t, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I know I’m not someone that…families approve of or anything, if that's why you keep asking if I want to be here.”

"It's not that--" you tried to interject.

"And I know we're not dating or anything but..." he trailed off awkwardly and then cleared his throat.

Well that was one way of sticking his foot in his mouth.

Your head was half turned towards him, jaw dropped, eyes darting back and forth from the road to him.

The thought of opening the car door and bailing as you zoomed down the highway briefly crossed his mind because he fucked up. Why would he say something like that? It was because he was a big dingus, actually, the biggest.

"Uh, Eddie listen--"

"No," he interrupted you again. "Sweetheart I'm sorry, that's...that wasn't fair of me. I didn't mean...I just..."

"No it's ok, we should ta--"

"I just thought that...I know I pretty much intruded on this trip, but I wanted to be here for you. But if me being here is gonna cause more problems for you...I mean damn, I don't mind taking a Greyhound back to Hawkins even. But more than anything, I want to make sure you're alright."

He nervously picked at the loose threads on the holes at his knees and was surprised when you took a hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his.

"Do you know," you whispered, voice barely audible. "I think I would have turned back by now if I tried to come alone. Michael on the phone...god I don't know how my dad's gonna be...or my aunt. I don't want to have to deal with all of that. But I know I need to be there...it's for my Papa, I have to be there.

"It's hard to go home when you've moved someplace else. When you've started to find home somewhere else. And I wasn't gonna say anything. I wasn't gonna ask you--it's too much to ask--but I secretly kind of hoped that you would ask to come along. And I'll never be able to really thank you, Eddie, for wanting to be here. For me.

"But thank you," you shot him a smile and squeezed his hand tightly.

He swallowed thickly and squeezed right back.

"I'll be here for as long as you need me to be, sweetheart. As long as you want me to be."

---

The weekend was a whirlwind, and honestly, Eddie knew he wasn't going to be able to make heads or tails of it until the two of you got home on Sunday night.

The first surprise, shortly after your heartfelt moment in the car, was the fact that you didn't actually live in Chicago. You'd been approaching the city on I-90, you even pointed out the Sears Tower to him. Then you got on an exit and drove for another 20 minutes down North Avenue.

"I feel like I've been lied to," he sniffed petulantly.

"I told you I'm from the suburbs before," you chuckled at his antics. "And it might as well be Chicago, it's all Cook County."

"We're not even driving North, how is this North Avenue?"

"We don't have time for a history lesson, we'll be there soon."

Still, it was exciting. Not exactly what he pictured in his head from watching shows on TV or seeing news reels about the city, but nonetheless different from what he was used to in Hawkins and that was the part he liked.

At a certain point, you reached a stretch of road that featured certain destinations that would live in Eddie's imagination until he could ask you about them--KiddieLand Amusement Park, Riviera Lanes, and Winston Plaza--and Eddie noticed your hands started to shake.

"You ok? There's plenty of places to pull over," he suggested. "I can drive the rest of the way."

"No it's ok," you said and swung a left-hand turn onto a residential street with houses that sort-of all looked the same, sort-of all looked different. "We're here."

You parked on the street in front of a house that you noted belonged to your aunt, and then led him down a narrow sidewalk to the backyard of the neighboring house, where a kid gangly enough to rival Mike Wheeler sat in a plastic lawn chair with headphones on, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes closed.

"Jimmy," you called to him and then kicked his foot. "Jimmy. James Joseph, wake up."

"I'm awake," he startled, knocked the headphones down so they sat around his neck, and stood up. Even with one hand rubbing his eye, your brother's resemblance to you was obvious, and a sense of dread washed over Eddie.

And so it began...meeting your family.

Jimmy was probably the best introduction of them all--there was an ease between the two of you, even with the snide jabs and banter back and forth--and that extended to Eddie. Especially when Jimmy realized that he and Eddie were wearing the same shirt.

"Don't let him fool you, he's a dweeb," you announced when Jimmy got excited over a shared love for Judas Priest, and Eddie hoped you meant your brother, but he couldn't be too sure you weren't referring to him.

There was a brief respite as you both rested for a minute, changed clothes, and ate a plate of some sort of casserole from the packed shelves of the avocado fridge in your grandpa's kitchen. Then it was an onslaught, a domino effect of faces and names that gradually got more important as you got back into the car to head towards the funeral home.

A sea of strange faces that smiled and hugged you and then looked over at Eddie in question, but not in an unwelcome way, and he was glad he'd pilfered a black scrunchie from your bag to tie his hair back respectfully.

You introduced him to this old coworker of your Papa and that great-aunt from Minneapolis and this cousin. He even got to meet your old store manager--a stern, short, blonde woman with victory rolls and shimmering black eyeshadow--who'd come to pay her respects after she saw your Papa's obituary in the newspaper; she honestly scared Eddie a little, but she made him laugh, which meant she was good in his book.

It was all reminiscent of meeting people after his mom died once upon a time, the only other funeral he'd ever been to. When people called and came out of the woodwork in an overwhelming number to offer their condolences. He had been young and sad then, but he was older, wiser, and tougher now. He shook hands and said "nice to meet you" and when people questioned whether he was a boyfriend, Eddie insisted he was just a friend who wanted to be here for you.

It wasn't a lie; still he got a skeptical gaze from at least two elderly women who tutted once they were out of earshot.

Eventually, you got to the front of the room, to the row of chairs that held your immediate family, and after a few tearful hugs, Eddie finally met your parents, your aunt and uncle, and your older brother.

He was surprised to hear "I've heard a lot about you" come from your mother's mouth, but was not surprised to hear the "no funny business under my roof" from your father after a clap on the shoulder. Your uncle said nothing after a short “hello”, just let your aunt do all the talking, and all she could talk about was your appearance.

"What are you doing, honey? What is this you're wearing? For Papa's wake? I hope you plan to wear something a little more modest for my father's funeral tomorrow. And your friend? A leather jacket? A little casual don't you think? What's that dear? Yes, nice to meet you too Edward. Thank you for coming."

Your brother Michael, though...Michael was a douchebag to put it in polite terms, and Eddie could tell that, unlike with Jimmy, the relationship between you was tense.

"You're late" he sniffed judgmentally instead of a greeting.

"We hit traffic and needed to change," you snarked right back.

"So you stopped off at home? Where's Jim? Why couldn't you get him here?"

"You know how he is at these things, he'll show up before they close up for the night. You remember how he was when Nana died. And now he's Mr. Tough Guy. He doesn't like to cry."

Back and forth the two of you went, Michael's accusations and your tense responses. Eddie could feel himself get more and more irritated the harsher it got, the angrier he felt you become. If it was anything other than a funeral--a wake, what was the difference--he would have started in on your brother several minutes ago to protect you.

And he was still tempted to.

But it was like a switch was flipped as someone else approached, and he watched as you changed right before his very eyes. As all the irritation and vulnerabilities left you, and in their place...was the Store Manager version of you he knew and sort of despised. Cold and stiff and everything he knew you weren't by the grace of becoming your friend.

Regardless, it was startling to see.

At the end of the night as Eddie settled into the second twin bed in what used to be Michael and Jimmy's shared room, Eddie realized that your customer service persona had been present for most of the evening, and had only slipped in the presence of those few family members that could see right past it.

Could they see past it? Or was it that you simply couldn't hide behind it with them?

For the whole time he'd known you, Eddie had often wondered what had driven you to Indiana. The job, sure, but...you'd left everything you'd known behind. And hell, for all the times that he wanted to get the hell out of Hawkins, he knew he couldn't leave Wayne or Rick for very long. In his heart he knew the day he finally left, he'd need to be back quite often to see them.

Now, though...when it came to you, he started to understand.

---

The next day, the day of the funeral, you couldn't stop shaking.

Eddie had been nervously second guessing the black jeans--the only non-ripped pair he owned--and Wayne's borrowed dress shirt when he saw you digging through your bag, trembling. It seemed like you were trying to hide it, kept your body moving and grabbing for something, but he noticed immediately,

He snatched the car keys out of your hands before you could get a solid grasp on them when it was time to go.

"It's alright," he reassured you. "Just tell me where I'm going and I'll get us there."

He thought it would be back to the funeral home, but instead you gave him directions to the church. A big old building with stained glass windows and a large statue of the Virgin Mary out in the front.

He could hear the organ music of the hymns emanating from within, and on the hour, the bells from the tower beside the chapel became deafening. For all the Catholic school girl jokes he made at your expense, he didn't realize you were Catholic Catholic.

"You sure I'm not gonna burst into flames if I set foot inside?" he joked to try and ease your nerves and his, but you just shook your head. He watched and suddenly felt helpless, as you began to shake more and worry your bottom lip with your teeth; he was supposed to be here to support you, to reassure you, and instead you looked ready to keel over. "Hey, it'll be ok."

"Yeah," you nodded tensely. "Yeah, let's just go inside."

You didn't make a move though, just rocked onto the toes of your shiny Mary Janes and looked on as tons of people filtered into the church.

Tons of people that, once again, reminded him of the people that had come to pay their respects for his mom. Eddie remembered being there, shaking in his shoes, trying to keep a straight-face, to be strong. To not be a baby because he was 10 years old.

It was just like you said about Jimmy the previous night; big tough guy, didn't want to cr--

Oh.

Realization hit Eddie. The culmination of all the other realizations that had been mounting over the past what? 48 hours? Maybe the past week? The two of you were more alike than he realized. Eddie had just noticed how you'd put up this strong front since you'd been home; the comfortable, safe Store Manager facade was starting to crack. Hadn't he just told you the story about his mom's funeral? How he'd fallen in love with metal because Rick had realized that he needed to process his grief? That he needed to lash out? To cry?

Here he was, trying to get you to laugh, when instead he should have been doing the opposite. But how was he gonna get you to cry? You didn't even cry much at the wake when you'd placed your hand on top of the shiny casket that held your Papa within.

Maybe it just hadn't hit you yet?

Alright, change of plans.

"Your Papa knew a lot of people," Eddie noted, gesturing towards the funeral-goers.

"He did," you agreed, and he watched as your shoulders lost the slightest bit of tension. "He was...I mean you met my cousin last night. The one who wants to run for Mayor."

"Yeah, he's got that yuppie thing about him."

"Well, my Papa could have been Mayor if he wanted," you said with the most conviction he'd ever heard in your voice. "He just didn't want to. Which means he deserved it even more. He was the nicest neighbor, the best friend. He went and played competitive Bocce at the civic center and fundraised for charity and canned his own peaches to give to people."

On and on, you talked about Papa's recipe for this and his idea for that and...

"And the way he fucking chain smoked god damn it Eddie," you hit his arm as he pulled his cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans.

Eddie thought that, at the very least, an emotional story would be the thing that would set you over the edge. Instead it was the pack of Marlboro Reds that he'd picked up when you had stopped for gas about halfway through the drive.

You hit his arm a few times, as you often did when you tried to playfully admonish him for this or that, then your face crumpled. Your shaking ceased as you collapsed against him and buried your face against his shoulder once again, just like you had when he first arrived at your apartment on Thursday night.

He dropped the cigarettes and folded his arms around you, pulled you into the safety of your friendship when it seemed like there wasn't anything safe out there for you right now; when you'd just lost one of the safe places you had in the world.

He whispered sweet words--comforts and reassurances--and he made you laugh once by threatening to punch your brother if he tried to make a scene.

"I'll do it," he goaded you. "I don't care if he's in mourning too. He's insufferable. Hate that guy. Never coming back to Chicago ever if he's still in town. You hear that? I might have to leave right now."

"No," you tugged him closer to you, and he reveled in the feeling. "You're staying right here. You promised."

"I did," he agreed.

The tense hold you had on him got looser and you hiccuped the last few tears you had.

A few yards away, a hearse pulled up to the curb in front of the church, and your brothers and several of your cousins went to start hauling the casket inside.

"You ready to go in?" Eddie asked. "You don't have to...but..."

"No," you shook your head and pulled back from him. "I'm ok. I'm ready."

"Good."

He waited for you to make the first move once again, but before you did, you took his hand in yours and squeezed.

"He would have been...so happy to have met you, Eddie," you looked at him earnestly. "I told him all about you. I think it hurts a little more...knowing that he didn't get the chance."

He squeezed your hand right back and smiled.

"I'm sad I didn't get the chance either. Guess I'm gonna have to work extra hard not to go to Hell so I can shake his hand in Heaven."

You snorted and pushed him away with a soft jackass then pulled him into the church with you saying he would have made the same joke.

---

The next morning, you and Eddie made a stealthy getaway.

Your father had tried to get you both to go to church with them again and you politely declined.

"We need to get on the road so we don't get back too late. I have to open tomorrow," you made the excuse.

Honestly Eddie was grateful; all the sitting and standing and kneeling...he hadn't gotten that much exercise since gym class Freshman year.

But as you soared back down North Avenue, you made a detour.

"I know this wasn't supposed to be a fun trip," you explained. "If you're up for it, we can make the drive back whenever...maybe during spring break or something? The least I can do before we head back to Hawkins, to thank you for coming, is give you a taste of good Chicago food. Especially after casseroles and funeral home sandwiches all weekend.

"It is Sunday, after all."

And that's how Eddie found himself having his first authentic Chicago style hot dog. Sitting on a picnic bench outside, under a red and yellow striped umbrella, the ambient sounds of cars zooming and your banter back and forth the perfect backdrop.

"No ketchup, are you kidding me right now Eddie?" you swatted his hand.

"Why do they have ketchup if they don't want it on the hot dog," he argued.

"It's for the fries and the fries only. You need to have the whole experience. A hot dog with everything, and ketchup on the fries only."

He watched as you unwrapped your hotdog and began picking through the toppings. Hypocrite.

"Wait, I thought you said you needed to have the whole experience, why are you taking the peppers off."

"I don't like the peppers."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Eddie scoffed. "Gonna have to take your Chicago Card away. Oh wait, I'm sorry. Suburb card."

"Oh my god, just eat. Before I leave you here."

He took his first bite and his tastebuds sang, as you munched on a French fry with a cheeky smile.

And Eddie was happy. Happy to be here with you. Sundays were his favorite days, hands down, and he would do everything in his power to keep them that way.

It might not have been the happiest weekend, there might still be some unanswered questions between the two of you. But you were here with him and you were still friends, and after everything that had happened, that's all Eddie could ask for.

Next Part: Closing Time

[writinginthetwilight]

Knock, knock.

Neighbour!Eddie Munson x Neighbour!Reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB reader. Stress. Strong language. Nightmares. Negative self talk. Horror-esk/creepy vibes. See Masterlist for full list of warnings.

Authors note: He's finally here, in the flesh.. ish. Thank you for all the love on the last part. Officially out of the introduction and into the meat of this creepy lil story.

Find @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing full prompt list here including the one that birthed this weird little world I'm making.

6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Love you and hope you're being kind to yourself, okay bye.

Part 4: Conspiracies made through the hardwood.

The smell is nostalgic.

In every home you lived in, in your formative adult life, the introduction had been followed by the earthy smell of burning sage, whisps curling in draughty apartments and catching the light in shared dorm rooms.

Tina, your college roommate insisted on every room being scrubbed down and smudged before you unpacked.

You'd since lost touch, but you still kept the tradition of scrubbing places head to toe when you moved in and now you can't help but wonder, had you kept smudging your homes could some of the negativity in your life have been avoided.

You aren't dead.

After the momentary spiral the other night you had righted yourself from entertaining the idea.

Ghosts didn't eat, sleep, pay rent.

Go to work.

What a fucked up purgatory it would be if you had to spend eternity listening to Shona chew at her desk while desperately waiting for payday.

But it didn't stop the rattle in your bones as you'd unplugged the radio, fetched it away from the wall and fitfully slept on the couch.

You tried to explain that night away, the note was easy, a neighbour was trying to scare you, it was a prank, a bad joke.

But the radio.

You scoured the internet for hours looking for reasons as to why you had picked up what was playing on the radio next door.

It's fairly common apparently, to pick up signals from elsewhere, but you're lost in jargon.

HAM radios, the chatter of people talking over radio waves, inanimate objects picking up signals and freaking people out.

Nothing quite fits, and the rabbit hole ends in bad ghost hunting videos and advertisements for spirit boxes.

So, you call Charlie again, under the guise of fixing the faucet. The noise from next door’s not outrageous by your own relatively low standards but enough to show that next door isn't vacant.

He's exactly as he was the day you met him, with a wide smile and bright eyes, you try your best to match it, despite the dark circles hidden beneath thickly applied concealer.

He hums and haws at the pipes and you can hear humming clearly from above you as he tinkers with them.

He's chatting to you absent-mindedly about a place downtown that sells the best cubans he's ever eaten, asking if you've been to various spots around the area yet.

He's not acknowledging the noise.

Even when laughter and the TV starts he just continues on until he finally catches you staring angrily up at the scar.

“Still giving you trouble?”

He can't hear him.

You can tell by the way he phrased it, as a genuine question not a reaction to the noise.

“I thought I could maybe still hear someone in number 5?”

He chuckles. “Taking a look around spooked you huh? “

“No, just the noise.” you wave above your head, all subtlety lost in the interaction.

He doesn't even glance up.

“Honey, there's no keyhole on that door, only way someone's getting in is scaling the walls or breaking down the door.”

He pats your arm reassuringly, then moves turning the faucet on and off again as the water runs smoothly out.

“Good as new.”

You're not dead.

But maybe he is.

So, here you stand white sage and lavender burning in your hand on a Wednesday night, desperate for something to work.

Step 1. Introduce yourself.

“Hello, Eddie.”

“I'm,” You take a deep breath and let your name slip out, despite the conflicting information online as to whether it's a good idea. “and this is my apartment.”

The silence hangs for a moment. You know he's there, can hear soft distant sounds of movement.

This is so fucking stupid.

You flick through the multitudes of tabs open on your laptop.

Step 2. Acknowledge they were here first.

“I know this is your home too, and you were here first but-”

“ I'm not dead.”

The voice echoes and warps down to you and you feel your stomach roll at the sound, quickly you scroll, there isn't anything about them talking back.

“You, might not know but this apartment was split-”

There's a nervous laugh that cuts you off.

“Yeah, whatever you are, you need to leave. This is my apartment.”

You try again but can't get a word in and you can feel frustration building, rolling up your back and making your jaw clench as he talks over you.

“Look, a maintenance guy changed the locks on room 5 the other day.”

He's not listening, and you increase your volume, trying to explain, the calm and gentle candence is gone, your voice now shrill and foreign to your own ears.

“So either your fucking with me and you're somewhere else or you're the one who's dead so if you would kindly leave me the fuck alone.”

You're practically yelling now, and you almost fall from where you've scaled the kitchen counter when there's a knock at the door.

He's still yelling.

It can't be him.

You walk hunched, heart pounding, anger still coursing through you. You're not sure if you want it to be him, if he's there in the flesh then you're not losing your mind at least.

But if he is, then you're about to be faced with an irate man who's just been screaming at you through the walls.

You latch the chain, and it rattles at the force needed to open it.

A woman a good decade older than you stands arms crossed with a scowl on her face that your mother would be proud of. Behind her shoulder, a man stands with an apologetic look on his face.

You recognise them vaguely, he was one of the few who had given you a small smile as you moved in when you passed them, she had not.

“Hi? Can I-”

“I don't know what's happening in there but do you think it's acceptable to be yelling at almost 11 pm?”

She sounds like your mother too.

The urge to ask them if they can hear him is fleeting and the only response you can muster is to press your lips into a hard line.

“If it carries on I'm making a formal complaint.”

You can feel your temper still simmering and don't trust yourself with any sincere retort so merely murmur your apologies and close the door on them.

She knocks again, obviously unhappy with your lacklustre response and you can hear the man trying to reason with her as you lean your forehead against the door.

No longer yelling, the sound of him moving around remains.

The rough surface of the door is grounding as you squeeze your eyes closed.

You can't live like this.

But there's a stone in the bottom of your stomach.

The rent really was a steal, and with at least another 6 months on your lease, probation at your job still ongoing, you're going to have to.

You can't go home, not after the arguments and upheaval.

The scene you made.

People who would welcome you back were still in the group chat, talking shit after sending their well wishes. The only real person who would sincerely welcome you back lives next door to your old home and that's not happening.

You’ll exist with your undead roommate, bury the feelings down.

You're good at it, pretending that you're fine.

You just hope eventually he leaves, so you don't have to, again.

The next week is, well, loud but you reinstate the headphones and earplugs that had accompanied you in your first few days and manage.

Living for the quiet moments in between the noise, they usually come in the early evening, the low light of lamps colouring the room in fire lit hues and podcasts on the speakers instead of headphones while you cook.

A sanctuary from the surreal.

Headphones in your pocket ready.

It's the exact state you're in when you hear the raucous sounds of a group entering next door, voices overlapping and unintelligible.

“You hear that right? Uh hello?”

This is new, he never actually acknowledged you.

He calls out your name and you pull the pan from the heat, cautiously walking around the counter to where the voices are loudest.

“It's Eddie.”

“Eddie dude.”

“Shh!”

Other dead people?

Maybe the whole building's haunted you muse, reaching over to give your dinner an idle stir, heat from the metal still lingering.

“Some people want to meet you.”

That gets your full attention, and you pause for a minute unsure if you should greet more spectors into your living quarters.

Surely it couldn't get worse.

“Hey, other dead people.”

“We're not.” he grits out "You heard that right, see?”

Silence

“ Eddie man-”

“ No, don't look at me like that.”

You frown hard at the ceiling, dots connecting but in no useful way.

They can't hear you, Charlie couldn't hear him.

“Letter, letter, I have a letter!” you can hear him scramble away leaving the concerned murmuring of the others in his absence.

“Look see I'm not crazy.”

More silence

“It's a noise complaint.”

“No, well yeah, but it's from them and-”

“Dude, why don't you go stay with Wayne for a while.”

He doesn't like that.

It sets off an argument that you try to track but the movement makes their voices pitch in and out.

They just want to help.

They're worried.

Just get out of the city for a bit.

A slam of the door.

“Eddie?”

It's tentative the way you say it, the silence loud.

You're not prepared for another shouting match but the desperation that was in his voice makes your chest ache, you can't just leave it, maybe you should, but he was an echo of how you would sound had you anyone here to tell.

“Nobody can hear you either.”

“I'm not dead.” The sudden sound comes from directly above you and makes you flinch, eyes snapping up.

“Neither am I.”

His voice goes an octave higher, already defensive, diving headfirst into a ramble that you can't quite catch as he paces and, once again you find that your voice is rising to match his.

You catch yourself this time though, not about to have to explain this to your landlord if you get an actual noise complaint.

So another note to your otherworldly pen pal it is.

I've almost gotten a noise complaint, so if we can stop screaming through the ceiling to each other that would be great.

Neither of us think we're dead, nobody else can hear the other.

My apartment was split. I went round to number 5 last week and they changed the locks.

It's been empty for years.

I don't know where you are but it's not next door.

You hear the front door open and close not long after you slip the note under and settle yourself crisscross on the floor to wait.

He's quiet, only small movements audible as you run clammy palms into the carpet at your sides, fibres scratching against your fingers.

There's the sound of his door opening, then the note edges its way under your own.

The page has indents in the top corner where an empty pen has been tried, the writing fading halfway down before it changes colour.

My locks work fine.

I called the landlord to see if I needed to wait that day, he said nobody had called him and it can't have been next door because it's empty.

Sure you're not dead? No bright lights, big tunnels calling you. Fire? I don't know, tiny red dudes with pitchforks. No judgement.

Also, I'm not shouting at the ceiling. Your voice has been floating around here like an invisible stalker for almost a month now.

No judgement. Fuck this guy.

Not dead.

No lights.

No tiny men.

So what is this?

You wait with the door latched this time peeking through, as a family passes by and you make accidental eye contact with one of the parents watching as they hurry the kids past.

You close the door quickly cringing, when there's a soft crinkle underfoot, your heart stutters at the sight of the note under your feet. This can't be real.

I propose 50 questions.

A sharp breath leaves you at the words, but maybe it's not the worst idea. You need to get a handle on this, need more information because currently you're flying blind.

Okay 50 questions, how long have you lived here?

Boring. 2 years. How many eyes do you have?

You laugh but then the idea that maybe you could be dealing with something other than a human makes you feel a little ill. A ghost is bad enough.

Two. You?

You snatch the note up when it comes through.

Two eyes. So human right? Two arms, two legs, head, ass, junk between your legs?

Thank God.

So were both human. That's a relief. This is harder than I thought it would be. Who's president?

Yeah? I was kind of hoping for alien contact myself. President’s Clinton. No supernatural abilities at all?

You frown at the note.

Hillary or Bill?

The family from before return with their takeout, catching you in the hall crouched and stuffing the note under the door, you try and smile casually, it's returned but you hear the youngest kid hushed when they ask their parents what you're doing.

Great, you're going to be that person in the building.

"You have to answer the question!" He yells in a singsong tone as you close the door and the odd stares from the family in the hall are enough for you to risk shouting back.

“What year is it?”

“The games no fun if it's one sided.”

You roll your eyes climbing on top of the kitchen counter. “Eddie?”

“1993.” The huff is evident in his voice but when you don't respond he calls out almost timidly.

“What year is it there?”

“2024.”

He asks a thousand questions straight away and you spend the next hour comparing music, media and anything else you can think of. There are slight differences, no traces of shows, bands and brands he talks about, too many to pass off as just being lost to the passage of time.

You can't even find Hawkins on Google earth, Indiana he says not Texas or Wisconsin.

He's never heard of your home town either but that's not surprising unless he has a detailed map of the continental US.

You explain the concept of googling to him for a good twenty minutes when he asks how you're getting all the information and you're worried you might have broken him from the sounds he makes when you tell him that people make a living playing dnd.

Then he's gone, abruptly, cursing about having to leave and already being late, leaving you wide eyed in the middle of your apartment.

You pad toward the letters that are discarded on the floor, fingers tips running over the indents on his words.

You take your phone out, take a photo and send it to Janet.

You can see these right?

Your phone’s on your chest when you wake, your last memories are that of a concerned Janet, informing you that you could come stay any time.

You'd played it down, explained a neighbour’s playing a prank, you were just playing along.

You didn't need her worrying.

Now as you go to respond the blank screen of the phone reflects your tired face.

A sound, a drip suddenly fills the space around you.

Not again.

You reason with yourself that maybe you should just stay in bed, nothing good yet to come from actually getting up.

He always said that you were a busy body.

The noise of movement makes you peek out of your sheets, the distinct sound of walking making your bare feet hit the ground, creeping quietly towards the door trying to avoid the spots you know creak.

There's somebody there. Your heart rate quickens as you watch them leaning over the countertop, head tipped, with wild hair falling to the side they stare up at the drip, eyebrows knitted, he's leaning in hand going in to catch the next droplet.

“I wouldn't touch that,” you say on instinct, body pushing past the safety of the door.

“Jesus Christ.” he recoils backwards away from you hands outstretched.

You know that voice.

Staring at you with wide eyes, you take him in. As if this couldn't get any more fucked.

“Eddie?”

He looks wearily back at you, a confused frown settling on his face for a moment before realisation takes over.

“Holy shit.”

“So you're just in my dreams now too?”

“Your dream?”

“Yes?” you put your hands out to the side displaying the mismatched pyjamas you're in.

“Okay, if this is your dream, why have I been waking up in it?”

He crosses his arms, looking you up and down. He's fully dressed, in jeans and leather jacket and as you take another step into the room you catch the smell of him, like he's just come in from the cold.

Definitely a ghost.

“Beats me. Maybe this is where I help you pass on.” you tease and you struggle to bite back the smile at the way his nose scrunches in annoyance

“I'm not dead”

You humm looking over the room, dancing wall of light, black abyss, all still intact.

“Wait?” you turn cautiously.

“Were you the one chasing me?”

He fumbles a little, eyes wide “I wasn't chasing you.”

“The hell you weren't, I almost broke my neck falling.”

“Well, why were you running?”

You gesture wildly around yourself.

“Why wouldn't I be? Why were you chasing me!?”

“To see who it was and what the hell was going on.”

You eye him warily, how much harm can he do in a dream?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he takes a step back from you, hands raised.

Brushing past him to the bookshelf that blocks your door, your fingers running over the spines, some titles you know others you don't and you try to take a mental note to look them up when you wake.

“So this is the future.”

He's rotating the remote control in his hands inspecting it like something’s hidden inside.

“Kind of. I guess.”

“I expected more.”

“Like what.”

“More, Sci fi shit.”

“Robots in the shop, sorry”

He tsks

“Massive TV's though.” he falls heavily down onto the couch and you can't help but laugh at his impressed expression at the 30 inch second hand TV.

You pull your phone from your pocket and throw it over to him, it lands with a soft thud beside him and he flinches away.

“Electrics seem to be dead, so there's not a lot to show while we're here.”

“What is it?”

“A phone.”

He pulls a face between impressed and confused as he inspects it closely.

You turn to the drip, blackness now sliding down and puddling on the linoleum, inching towards the darkness where your kitchen cabinets should be.

That can't be good

His head turns to watch you as you follow the scar, no signs of a drip anywhere else. Your hands smooth over where it runs down the wall.

“Don't you think we should stay away from that?” he says standing up, still keeping his distance

“Why?”

“Why? Because it looks like a cavern to the underworld,” he says incredulously.

“What do you think’s past it? The light is your apartment so there must be something past it right?”

You lean forward and he rushes towards you catching your elbow just as the darkness hisses.

You both stumble back.

“Okay yeah no that was stupid.”

“You think.”

“I'm just trying to work this out.”

You shake yourself free of his grip and turn to go to the front door, but it's blank where it should be.

Had it always been gone?

You smooth your hands over where the frame should be, no sign it has ever been there or will be.

“What's wrong? “

You push your head through the light squinting as the room comes into focus, his door sits where it should.

“Your doors here. Mines. Not.”

“Your door would be .” he waves down to the abyss.

“No my doors here it-”

Doesn't look like it should be though.

Eddie's eyes search your face.

You move through the wall quickly opening his door as Eddie scrambles behind you.

The noise is deafening, all consuming blackness and screeching static howls as you recoil away, Eddie's arm curling round you as he kicks the door closed.”

“Can you stop?” he says, taking you by the arms and turning you to face him.

“We're trapped.” your mind's racing scrambling to be awake.

His face softens.

“Until we wake up. Right? You get the whooshing?”

His arms flail around his head and you nod mutely, heart in your throat.

It's just a dream.

“So let's just attempt to not piss off the overlords of this place until then, ‘kay? Obviously we're not meant to leave.”

It's just a dream.

“So what brought you to the apparent entrance of the nether realm with me,” he asks, turning to look back at you as you enter the hallway.

He walks through the frosted glass door and you trail behind following him through dust that dances in the strips of light, you're struggling to get your breathing right, lip crushed between your teeth.

You avoid eye contact walking into his room and inspecting the models that sit on his window ledge.

“It was cheap.”

He bounces as he goes to lay back on his bed, hands scrubbing his face.

“Yeah, wonder why that was. Cursed apartment, half price.”

“Comes with a free undead roomate.” you murmur, lips quirking up despite the quiver in your voice.

He gives you a deadpan look, but he's not as subtle as he thinks he is when his hand searches his neck for his pulse.

“What about you, no roommates, pretty big place for one?”

He bristles but you're too busy pressing the point of a tiny sword into your finger to catch it.

“Yeah, uh no just me.”

“Really? How do you afford it?”

“Anyone ever told you you're nosy?”

The sudden change in tone makes your face fall, his words causing heat crawl up your neck.

“Sorry.”

You walk quickly out, leaving to the quiet sanctuary of your room and sitting on the edge of your bed.

You hate how the words crawl around your head, like you're a bother, a pain in the ass.

You make things so difficult.

He appears out the bathroom door in your peripheral, his body leaning against the frame.

“I can't afford it”

You risk a glance, chewing the inside of his cheeks he stares at your partially blocked door.

“No?”

He stands upright about to speak when his hands fly to cover his ears.

Just as the rushing starts in your own.

Bent in half looking up to you, you manage to send him a grimace and a half wave, before you're gulping air.

Everything's quiet but the blood’s still rushing in your ears, sheets a tangled mess around you as you try to steady your breathing.

At least you're awake.

Two quick knocks come from behind you.

You're frozen, any intention of trying to make yourself believe this was all your subconscious leaving you in an instant.

Hesitantly, your body moves shuffling up onto your knees and you stare at the back wall.

Your hand hovers.

Knock.

Knock.

The sound of distant traffic murmurs from outside.

A headache brews behind your eyes.

What the fuck is going on.

Next.

Tag list: @munsonburn3r @winchester-angel let me know if you would like to be added <3

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 1.3

Okay can anyone explain the “false hotel registration” thing to me? Does it mean they registered under a false name? So Paul registered under a false name so he could go fuck a girl in his room without getting in trouble with the press? I'm confused. Didn't they bring girls to their rooms all the time without getting in trouble? It doesn't make sense. Why did he feel the need to register under a different name?

Paul, talking about American conservatism, “So many organizations over here that are nuts anyway.” John, “Yeah, they're so far right they just–” tape ends. They really were brave, though. To say what they thought and risk losing what they'd only just got. I wonder who cut the recording. 

Journalist: Paul, are you planning to marry Jane Asher? John: scream ‘no.’ Go on. Lol John certainly says what he feels doesn't he?

Paul making fun of the racist question. Good job bud. 

The whole “Yesterday” thing is crazy. Like, what a feat, first of all. I think we forget how unbelievably successful the song was.

Second of all, I know John's reaction was childish and mean, but his feelings were valid if you just look at the treatment and reception of “Ticket to Ride”  (John's dead mum song). Like objectively yesterday is a better song, but still.

Oh, John. Poor thing. 

If “Girl” is secretly about Paul . . . yeesh. It's so obsessive and adoring and simultaneously so disappointed and disparaging. John always has such impossible standards for Paul. “She promises the earth to me and I believe her, after all this time I don't know why.” Um… maybe because he literally did give you the world? At so many points I find myself asking, “what more could Paul possibly have given John?”

People always take this quote as a sexuality thing, but couldn't it also be a conscience thing? Revulsion at taking advantage of the fact that all these women are fans? At the scale of his infidelity? I don't know, am I giving him too much credit?

The thing about Paul, John – and though it drives you insane, it's a big factor in why you love him -- is he's not going to be bullied into anything. If he decides to take LSD it's going to be on his own terms. And I know you think it'll bring you two closer, and you're right, but peer pressure just doesn't work on him. There's no point. You know that.

I LOVE Paul and the Indica. Designing the wrapping paper in secret up in his little attic room, covering over the shop windows so he can do his handyman work building shelves and painting in peace. It's Linda's Paul pre Linda, you know?

John is so good at PR as in making something sound as beautiful and important and powerful as possible. Which is something Paul absolutely relied on John to do and clearly could not do on his own after the break up. Look how John makes them almost into prophets here.

"I really wanted to live in London but I wouldn't risk it." Another thing to make John envious of Paul and resentful of Cynthia. I really wish those two had just never got married. 

“I don't object to people having a lot of money, I never did. But I do object to people being stony broke and starving.” RIP John, you would've loved the American “left” of today. But you can't have the former without the latter, sorry.

This picture always gets me. It's ridiculous. Pattie and George. Mo and Ringo. John and Paul. With Cynthia awkwardly by herself. It's funny. It's adorable. It's crushing. And with that quote? It's impossible.

I think Tara Browne is overlooked. Paul brought him home for Christmas. That's a big deal. And John hated him enough to laugh when he read about his death. That's also a big deal. Paul and his messed up social climbing obsession. I do think it's worth pointing out, though, the difference between Paul’s LSD trip with Tara and his trip with John. More on that later.

I really do think they were all staunchly anti-racist for their time, you know, besides John's racist jokes and drawings… but Paul particularly. And I have to wonder where that came from. Did he have empathy for people being judged on appearance and background? Was it partially due to his idolization of black artists? Did Little Richard maybe say something to him about racism in America? Anyone have any thoughts?

Actually, same, John. 

Okay and I have to share my hot take on the whole Jesus scandal. It's this: the American right doesn't actually care about Jesus. They care about protecting their hegemony. They didn't like that the Beatles were openly and stubbornly integrationist. They didn't like Paul's comment about their inhumane racism. But they couldn't openly counter that without showing their hand. So they used the Jesus comment as an excuse. If they play the religious persecution card, they get to paint themselves as the victims and therefore the good guys while they take down anyone who challenges the status quo that keeps them in money and power (aka the Beatles). 

Maybe I should've had a “poor baby” tally because the number of times I've said that about John in these comments has got to be tally-worthy. I would've driven around in a gorilla suit with you, honey!

It is actually amazing that there hasn't been more speculation on Paul's sexuality with all these serious boyfriends. 

Paul tells a story about a time he flew a plane, and how much better he liked it than being a passenger. First off. Imagine being a pilot and just being like “oh, you've never touched a joystick in your life, but you're Paul McCartney? Sure, go ahead. Fly the plane.” But also. His control issues and his confidence are both off unreal. No one in their right mind would feel more safe flying a plane – as someone with a complete lack of experience – than when a licensed pilot is flying it. 

Okay I literally JUST learned that Here There and Everywhere says, “how good it can be” not could. Can. And it's one of those in my "for sure this was about John" folder. Okay then. Wow.

The thing is they really did compliment each other's songs a lot more than modern Paul makes it seem like. So I wonder what it was about the “Here There and Everywhere” compliment that made it so special to Paul?

This footage where John is hiding behind McCharmley. I love protective Paul and how different he is to protective John and how much they needed each other. 

Hall of Fame quote: “what composer do you respect the most?” “I dunno really. John Lennon.” “Paul McCartney.”

[reii-naa]

i saw someone in twtter talking about aventurine with a tongue piercing and giving a blow job.. hnggggggg

nsfw on this post. mdni/minors do not interact

dom ! aventurine , aventurine has a tongue piercing , blow job(reader receiving) , m ! reader , usage of substances(aphrodisiac and muscle relaxation) , teasing , edging , blindfold/sensory deprivation , bondage/tied to a chair

it was no surprise how aventurine can come up as a trickster in some way, gambling with insane risks for whatever rewards gain his interest. truly an interesting person to work with, but sometimes it's a hassle to be paired up with.

the blonde comes up to you, hosting a bet between both of you that whoever loses lets the other party do whatever to the other, and the loser should not resist. and according to him, this is just for the shits and giggles.

the game he decides to play is old maid with standard poker cards, a game in which you take turns on getting a card from the other, discard your pairs, and whoever has the joker by the end, is the loser. you are good at this game, but you're up against a good gambler. in the end, for the first time in your life, you lost in old maid.

"fuck!" you curse, looking at the only card you have in your hand, the joker, as aventurine places down the last pair. "so, you know what that means [name]~!" he smirks. "aright, fine! i admit i lost and do whatever you want!" you huff.

truly, you didn't expect this man to tie you tightly against a chair and put a blindfold on. genuinely, if he asks how you're feeling, you're scared. because who knows what he could do to you.

"aventurine.. what are you doing?" you asked, as you hear footsteps come close. "ah, you'll see. i just have a surprise for you." based on the tone he's giving you, you could tell there's a wide smirk on his face. "you'll see what i mean in a while."

"i have a blindfold aventurine, what's there to see?" you asked, annoyed. "and is there a need to strap me on a chair so securely?! i can't move!" you added, trying to move but can't. the ropes on your hands, wrist, hips, chest, legs doesn't hurt, but you can't move. like, seriously stuck in place. you try and break free with your arms behind the chair, but can't.

"it is necessary. don't want you to move around. plus, the blindfold adds more thrill! it enhances your other senses." the man giggles. oh how much you want to punch his face. "as per the rules of our bet, you have to let me do whatever!" he chirps, as you mumble a soft 'fine' just to get this over with.

"open your mouth then, darling." aventurine says. knowing full well you can't resist, you open you mouth, not too wide and not too closed. he places a pill on your tongue and places the edge of the glass cup on your lips, that way you could swallow down the pill.

"what did you feed me?" you ask, to which me chuckles as s reply, patting your hair. "you'll see soon." aventurine giggles, and patiently waits. after a few minutes, you feel your body temperature rising rather drastically, with your pants feeling hard.

"what the.." you pant. "aventurine.. what.. what did you.." you asked, confused while panting. "it's so hot.." the blonde smiles at the reaction. just the outcome he wants. "aphrodisiac." he reveals, a hint of mischief in his tone.

that's when you felt him pull down your pants and undergarments. "hey?! aventurine!" that damn bastard merely laughs, taking your now hard cock, and wrapping it around his hand. "come on! don't tell me you forgot about the rules of the bet already?"

as much as you wanted to fight back, you lost and promised that aventurine could do whatever. "aeons, how shameful.." you mumbled, making him smirk even wider. "also, i have a surprise for you, [name]~" he hums.

"and what is-" you asked with a sigh, only to freeze in place and gasp, mouth agape, eyes open under the blindfold. his mouth wraps around your cock, sliding down to take it all in. but the real surprise there lies on his tongue, a piercing.

"shit- aventurine you trickster of an asshole.." you curse at him, and you could feel him giggle around your cock, the vibrations adding stimulation. thanks to the tight restraints, you couldn't move. your legs were apart, though not too much, made it impossible to close when you wanted to.

slowly, aventurine bobs his head, tongue pressed flat against the underside of your cock as the piercing gets dragged across your dick. immediately your body trembles, but unable to move around due to the restraints.

"ah, shit shit shit.." you curse, the teasing of his tongue and piercing being a bit too much. the blonde looks up, pleased with the reactions and rubs his tongue piercing at the head of your cock.

"mphh-?!" your body starts to feel sensitive due to the aphrodisiac, and it's frustrating how you couldn't move. thanks to the blindfold and the aphrodisiac, your hearing was sharper than ever. all you could hear was aventurine making lewd noises loudly, it made you embarrassed.

he slowly picks up the pace, the piercing rubbing against the underside of your dick in a teasing yet agonizing manner. all you could do is move your head around, wanting to trash around as the metal of his piercing is traced over one of the veins of your dick.

"i'll bite that shitty piercing off your fucking tongue, i swear.." you were now panting, face red from pleasure, frustration, embarrassment and the aphrodisiac. "i love your reactions." aventurine smiles, rubbing his piercing on the head of your cock repeatedly. "fuck, aventurine!!" the blonde enjoys your reaction, not caring if you curse or threaten him. you agreed to his proposal, his bet on being the loser who would let the winner do whatever to them.

this goes on for so long, even if in reality it's a few minutes, the teasing felt like torture for centuries! you were now crying, soaking the blindfold. your chest was now heaving up and down as your mouth was open. worse, the aphrodisiac is making your body sensitive, thus squirming at whatever minimal teasing he does. thanks to the blonde ipc stoneheart, you're now on the edge. you felt like cumming, but you somehow can't bring yourself to cum.

"aventurine.. enough of this, just-!" you gasped, unable to take the teasing any longer. "please just let me cum.." you begged, panting as he continued to suck your dick, lewdly and loudly like he's a pornstar highlighting all the sounds he's making.

"come on, there's no turning back against your word now." based on the tone of his words, there's a grin on his lips, and you could already picture it in your head. "please?" you weakly begged, but he enjoys how you're squirming around the chair, tightly strapped to it while crying with a blindfold on.

"nope!"

"fucking bastard.."

your head throws back as he drags his piercing at the underside of your dick, then rubbing it on the head of your cock, and kissing your slit. at this point, you couldn't keep in the absurd noises you make, moaning and whining high-pitched at every tease.

then, aventurine stops, causing you to slump on the chair you were tightly tied on. you felt his lips and tongue leave your dick as you rest. his finger hooks under the blindfold, lifting it up slightly. "i hate you.." you exhaled, breathless from the edging and teasing. "i know." he chuckles.

you glare at him while panting. "i.. i wanna strangle you.." as a reply, he merely sticks out his tongue, the piercing gleaming softly. "i'll bite that off your tongue, i swear-!" you scowl, similar to a hissing cat.

he unhooks his finger, letting the black cloth cover your vision again. he places his gloved hand, wet from the precum of teasing your dick, on the right side of your face. his other soaked gloved rests on the left side of your neck, leaning forward with his lips next to your ear, you could feel his hot breath by your left ear.

before you could even ask, aventurine moans in a high-pitched and lewd way, almost like a girls. you gasped at the pornographic moan he made right next to your ear.

"a- aventurine.." you mumbled, lips quivering. he quickly backs away, snickering at the reaction. "got harder from that?" he asks with a raised brow, gently stroking your twitching dick. "stop teasing me, stop teasing me please.." you begged, panting, hands gripping the armrest of the chair you're strapped on tightly. the aphrodisiacs effects are now driving you crazy and the need to cum is now clouding your mind.

humming, the blonde male goes back to giving you a teasing blow job, the piercing rubbing you in the most sensitive areas. "stop it already, i'm begging you.." you gasped, eyes spilling more tears.

"fine, i'll have mercy on you." the moment you heard him say that, you started mumbling 'thank you's. "so desperate to cum, aren't you [name].." he chuckles, going back to sucking your dick, bobbing his head up and down rapidly.

"aah, thank you, thank you.." you mumbled, feeling yourself draw close to your high every second. "aventurine.. i'm gonna-" before you could even finished, you came in the gambler's mouth, letting out uncharacteristic moans.

the blonde swallows your cum, chuckling at your reaction. while you're claiming down from the orgasm, aventurine stands up, and places a pill inside your opened mouth, making you drink water to swallow the pill down. due to how thirsty you are, you swallowed the entire glass of water.

before you could even react, he starts to remove the restrains. "i gave you a muscle relaxant, a mild one. you'll know the effects soon." he hums, carrying you and placing it on what seems to be a really soft bed.

within a couple of seconds, your muscles start to ease up, no longer tense. "oh am i.. going to.. hate you.. after this.." you groaned, letting your body relax thanks to the muscle relaxant.

"no you won't." the blonde said, smirking as he inserts two of his fingers inside you. "you'll love me more~" aventurine hums, littering your neck with open mouth kisses, causing you to moan softly. "now, now, there's more to come!" he smiles, leaning back to admire your state.

"the fun's not over yet darling~"

this was in my draft for so long and this is the final result sjxnksz i got lazy somewhat so yeah..

written before 2.1

[elysianholly]

This fucking guy

My villain origin story is people claiming that Riley's biggest crime in the series was being boring. He wasn't just boring. He was a passive-aggressive chauvinist who the show bent over backward to defend. A while back on Reddit, I made a list of reasons why Riley sucks. This is that list, and I'm adding to it.

The only reason he punches Parker is because Parker is mouthing off about a girl Riley likes. Everything about this interaction suggests that Riley has heard him say similar before, and hasn't cared until the woman in question was someone he had a vested interest in.

He calls Buffy stupid for not wanting to date him (if this guy slid into your DMs and called you stupid for turning him down, lbr, this would not lead into a healthy, lasting romance)

He immediately puts himself in competition with Buffy. Even at his most inoffensive, he says things like "I don't even know if I could take you."

He has an inherently chauvinistic view of the world (established in The Initiative)

He is upset that Buffy had a significant relationship before she knew him and assumes Buffy boinked Angel in The Yoko Factor

He uses abuser language to excuse his shitty behavior like, "I love you so much I can't think straight."

He decides that Buffy doesn't love him all by himself

When he decides that Buffy doesn't love him, he confides in Xander and doesn't communicate his relationship issues with Buffy

He wants to help Buffy but only in jobs that are "manly." In No Place Like Home, for instance, he nopes out when Buffy suggests he help with the spell to identify what might be wrong with Joyce. Even if there wasn't a lot for him to do, he could, idk, stick around to be moral support for his partner who is trying to figure out what might be attacking her mother. That seems like a pretty standard partner thing to do.

He gets upset that Buffy "doesn't get all worked up over him" the way she did with Angel when "getting all worked up" in CONTEXT means "isn't constantly miserable."

He is sad boi at Buffy in OoMM for also prioritizing her mother's health after she believes Riley is healed rather than sticking around to play nursemaid

He wants Buffy to show emotion over Joyce at a time when Buffy literally cannot (if you've never had a parent in the hospital with a life-threatening illness, maybe you don't know that there are times/places to break down and "in the hospital" where you're supposed to be strong isn't one of them)

He doesn't care that his girlfriend's mother is sick, possibly with something life-threatening; he cares that he got to be the hero of the piece, the shoulder for Buffy to cry on. His only reaction to any of that was to be hurt that Buffy didn't respond the way he thought she should; no concern for her well-being or Joyce's, just Riley getting his feelings hurt because he wasn't the center of Buffy's universe or the rock for her to lean on when all went to pieces

This is further confirmed by the way he just doesn't mention Joyce's absence at all in As You Were. When he leaves Sunnydale, it's after Joyce has had a successful operation. He returns and she's not there and no questions? No condolences? It's because he doesn't care.

He doesn't ask about Buffy's death when she lets him know she died.

He starts separating himself from the Scoobies and then gets mad for not being included

He literally cheats on Buffy with vampire sex workers (there are people who say they were not sex workers, but in a show where monsters are metaphors, you have to be especially dense or willfully obtuse to not realize this is what they are)

Riley intentionally puts himself in a position where he might be killed or turned specifically to SPITE BUFFY, which demonstrates his lack of consideration for what she might have to do later if things go bad

Riley blames Buffy for being roofied by Dracula (again, monsters as metaphor)

He never apologizes or owns that he was unfaithful

He blames his infidelity on Buffy, actually

The first time Buffy learns Riley isn't happy, she's told she should've seen it, which is classic victim blaming and happens from Xander AND Riley (and a good amount of fans who want to excuse that behavior)

He is fine with torturing sentient creatures, and in fact had a stake made specifically so he could torture vampires without killing them

He goes behind Buffy's back all the time

Riley was not boring. If he were boring, he would be inoffensive. Dull to watch but not rage-inducing. But he is rage-inducing because, despite all the passive-aggressive gaslighting bullshit he gets away with, people in this fandom still believe he was "Buffy's best boyfriend." That she was to blame for the deterioration of this relationship. That he was the healthiest of the Buffyverse men. The show does, too. That's why Xander (Wh*don's mouthpiece) gives that sanctimonious little speech to Buffy (the audience in this case) in Into the Woods to scold us for not treating Riley better. Then they double down in As You Were to make Buffy fawn all over herself to let this gaslighting asshole off the hook for everything he put her through.

Riley's sin is not being boring. It's that he was actually awful. Wh*don himself once called Riley a "healthy relationship" for Buffy, and if that doesn't tell you something, there's no talking to you.

[missmeinyourbones]

hi L!!! could we get atsumu and 11 or 12 for your smut game?

NSFW 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS I WILL BLOCK YOU

cw: afab!feader, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, mocking, overstim? rough sex but also soft sex idk he's a man of duality

...

the two of you have been at it for hours.

if there's one thing about atsumu, it's that he doesn't half-ass anything.

nothing about him has ever been quick and easy, he's all-encompassing. he wants your attention on him at all times, and he's not shy about his methods of getting it.

safe to say, fucking you is no different.

you forget how many times you've already cum, but you want to say it's been four. four you can vividly remember, at least. you're not sure if the other shaky waves of pleasure officially count as an orgasm if they never cease between his calculated movements.

on round five (?), atsumu decides to be kind.

with your back against the mattress and his mouth all over you, atsumu makes the conscious, merciful choice of slowing his hips a tad when you start to shake in his hold again.

"tell you what," he perks up, as if some realization has just magically dawned on him. "gimme a kiss and ill let you cum."

if you had any willpower left, you'd roll your eyes, kiss your teeth, tell him to bite you and watch him pout.

but you don't, you can't, so you settle for weakly leaning into his lips.

except it's not exactly a kiss—your lips quivering and gaping against his own as he purposefully indulges his hips in now steady, solid, agonizingly slow thrusts doesn't quite meet his standards.

with the way his curved cock keeps ever so slightly nudging against that soft spot inside of you, you can barely breathe, let alone kiss him how he (thinks he) deserves.

he smiles knowingly against your mouth, and the "kiss" he requested is more so breathing into one another's mouths—with you gasping for a second to breathe and him chuckling at your pathetic attempt to hold out.

atsumu speaks condescendingly, venom wrapped in a sweet scarf as he hums, "nuh uh uh—that doesn't count."

he pulls back slightly, resting his clammy forehead against yours when he sternly speaks, "kiss me properly."

you can't help but whine at his demand. and you know the reaction you're giving him right now is exactly the one he wants. part of you wants to continue to push, to see just how far he'll let you go with testing his boundaries and denying his requests.

but another part of you just wants to fucking cum.

in the midst of your cloudy thoughts, atsumu uses your dissociation to reposition you.

he still has you on your back, legs now resting on his shoulders as he cradles your jaw in his stupidly large hands.

the new position allows him to go deeper, and you both feel it. atsumu takes a sick kind of pride in the way your chest heaves with ragged breaths, how his cock throbs at each shaky inhale you manage to grasp.

"c'mon princess, can't you do it right?"

your head is thrown back, eyes screwed shut as atsumu keeps mocking you. his lips in a smirk right above your own as you continue to pant and mewl hopelessly.

he pushes. physically, verbally, emotionally. he's forcing you to look at him, feel him, think nothing but him, him, him.

"dick too good?" you make out through his groans, though it almost sounds like he's underwater in your ears, "can't even kiss me anymore?"

contrasting to his urgent thrusts, his calloused thumb sits beneath your chin, tapping a few times to get you to open your eyes. you do, and he smiles greedily.

"you look so good like this," he heaves in pride, "nothin' in that pretty little head of yours, huh?"

again, the two of you are mouth-to-mouth. not kissing, but breathing in one another small sounds and shakes.

"just how i like you," he breathes.

and while atsumu initially asked for a kiss, even he agrees that this is much better.

[zeroducks-2]

This is quite random sorry but has Dick ever acknowledge (or as close to it) that a lot of things that Bruce did to him are abusive? (this is for a fic I’m trying to write)

Yes and no!

Dick knows Bruce is an assholes and WILL yell at him to stop being an asshole, or at least he used to. Dick would call him out on his BS and wouldn't let him get away with a lot of things, but this was once upon a time, before they rebooted everything and erased decades of character development. The closest he gets to that post reboot is after Forever Evil - everyone thinks Dick is dead, and Bruce wants people to keep thinking that, hence he forces Dick to join Spiral and become Agent 37.

Dick is, as you can imagine, not thrilled. He yells and fights and Bruce beats the everloving shit out of him in a very upsetting sequence, where Dick is half naked and Bruce is wearing most of his gear while he keeps hitting him to the point of leaving him bleeding on the floor of the Batcave.

Dick begs and tries to appeal to everything he can including the "things can never be the same between us after this", to which Bruce essentially replies that it's a sacrifice he's willing to make. Ha. I say that this is especially upsetting because Dick went through a horribly traumatic experience during the events of Forever Evil, in which among other things he was tortured by Thomas Wayne Jr AKA Owlman, who wanted to turn Dick into his own sidekick after losing his Talon. The way Bruce beats and humiliates Dick is drawn in a way which creates a clear parallel between Thomas and Bruce's actions towards Dick, in a way that suggests they're "not that different after all", but this narratively goes nowhere and I don't get why they fuck they even came up with that. But anyway.

All of this gets forgotten soon enough. Despite his own warnings Dick forgives Bruce after a very short time, pines for home and tries to communicate with Bruce in any way he can because he "misses his dad", which to be honest made my guts churn and my bile rise after Bruce nearly beat him comatose. Essentially the story forgets Bruce did all of that and so does Dick, but for the brief time Dick was allowed to be aware of it and angry about it, he was indeed aware that he was being abused even if he never used the word abuse.

This is the case for lots of stories in which similar instances happen, as I mentioned before especially pre-reboot. Dick does call Bruce out on his bullshit - especially if Bruce is being an abusive asshole to someone else, since Dick is way more prone to defend other people than he is to defend himself, like here

or here

But despite being obviously aware that there are issues in the way Bruce does things, to put it mildly, he never uses the word "abuse" (which is sort of a prohibited word for DC standards, kind of like "rape". They're way more likely to say non consensual than rape because it's a less upsetting word apparently).

There is an instance of this post reboot, and it's during a conversation Dick has with Tim. I believe it happens in the Pride comics of 2022, but I don't have the panels on hand at the moment. Basically Tim asks for advice on how to please Bruce, being the man demanding and prone to bad moods, and Dick flat out replies "I spent a very big part of my life trying to please him, and I left when I realized it was impossible" which to me is so interesting since it's the textbook reaction of a former Golden Child who fell from grace and became a Scapegoat (please note that tumblr's definition of Golden Child is completely arbitrary; golden child doesn't mean "good kid", it means a child who the parent holds to the highest standards, on which there are the biggest expectations and the strongest pressure regarding everything the child does. Sometimes a parent lives vicariously through them and perceives them as an extension of themselves, but not necessarily. If you watched Encanto, Isabella is the Golden Child of the family).

Something similar happens during Nightwing's run from the 90s.

Dick lives in Bludhaven and at this point he's gone essentially no-contact with Bruce. Tim, being the new Golden Child, is trying to reel Dick back into the toxic dynamic because he genuinely thinks it's going to be good for both Dick and Bruce.

I'm pointing this out not to fault Tim in any way, he's just a kid what does he know, but to show you that indeed yes, Dick is aware that he's been abused otherwise he wouldn't have left, he wouldn't be on a no talking basis with his parental figure, and he wouldn't reply to Tim that he spent so much time of his life deluding himself into thinking that Batman actually needed him. Of course this also goes nowhere and their relationship isn't allowed to grow or heal (things are just conveniently forgotten after a while), but as I mentioned, Dick knows what's up.

That being said, I believe it's also worth noting that many many times Bruce abuses the fuck out of Dick and Dick doesn't really acknowledge it, just takes it. Sometimes he doesn't have the spoons to fight back, sometimes he thinks he deserves it, sometimes he just doesn't know how to react because Bruce strikes like an unprovoked viper (this happens especially when Dick was still a kid but already a Titan). A very good example of this is what happens after Jason's death.

Bruce doesn't tell Dick that Jason died. When Alfred offers to let him know, Bruce says "I will handle it", and he doesn't. Then there's Jason's funeral and Bruce doesn't tell Dick about it, again Alfred offers to inform him, Bruce says he will handle it. He doesn't.

Eventually Dick finds out for collateral reasons and has an emotional breakdown in front of the other Titans, which are powerless to help him. For reference, this is how he reacts when he has definitive proof that the boy is undoubtedly gone, if there was any doubt that Dick did care about Jason.

So Dick goes to the grave with Kory but then decided to confront Bruce alone, and Bruce, in the abusive feat of the century, blames Dick for not having showed up to Jason's funeral, despite having refused to 1: tell him about Jason's death AT ALL, and 2: refused TWICE when Alfred very gently suggested to inform Dick.

Dick of course argues that he didn't know anything, and so Bruce reacts by gaslighting him, telling him they he never cared about Jason and in fact he was angry that Bruce adopted Jason and not him. Which is not true, Dick just wanted to know WHY Bruce adopted Jason and hot him. Oh and also punches him in the face when Dick tries to argue that Jason was an untrained kid. Please note that when all of this happens, Dick is hurt and can barely stand on his feet, having one of his legs in a cast.

Cherry on top, Bruce explicitly saying that he never should have had a partner and never will again, essentially "our partnership up to this point meant nothing".

In this instance Dick is too neck-deep in his own self guilt to see that he's been through a sequence of extremely abusive behavior, and never really faults Bruce for that, using the easy-coming rationalization that Bruce was in pain, suffering for Jason's death, couldn't see reason etc etc (quick PSA: someone suffering isn't entitled to abuse and gaslight anyone. And even if we really want to enable Bruce cut Bruce some slack because he was grieving, it doesn't make his behavior any less abusive. Regardless of the reasons why, the way he acts here is very damaging towards Dick who in turn did nothing to deserve it, and is grieving Jason too).

See, the problem with Dick and Bruce is the sysyphean nature of comicbooks. Dick is doomed to be the original Golden Child who falls from grace, becomes the Scapegoat, but ultimately can never be completely free of the clutches of the relationship he has and had with Bruce, for better or worse. And since he can't ever truly get out and can't ever completely be independent, the abuse end up getting downplayed. If Dick never truly gets away from Bruce it's because it's not that bad, isn't it? Nay, it's because Dick cant. He is quite literally not allowed to, same as Bruce is not allowed to truly grow from his mistakes and learn to treat his former partner, sort-of-child and dear friend with the respect and love he actually feels for him, because despite all of this and because this is fiction, Bruce does love Dick more than it can be put into words and would set the world on fire for him. But, alas, he also is doomed to keep treating Dick like shit and never really learn from his mistakes.

So again, the answer to your question is yes and no. Dick is aware of how much of a difficult person Bruce is. He's aware of the domineering aspects of his personality. But he will ultimately brush it off in the name of the good that there is and there was between them, and he will keep answering Batman's call every time, because he's not allowed to ever truly grow apart from him. It doesn't matter how much he gets angry and how much Bruce hurts him, they're indissolubly tied in this dynamic and unless there is a huge shift in the way DC execs handle things, I don't see how this dynamic can change in the foreseeable future. Sadly enough, because I'd really like to see something new.

[ninyard]

hello I would like the kevallison smut ?? Please

The promised kevallison headcanons (aka how the two of them figure out what the other person is into + how they might go about doing it)

When they start hooking up it’s all pretty standard stuff. Allison gets him off after a game. Kevin eats her out if there’s ten minutes free in between classes and an empty dorm room. They’re a booty call before, during or after a night out, or a no-strings-attached way to get some frustration off their chest. Their friends-with-benefits situation is more often than not just a quick fuck when they’re bored. But it's kind of just… that? It's just fucking. It's a handful of different positions, in a handful of different places, but nothing more than fucking, finishing, and leaving. They don’t feel a need to bring it any further though, in some ways hesitant that the other will catch feelings if it gets too intimate. But from the get-go their agreement is clear - if either starts to get attached, or jealous, or even thinks that it might be worth pursuing, they stop. It doesn’t happen, of course, but in the beginning they really try to err on the side of caution until they know that for certain.

There’s one of two ways that their casual hook ups becomes more... interesting every now and again: one) accidentally. two) intentionally.

If it is accidental, I think they stumble upon the other’s kinks by the Grace of God. It's a quick fuck that turns into something more because one of them picks up on how the other's demeanor changes and they realise oh. oh. That did something for them. The moment when it happens is so intoxicating and sexually charged; So intense at the realisation of how turned on the other person is, that they’re just waiting for someone in the dorm room over, or outside the bathroom at a party, or in the almost-empty parking lot to ask did anyone hear Allison and Kevin fucking last night? For either of them, single and used to quick fucks with strangers that don't mean anything nor have the longevity for experimenting with, getting to dip into their fantasies is unparalleled pleasure.

If it’s accidental, it’s a pleasant surprise for them both, and Kevin and Allison have that in common - they are both incredibly, heavily turned on by their fuck-buddies feeling satisfied. It happens, where sometimes Kevin just wants to be blown without returning the gesture, or where Allison wants to come without having to put in the effort it takes to give back. More often than not, though, whether it be with each other or with other people, they're most satisfied when the other person is satisfied, too. So when the topic of kinks and turn ons is broached, or accidentally revealed, it doesn't matter that it's Kevin, or that it's Allison. When they've been fucking for long enough that they find themselves discovering these things, they're comfortable enough with each other to not feel embarrassed about what happens when they have sex. If it makes her wet, and it keeps him hard, then it doesn't matter. They don't talk about their sex lives outside of when or where it happens - a kink or two isn't going to change that.

For Kevin, sweet submissive baby boy who just lives to be praised - oh, when Allison finds out, it opens this door for changing their dynamics that she hadn't even realised existed. Kevin gets so turned on that he practically melts, and Allison eats it up like it's the hottest thing she's ever laid eyes on.

They've found themselves standing up against a wall in a bathroom at a party somewhere, too many suggestive looks across the room leading to a desperately desired handjob or two, and Kevin is fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He struggles with it for a second, before pulling the black leather out from it's square frame and Allison offhandedly says good job with a laugh as she trails kisses up his neck and her fingers down his stomach. She feels his reaction to her words before she notices how his eyes glaze over with the thoughts in his head; how he stills at her words, how he's yearning through his sigh when she follows with a knowing whisper of oh, you want me to tell you how good you're being?

Him in her hand, the long acrylic nails of her free hand dragging lines down his neck, Allison feels how needy he is and softly purrs in his ear to tell her how much he wants it. It's not lost on him how she plays with him like putty between her tender fingers, but still he looks into her eyes with his eyebrows knitted into each other, too close to argue; The please that escapes his lips trapped in between a gasp and a moan is rebutted with her sultry say it again. I want to hear that pretty voice beg. It takes the stalling of the rhythm in her working hand before he finds the ability to whimper out his desperate please, please, please. She's using her free hand to hold his face still, their eyes locked together, while he can barely keep himself in one piece. Her thumb is soft over his lips, brushing over little gasps and short breaths, holding him while she whispers a question and he falls apart in her hands.

If Kevin loves to be topped by strong women, Allison loves to hear a man moan. And she’s never heard him like this before, his lips drawn apart just inches from hers, one hand steadying himself against the wall and the other tugging and pawing at the skin of the small of her back. She doesn't let him look away as she guides him to climax with her soft words of gentle praise. How pretty he looks when he's trying his hardest to be quiet, how well he's doing at keeping himself composed.

Allsion doesn't care that she's accidentally unlocked this submissive side of Kevin; firstly, he's hot as hell when he's this desperate, and it's not as if she's going to be leaving that bathroom and calling him a good boy on the court, because that's not how this works. She's fucked him angry and she's fucked him needy - the passion of fulfilled fantasy only working on a different level to anything else.

(When he's caught his breath and started to clean himself up, she washes her hands and admires her work; his rosy cheeks burning up as she watches him in the mirror. She pushes herself up onto the vanity, and when he can finally bare to look at her again, she says I'm proud of you with a playful smile. Kevin covers his face to laugh in semi-embarrassment, his head shaking as he finds himself in between her legs. They don't talk about it too much before he returns the favour.)

Then there's, Allison, sweet Allison, who's interests work in harmony like a perfect composed song. We knows she loves to hear the men she sleeps with, but there's two things that really get her going that more often than not go hand in hand - rough sex, and loud sex. Living in dorms, it's hard to indulge, especially the second, but usually she'll just pull him close, with his lips to her ear or hers to his. Allison gets off on hearing the person she's fucking, and Kevin is not an exception to that.

They've somehow had a stroke of luck - an empty house in Columbia and some time to kill. Kevin is on the edge of the bed, and Allison is facing Kevin while sitting on his lap, her knees resting on either side of him, in a skirt that is already so short that it's barely even there. They're making out, and Kevin isn't really thinking, but he slaps her ass - something he'd done once or twice before, but never that hard, never that loud. Allison sits back, hands on his shoulders with her mouth open wide. She doesn't get the chance to finish her questioning what are you doing? Before his mischievous smile curls around, what, this? as he laughs and does it again. When she stands up off of him in a half-protest, shaking her finger at how close he was getting to really getting her going, he follows her up. He stands in front of her with feigned apologies for his boldness. She leans into his kiss, with arms wrapped tight around her waist, but instead of pouting his lips, he picks her up and throws her back onto the bed while she scream-laughs.

Body over body, on top of her then, a hand finds it's way in between strands of shiny blonde. A hand that she takes into hers, guiding his fist to grasp a handful of her hair. When he doesn't hold it hard enough she tugs it gently, keeping his fist closed with her hand around it. Looking down at her, he purses his lips with an oh that pauses his other hand while it pushes up her skirt to touch her over her panties. Reading him while waiting for the laugh that never comes is agonisingly long, as she braces herself for the mortifying conversation that he was not going to be entertaining it. Instead he waits for her hand to trail away before pulling her head, hard, back into the bed. And when she shuts her eyes and parts her lips in pleasure, he is quick to bring his hand up to her chin, tilting her head back. The two smallest of his fingers fingers tuck themselves neatly behind her ear, the other two tight between her jawline and her cheekbone. The ball of his thumb is resting on her chin. She doesn't stop him when his thumb trails down from her cupid's bow and into her mouth. She doesn't stop him when he takes it out hold it around her throat, either. Kevin is careful to scatter wet bruises down her chest where they won't be seen. When he's standing back to take off his pants and she’s lifting her top over her head, he asks, you want it hard? and she responds do you even fucking have to ask?

Her skirt is up over her hips and her thong down her thighs. He’s on his knees with her legs over his thighs, maybe he’s pinning her hands down above her head with one big hand over her little wrists. Headboard banging, unrestrained volume, handprints on ass cheeks and scratches across spines. Allison gets sex-drunk when he manhandles her. It’s sloppy, it’s messy, it’s loud, it’s so hot that it’s on fire. It’s eye-rolling, being in a daze afterwards type of fucking. It’s mascara running down cheeks, how the fuck am I supposed to look anyone in the eye after having that done to me type of fucking. It’s needing to have a shower immediately afterwards type of sweaty, messy fucking.

(It’s probably one of the only times they almost/kind of get caught. Not because of the noise, or the sex itself but because of the aftermath. Andrew and Neil clock INSTANTLY the missing and changed details when they regroup - how Kevin’s hair is freshly washed, how Allison has taken her heavy makeup off leaving only a fresh coat of mascara and some lipgloss remaining. How they can barely look at each other in case it reminds them of what has just happened. Their puffy lips, their general daze. Yeah, they fly a little too close to the sun that time - not enough time afterwards to recuperate from an absolutely dirty, filthy, fucking.)

If it's an intentional thing, a discussion about what they're into, and they know before getting into it/it's a conscious choice/it's intentional/some sort of discussion/WHATEVER? There's a few ways I could potentially see it possibly coming up.

A game of Never Have I Ever or some other drinking game with the group and the discussions of kinks come up; Kevin drinks when somebody mentions a praise kink, or being dominated. Allison drinks when somebody mentions liking it rough. Their looks to each other are quick but knowing, Kevin's raised eyebrows when Allison drinks to say she doesn't mind being degraded, the flick of her eyes when he drinks to say he doesn't mind begging for it.

They don't hang around after hooking up, usually. Clean up, get dressed, and leave. That's the routine. But they're talking afterwards for a little while, and the subject of fantasies comes up, and while shes fixing her makeup and tying up her hair she asks him what's the one thing he'd go crazy for. he considers it for a little bit but then gets embarrassed because it's a way harder thing to talk about when you're not actively turned on or drunk. They offer each other tiny pieces as they joke about it, starting tame before they eventually just say it out straight. (she calls him princess when she's leaving and he calls her a slut before she shuts the door.)

They ask each other outright. Kinda similar to accidentally figuring it out but they ask each other for it instead of the other person just doing something and stumbling upon it. Maybe Kevin asks her to tell him how good he feels and she asks why, are you into that? and they like. talk through it . Do you like it when I ask you this? Can I call you this? Do you like it when I tell you you're doing such a good job? Talking through sex can be so hot and even hearing the questions out loud sets the imagination off on a fucking marathon. Maybe Allison asks can you choke me? and he asks her how she likes it before agreeing. Do you like it when I hold you like this? Do you want me to spit in your mouth? Do you want to shut the fuck up and listen to what you do to me? It's a much more thorough discussion than them simply going oh, i think the other person has [blank] kink, so i'm just gonna go ahead and do that. It's a request, instead. Both of them knowing what they want and knowing how to ask for it? Yeaaaahhhh