#no you didn't lol

[thefreaksrunthisshow]

Eddie the Bitch

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Smut

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, 18+ Only, Mentions Drugs, Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Squirting, P in V Sex, Loss of Virginity, Pet Name Kink, Slight Dom Eddie, if I missed anything let me know! 

Summary: It’s your senior year at Hawkins High and you are becoming all too aware of your ever-growing crush on your best friend, Eddie Munson. Does he also have feelings for you?

A/N: I know the title sounds weird but trust me it’s cute and makes sense when you read the fic lol 

Masterlist

As you close your locker you jump at the sight of your best friend since middle school, Eddie Munson. He’s wearing typical Eddie attire; black skinny jeans with holes in the knees, a metal band tee, slightly tucked in at the front, his black leather jacket under his jean vest, black hi-top Converse, and a black belt with silver pyramid studs lining it. Of course, he’s also wearing the rings he never seems to take off, his long curly brown hair is still slightly damp from his shower this morning, and he’s got a goofy grin on his face.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, princess,” he chuckles, crossing his arms across his chest. Your heart flutters at his nickname for you. Even though he’s been calling you that for some time, it never fails to make your heart beat just a tick faster.

Though you had been best friends with him since middle school, it’s easy enough for you to admit that you and Eddie had grown a bit further apart in your high school years, mostly due to his extracurricular activities. Eddie was now known as the best drug dealer around, and though you disagree with his new career, it still doesn’t stop you from staying close to him, not when you’ve been becoming ever so much more aware of the growing crush you have on him. You know he will never see you as anything but his best friend, but there’s a part of you that wishes he will notice you, touch you, maybe even - fuck you.

Embarrassed at your thoughts, your face starts burning. “Ed! Stop sneaking up on me!” you exclaim, giving his shoulder a playful slap.

He holds his hands out in front of him, waving them defensively. “Woah, there! You have maimed me!” he laughs, feigning an injury. “I just wanted to check and make sure we were still on to hang out at my place tonight!”

You always hung out at Eddie’s place, a small little trailer located in the trailer park of Hawkins, Indiana, your hometown. Since Eddie lived with his uncle and he was never home, always away working the night shift at his job, it was the perfect place to smoke the occasional weed that you did and just hang out without being interrupted. You don’t blame his uncle, he’s doing all that he can to provide for them, but Eddie could have used some more parental guidance growing up, and perhaps he wouldn’t be a drug dealer now.

“Of course, Eds! What do you have planned?”

“That is part of the mystery,” he says taking a dramatic bow as he backs away from you. “Catch a ride with me after school?”

“Fine,” you huff, letting out a small sigh.

“That’s my girl!” he replies, giving you a wink.

All day you could not focus on any of your classes, your conversation with Eddie replaying through you remind over and over again. You know he doesn’t mean anything with his flirting, it’s just his personality, but it still makes you feel some sort of special way. 

Though Eddie has never been particularly well in social situations and you are his only super close friend, you know he has been in several relationships before whereas you have not. Yeah, you’ve dated every now and then, but the relationships never were steady and usually ended after the first date. 

Finally, the day ends as the bell sounds dismissing you from your last class. You stop by your locker to put away your books and then head to the parking lot to meet Eddie, but he catches you before you exit the school.

“Someone’s in a rush to get outta here, huh?” he smirks, placing an arm across your shoulder and pulling you close.

“Shut up, Ed!” you say, throwing his arm off of you and sprinting towards his van. He’s right on your heels the whole way, both of you giggling like small children.

You arrive at his van panting and out of breath and try to open the door, to jump in before he reaches you, but it’s locked. “Oh, come on! Since when have you started locking your van?”

He leans over you, trapping you against the door of his van, both hands on either side of your body. “I just did it today so I could trap you here,” he responds smugly.

“You bitch!”

“Ah, yes that is I, Eddie the Bitch!” he laughs. Reaching next to you he inserts his key into the passenger side door keyhole and unlocks it, holding it open. “Get in loser!”

The drive to Eddie’s house is short and you both sit in silence the whole way since he had turned up his radio to a rather earsplitting volume the moment he plopped down into the driver's seat. When he parks his car in the driveway he runs around to your side, opening the door for you and holding his hand out for you to grab onto for support. You gingerly take his hand, it’s warm, slightly sweaty, and it’s way bigger than your own. You can feel electricity pulse through you at his touch, but it ebbs down as your quickly release his hand, being sure to not hold on for a moment too long in case he gets weirded out.

Eddie throws his jacket off and onto the couch, revealing his tattoos. “Help yourself to a drink if you want, I think there’s some soda in the fridge,” Eddie calls from down the hall as he riffles through some stuff in his room looking for the perfect movie for you to watch.

Opening the fridge you see a pitcher of some sort of blue liquid, thinking it’s a fruit drink you pour a bit into a glass and give it a taste. “Ew,” you mumble, smacking your lips together at the disgusting taste. “That is definitely not kool-aid.” You pour the rest of the drink down the sink and replace the pitcher back into the fridge, opting for a soda instead. 

“You want one?” you yell down in Ed’s direction.

“Sure!”

Grabbing another soda for Eddie you also dig through the pantry looking for a snack. There’s not much there, but finally, you find an old bag of salt and vinegar chips. You taste one, and sure enough, they are a bit stale, but you decide they are still edible. Retreating down the hallway to Ed’s room with your stash, you join him on his bed, handing him his soda and setting the chips down between you. 

The two of you chat and watch the movie; before long you are snuggled up together on the bed legs intertwined and Eddie’s arm over your shoulder. Almost subconsciously one of his hands finds its way to your thigh and starts massaging it gently. You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, that it’s more a comfort thing for him, but the motion sends a tingling sensation right to your core. 

You do your best to divert your attention to the movie but when Eddie snuggles closer, his hand drifting slightly higher, and you feel his hard cock press into your leg, you have to stifle a moan.

“You okay?” Eddie whispers, noticing you tensing up. 

“Y- yeah, I’m fine,” you say, your voice accidentally coming out a bit higher than normal and your cheeks burning from a blush.

“You sure?” Eddie asks, repositioning himself a bit farther away from you. His hand leaves your thigh and instead finds your head, brushing a piece of hair back into place behind your ear before resting on your forehead. “You feel a bit hot. Are you feeling okay?”

“Well, you being so close to me surely isn’t helping. How am I supposed to concentrate with your hard dick on my leg?” you mumble under your breath, thinking it was low enough that Eddie couldn’t hear you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch all of that,” Eddie says, a lopsided grin on his face. “Something about my hard dick? Would you care to elaborate?”

“I - What? I didn’t say anything!” you exclaim, jumping up off the bed and turning around to hide your face from him.

Eddie inches forward onto the edge of the bed. “That’s what I heard,” he says with a shrug. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, (Y/N). I can take care of you if you’ll let me.”

“But we’re friends! Best Friends, Ed! Friends don’t - do that!”

“Oh, princess. You really are blind, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“I’ve had a massive crush on you since freshman year.”

Turning around, you look at him expecting to see him with that tale-tale look on his face that lets you know he’s cracking a joke, but that face isn’t present. “You’re being dead serious, aren’t you?”

“That I am. You know me so well, sweetheart. I don’t know how you didn’t notice my crush on you.”

“Ed, I’ve liked you since sophomore year.”

“Ouch, my heart!” he taunts, falling backward onto the bed grasping at his chest.

“Oh, shut it!” you giggle as he sits back up, brushing his long locks out of his face.

“Come here,” he says gently, moving back to where he was while you were watching the movie, his arms spread wide. You sigh and crawl back over to him, straddling him and resting your head on his chest. His arms come around and hold you tightly. 

“Hey, look at me,” he pleads and you glance up at him and into those dark eyes of his. “You are stunning. If you want you can be all mine,” he says, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. 

Those words have you pressing your thighs together in an attempt to lessen the growing tension there. The fact that you can feel his hard cock pressed up against you is not helping either.

“My, my,” he tuts. “Why are you pressing those delicious thighs together?”

“Oh my god, Ed! Can you not?” You roll off of him and go back to laying beside him. 

His hand attaches itself to your thigh giving it a squeeze, before wandering upwards every so slightly and then back down again towards your knee. Before you can stop yourself, you let out a little gasp at his touch and he quickly draws his hand away.

“I’m sorry. I - I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He licks his lips in anticipation. He’s finding it hard to control his impulses right now, but for you, he will hold back.

“Ed,” you breathe, finally deciding to give in to your desires. “I - I want you.”

Immediately, he jumps on you like a stray dog that hasn’t eaten in weeks. Rolling over on top of you he rests his weight on his arms and devours your neck. Sucking and kissing you in all the right spots causing you to let out a low moan as he grinds down onto your thigh before planting a kiss on your lips.

“Fuck. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he groans. “May I remove this?” he asks tugging on the sleeve of your shirt.

You nod. He peels off your shirt and throws it to the ground of his room where it is sure to get lost amongst all his own clothing there, but you don’t mind. The cold of his room hits you like a ton of bricks, causing your nipples to stand so erect it’s noticeable under your simple t-shirt bra.

Eddie begins peppering your chest with kisses before sucking on the top of your breast. He lifts you up and grasps your bra clasp and waits for your approval before unclasping it and removing it, chunking it across the room. “Oh god,” he wails before taking a breast into his mouth and sucking on your nipple. His other hand travels to your other breast and massages it. 

Your hands soon find themselves under his shirt, raking at his skin for support as you squirm under his touch. He momentarily stops his kissing to remove his shirt and pants before returning back to your skin, trailing kisses down your stomach to the top of your pants and back up again. Fingers shaking you reach down and try to unbutton your pants, your nerves getting the best of you.

“Allow me, my queen,” Eddie says, expertly removing your pants. “Cute undies, too bad they are absolutely soaked,” he comments, pulling the band back before letting it retract back and hit your skin with a smack. 

“Ed, please” you whimper as he slowly slides your underwear off followed by his. His cock springs out of his underwear, already leaking with precum. The sight of it makes you almost burst with anticipation and you spread your legs, begging him to enter you with his cock.

“Not yet,” he says, trailing a finger through your wet folds, gently spreading them open. “Shit, you’re so wet, and all for me,” he hums. Removing his rings and placing them onto his nightstand, he carefully inserts his middle ring followed by his ring finger into your hole. 

He finger-fucks you gently, quickly finding just the right spot and speed to make you scream, hitting it over and over again until your eyes are rolling back into your head, your orgasm impending.

“I- I’m gonna cum, Ed!” you screech.

“That’s a good girl. Cum for me, princess.”

On his command you cum hard, panting and squirting your precious liquid all over his bed, soaking it. His eyes glaze over with lust at the sight. “Oh my god, that was so hot. Fuck, I’m never washing these sheets again.” 

“Fuck, you’re really good at this.”

“I told you once already, babe. You know me so well and I know you just as well,” he says, planting a kiss on your lips.

He reaches over to his nightstand and pulls out a condom, tearing it open with his teeth. He puts it on, rolls it up, and palms himself back to full erection. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as ever,” you giggle, butterflies in your stomach.

He lines himself up and slowly enters you, allowing you time to adjust to his length. It hurts a bit as he stretches you out but it soon fades away. 

“You good?” he asks, determined to make sure he’s not hurting you.

“Yeah. God, Eds. You’re big.”

He shrugs and slowly begins pumping into you, increasing his speed in accordance with how your body reacts to him. Your second orgasm of the night soon washes over you and at the sight of your beautiful face contorting under his control, Eddie loses all of his self-control. 

Relentlessly he begins pounding into you, chasing his own high. The thought of him using you to reach his climax has your pussy contracting around him. Your body shakes violently as you squirt again, this time all over him and his dick. 

The pleasure from you contracting around him and releasing more of your liquid is enough to finally tip him over the edge. With one last thrust and a screech, he cums hard, the hardest he has ever cum before. “FUCK!” he screams and then he stills, collapsing onto you.

Legs still shaking from your post-orgasm bliss you run a hand through his hair. The two of you stay like this for a few moments until you break the silence. “I could use some water, Ed. You fucked me too good.”

Eddie mumbles something incoherent as he peels himself off of you, returning a few moments later with two glasses of water in hand. You move over on the bed to an area that’s not wet as he hands you one of the glasses.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” he says, eyeing the bits of red blood on the sheets.

Your face immediately begins burning, you guess you should have told him beforehand. “I’m fine, Ed. Um, you just took my virginity.”

His eyes turn into saucers and almost pop out of his head. “You’re lying. You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not.”

“Shit! You should have told me! I could have been even more attentive to your needs! I just figured you had already had sex, you know? I mean you’ve dated before… damn it.” he runs a hand through his hair and starts looking for your clothes in the midst of his own scattered all over the floor. Not being able to find them, he tosses you one of his t-shirts and a clean pair of his boxers to wear as he throws on a new outfit himself

“Eds, it was perfect. You were perfect. It’s everything I could have ever imagined,” you say as you throw on his clothes.

Eddie climbs back on the bed and the two of you lay cuddling. “Did you try any of that blue drink in the fridge by chance?” he asks finally. “I saw an extra glass in the sink that I didn’t notice before.

“Yeah, it was disgusting so I poured it out and got a soda instead,” you reply with a shrug.

“Oh my god! (Y/N), that’s the experimental aphrodisiac drug I’ve been testing out!” he says with a chuckle.

“Eddie Munson! Why are you experimenting with such a thing? And why wasn’t it labeled?” you exclaim slapping his chest.

“Well, I guess it’s safe to say it works.”

“You bitch,” you mumble.

“Ah, yes it seems I am still Eddie the Bitch, huh?” he cackles, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Well, I’d say your Eddie My Bitch now.”

“Touché, my princess.”

[kittlesandbugs]

As always, plz reblog for moar data and feel free to share other moments in the tags! 😘

[ilhoonftw]

when poliśh millenials speak english ... so many of them try to fake "native" accent while they use poliśh grammar, just with english words 😭 who are you trying to fool!

oh and there's a whole demographic of well-off poles who don't say they are poliśh. 'oh i'm european :)' that's some liberal bs like... do you "claim" the same western europe that is the prime source of polonophobią... american polonophobią and slurs have nothing on what people in germany go through

another thing is after ww2 połand wasn't in charge of it's own narrative (it was under u know who) so now you have a bunch of countries, including but not limited to gęrmany, ruśsia, isrąel, that successfully revised a looot of history. a lot of things you think are historical facts are lies 🤷‍♂️ or at best skewed to benefit one side and slander the other. kręsy anyone

also the wildest thing to me is when ruśsians online claim that połish people born on the land controlled by ruśsian empire in the 1700s-1900s were actually ruśsians 💀 even though it's a person that claimed to be poliśh all their life and the place they were born in/resided in was historically and culturally polish

i talk about this stuff bc all things considered it's a niche topic and i just have a looot to say

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[valeriapryanikova]

This season, on Hermitcraft...

(speedpaint)

[zoe-oneesama]

Yeah, no jokes here.

Episode 52 Part 13 First < Previous > Next Season 1, Season 2, Season 3, Season 4, Season 5 Ep 41, Ep 42, Ep 43, Ep 44 Ep 45, Ep 46, Ep 47, Ep 48, Intermission, Ep 49, Ep 50, Ep 51

Bonus:

The only joke is you two.

Ko-fi | Patreon

[raziraphale]

Tag your age if you wanna bc I was just thinking about how I have used floppy disks before (I'm 25 and used them in elementary computer lab) but my 22 y.o. brother hasn't which is so weird to me like 3 years isn't a long time at all to me

[cassberry]

the link dying montages are going to be incredible in totk

[stellarspecter]

Jon Matteson and Joey Richter in Nerdy Prudes Must Die (2023) / The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals (2018)

[pixelatedcrown]

fanart of a restaurant sign I took a photo of years ago and could only find a low res picture of online. in my memory they were wearing black leotards and holding a big platter with a giant anime meat on the bone, which I still want to draw. my headcanon is their names are fork and knife

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

DC x DP Prompt

Some way, somehow (up to you), Dan, Danny, and Dani all end up living with Vlad.

Vlad is ecstatic. The three D's aren't, but it's not like they have a choice.

To push things forward, they end up begrudgingly going to a Wayne Gala with him, and like most gala kids, they were subjected to forceful, nosy, uncomfortable, and unnecessary questions from adults they don't like, and they know, don't really care.

One of the few obvious questions would be, 'How old are you?'.

Dan, despite being in a clone body of Danny, grows just a bit faster and taller than him and refuses to be the same age as that twerp. So he says that he's one year older than Danny.

Danny, who is absolutely pissed that his clone body is growing faster than him and also refuses to be the same age as that asshole, uses his actual age.

Dani, on the other hand, is having some internal struggles about being a clone and how her body and mind were basically forced to become more mature than she actually is. How she desperately wishes to be a child but will never have the opportunity to be. Or how she wants to be her own person but doesn't know how, and is simply borrowing from everyone around her.

She gets the dreaded question, 'How old are you?'. She doesn't want to be too close to Dan or Danny and 'copy' them. But she doesn't want to be too far off from them because she's really not much smaller than Danny, and also finds comfort in being close to them even if she is just 'copying' them. So she says she's a year younger than Danny.

The Gala goes on, yada yada yada. Then they go home.

A few weeks later, one of the D's (I'm thinking Dan) finds an online article about the Masters family and begins laughing their ass off.

Apparently, Irish twins were one thing. But Irish triplets? That had the general public and social elite in an uproar for weeks to come.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[expelliarmus]

[inkskinned]

the thing is that they're so fascinated by sex, they love sex, they can't imagine a world without sex - they need sex to sell things, they need sex to be part of their personality, they need sex to prove their power - but they hate sex. they are disgusted by it.

sex is the only thing that holds their attention, and it is also the thing that can never be discussed directly.

you can't tell a child the normal names for parts of their body, that's sexual in nature, because the body isn't a body, it's a vessel of sex. it doesn't matter that it's been proven in studies (over and over) that kids need to know the names of their genitals; that they internalize sexual shame at a very young age and know it's 'dirty' to have a body; that it overwhelmingly protects children for them to have the correct words to communicate with. what matters is that they're sexual organs. what matters is that it freaks them out to think about kids having body parts - which only exist in the context of sex.

it's gross to talk about a period or how to check for cancer in a testicle or breast. that is nasty, illicit. there will be no pain meds for harsh medical procedures, just because they feature a cervix.

but they will put out an ad of you scantily-clad. you will sell their cars for them, because you have abs, a body. you will drip sex. you will ooze it, like a goo. like you were put on this planet to secrete wealth into their open palms.

they will hit you with that same palm. it will be disgusting that you like leather or leashes, but they will put their movie characters in leather and latex. it will be wrong of you to want sexual freedom, but they will mark their success in the number of people they bed.

they will crow that it's inappropriate for children so there will be no lessons on how to properly apply a condom, even to teens. it's teaching them the wrong things. no lessons on the diversity of sexual organ growth, none on how to obtain consent properly, none on how to recognize when you feel unsafe in your body. if you are a teenager, you have probably already been sexualized at some point in your life. you will have seen someone also-your-age who is splashed across a tv screen or a magazine or married to someone three times your age. you will watch people pull their hair into pigtails so they look like you. so that they can be sexy because of youth. one of the most common pornography searches involves newly-18 young women. girls. the words "barely legal," a hiss of glass sand over your skin.

barely legal. there are bills in place that will not allow people to feel safe in their own bodies. there are people working so hard to punish any person for having sex in a way that isn't god-fearing and submissive. heteronormative. the sex has to be at their feet, on your knees, your eyes wet. when was the first time you saw another person crying in pornography and thought - okay but for real. she looks super unhappy. later, when you are unhappy, you will close your eyes and ignore the feeling and act the role you have been taught to keep playing. they will punish the sex workers, remove the places they can practice their trade safely. they will then make casual jokes about how they sexually harass their nanny.

and they love sex but they hate that you're having sex. you need to have their ornamental, perfunctory, dispassionate sex. so you can't kiss your girlfriend in the bible belt because it is gross to have sex with someone of the same gender. so you can't get your tubes tied in new england because you might change your mind. so you can't admit you were sexually assaulted because real men don't get hurt, you should be grateful. you cannot handle your own body, you cannot handle the risks involved, let other people decide that for you. you aren't ready yet.

but they need you to have sex because you need to have kids. at 15, you are old enough to parent. you are not old enough to hear the word fuck too many times on television.

they are horrified by sex and they never stop talking about it, thinking about it, making everything unnecessarily preverted. the saying - a thief thinks everyone steals. they stand up at their podiums and they look out at the crowd and they sign a bill into place that makes sexwork even more unsafe and they stand up and smile and sign a bill that makes gender-affirming care illegal and they get up and they shrug their shoulders and write don't say gay and they get up, and they make the world about sex, but this horrible, plastic vision of it that they have. this wretched, emotionless thing that holds so much weight it's staggering. they put their whole spine behind it and they push and they say it's normal!

this horrible world they live in. disgusted and also obsessed.

[vaspider]

So we've found the one person in the world who does not trigger Fremdschämen in me, and it's this useless sack of unfiltered ass. I could watch CR embarrassing herself all day long.

Fucking shande.

[crumb]

KYLE GALLNER as COLIN GRAY JENNIFER'S BODY 2009 | dir. Karyn Kusama