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balioc · 10 months

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Thoughts on the Barbie Movie

Hoo boy. Here we go.

This is long. Spoilers abound.

The movie is not, in any normal sense, a Barbie movie (like this or this or this or whatever). It is not a story of Barbie doing the kinds of things that Barbie does in stories. It is an endlessly postmodern and self-referential movie about Barbie, which is to say, about the Barbie franchise and its role in culture. Which is, at least plausibly, an interesting thing for a movie to be.

You probably knew all that already. But it does give us a baseline of "this movie kind of had to be political and discourse-y, one way or another." Or even, to be more specific: "to some large extent this movie had to be about feminism, explicitly, if it was going to exist at all." How could you talk meaningfully about Barbie's role in culture without touching on that stuff?

The evaluative TLDR:

Barbie is very ambitious, and in many places very fun. It is also deeply confused, and fragmented, about what it's trying to say and do. Often it raises genuinely interested problems/scenarios and then totally fails to address them, or else addresses them in ways that are incoherent. The text knows that it's doing this, and on several occasions kind of apologizes for it; a couple of times it more or less looks into the camera and says "sorry, we're not going to deal with this properly;" but, well, that's not a substitute for dealing with things properly.

There is also a streak of genuine political nastiness running through the film, in a place where the story really cannot afford it. It...doesn't match up, tonally or thematically, with some of the surrounding material. I have no background at all in cinematic stratigraphy, but I would be fascinated to learn about Barbie's editorial history, because I have the vague sense that a more-cogent (and more-interesting) story got hacked apart and then Frankensteined together into something much cheaper and worse.

III

The opening sequence of the movie is wild. You've seen most of it -- or you can, if you haven't, and you want to -- because it is the film's first teaser trailer. Girls are playing listlessly with baby dolls; a giant Barbie appears like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey; and then the girls enter a frenzy of destruction, bashing their baby dolls' heads against the ground.

I don't know whether I would have found it as disturbing as I did, if I didn't actually have a baby of my own. But speaking from the standpoint of a parent...yeah, wow, it's more viscerally horrific than most actual horror I've seen recently. The narration says some stuff about Barbie providing a new and more rewarding set of imagination games to play, but the visuals by themselves tell a message loud and clear, which is: Barbie will turn your daughters into infanticidal maenads. It wouldn't need any editing at all to be part of a shock-you-silly Reefer-Madness-y moral panic film.

Which is really good! And really interesting! It starts us off on an undeniable thematic note: there is something primal and powerful and very dangerous about Barbie.

The very best part of the movie is probably the part that comes right after the opening, when we explore the movie's depiction of "Barbieland" by going through Barbie's Typical Day, before we get into any of the notional plot or metaphysics. It's joyful and charming in a consistent way. The gags are (mostly) great. The movie is in love with its base premise, and that love is palpable.

This sequence makes one thing very clear:

Barbie treats Ken like absolute dogshit. She is a bad girlfriend.

And it's taken seriously. I mean, it's played for laughs, almost everything in this movie is played for laughs, but...it's not mean-spirited, not here. It's not, like, "ha ha, Ken, what a contemptible loser." He's Pierrot, asking for very basic forms of affection and attention and respect, and getting the door slammed in his face over and over. It's honestly kind of heartbreaking.

That colors everything that comes later.

The movie doesn't forget this, or fail to acknowledge it. At the end, after everything, Barbie does apologize to Ken for her treatment of him. It's a halfhearted and supremely unsatisfying kind of apology, especially in context, but...it's there, in so many words! I'm not making it up! This thematic foundation was laid down, not-very-subtly, right at the beginning!

This movie, which is at least trying to be ambitious, is juggling a million themes. Many of them are dumb at their core, and have no real promise; many of them lack any kind of narrative synergy with the others. But there are at least two which, I believe, (a) are genuinely worthwhile individually and (b) work well together in a story.

One is: What does it mean to be a symbol rather than a person? To exist, not for your own sake, but for the sake of influencing the dreams and culture of entities that you don't know and can't really understand?

The other is: What is the proper ordering of the relationship between Barbie and Ken?

I've seen a number of Takes in which people say, essentially: Couldn't this have ended with the Barbies and the Kens just being decent to each other and treating each other like humans? Couldn't there have been equality and mutual respect, instead of the weird uncomfortable girlboss-supremacist stuff that we got? And I sympathize with that impulse tremendously, but the honest answer has to be: No. We cannot have simple equality and esteem between Barbie and Ken, not in a movie like this. That would be a lie. Because this is a movie about Barbie-as-symbol, and when you're looking at Barbie through that lens, it is true and unavoidable that Ken is an appendage and an afterthought. You can have toys for boys; you can have dolls for boys (even if you call them "action figures" or whatever); for that matter, you can have dolls of boys for girls, so that girls can tell stories centering on male characters; but that's not what Ken is, and never has been. There are no Ken stories, and no one particularly wants them. Ken exists to be Barbie's boyfriend.

(One of the most painful moments of the movie comes during the resolution wrapup. Ken wails to Barbie that he has no identity outside her. She says, basically, "you have to find one, because I'm leaving you." And he...acts like he's had an epiphany, and does a little silly celebration. But his "insight" is just literally "I'm Ken," there's absolutely nothing there, and of course it's the most hollow and awful thing in the world because he really does have no identity outside her.)

The movie's metaphysics are not even slightly consistent. The nature of Barbieland, and the ways that it affects and is affected by the real world, are completely different in every scene. In large part because the film can't ever pass up a gag, whether or not it's funny, no matter how much damage it does to the narrative and the theming overall.

The worst part is that the movie is not capable of saying anything remotely coherent about the real world, because its version of the "real world" is as weird and fake as its Barbieland. Will Ferrell's CEO of Mattel character is more of an absurd cartoon than any of the Barbies or Kens. Mattel HQ is some kind of surreal labyrinth tower out of The Matrix. A random receptionist can handle herself like James Bond in a car chase, for reasons that are [handwaved in a gag].

VII

So. Yes. There is the sequence in the third act where Ken takes over Barbieland with the power of patriarchy. This is pretty much as bad as it can be. And I say this as someone who thinks that the movie probably did actually need a plot thread doing roughly that kind of thing.

Almost as bad as it can be. The wannabe-patriarch Kens are gleefully goofy in a way that you can't help but love, or at least, I couldn't help but love it. Which has something to do with the writing and something to do with the charisma of all the Ken actors. The main Ken, Ryan Gosling's Ken, really seems to believe that being a successful patriarch has a lot to do with riding majestic horses and wearing a giant fur coat without a shirt, and when he takes over Barbie's Dream House he names it Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House -- that kind of thing.

But. Apart from that, it's real unfortunate. The justification for Ken's ability to conquer Barbieland with patriarchy, instantly and effortlessly, is -- in almost so many words -- they had no defenses against it, it was like the American Indians encountering smallpox. I...don't think I need to spell out the problems with that.

Worse yet, the whole sequence is soaked in, uh, let's call it "2014-era upper-middle-class social-status-oriented feminism." The real bad behavior on the part of the Kens, the stuff they do when they're not being adorably weird, is: mansplaining their extensive opinions about cars and movies, and wanting to show off how helpful and knowledgeable they are to "damsels" who are having trouble using machines or computers. Apparently that's the real problem at hand, the causus belli of the gender wars. The way that you deprogram a patriarchy-brainwashed Barbie is by...ranting to her about the stereotypical social irritations of upper-middle-class women (e.g. "you have to keep yourself thin but not act like you care about being thin," "you have to be a confident leader but also be nurturing and supportive," etc.) [note that the Barbies of Barbieland have never encountered these irritations, at least not at the hands of men]. And the girlboss victory montage consists of having the Barbies put on deceptive manipulative bimbo acts to stroke the Kens' egos, which sure is one way to depict girlboss feminist victory.

But the most unforgivable thing of all is the depiction of the patriarchy-brainwashed Barbies. They're lad-magazine caricatures, endlessly offering their Kens "brewski beers," dressing up as French maids, gazing on in cow-eyed adoration as their Kens mansplain stuff to them.

Barbie does, in fact, have a problematic history with the patriarchy. And it does not look like that.

VIII

@brazenautomaton:

Barbie isn’t someone who had to fight through the patriarchy to be seen as good enough to be an astronaut even though she’s a woman. Barbie’s a fucking astronaut because she’s fucking Barbie of course she’s good enough to be an astronaut.

That is...one aspect of the deep Barbie lore. It is the Barbie-nature that Mattel was trying to push, as far back as my own childhood; it's certainly the Barbie-nature that Mattel is trying to push in this movie. But there is another side to Barbie, even older and even more fundamental than Senator Astronaut Veterinarian Barbie, and you can't make a postmodern movie-about-Barbie without addressing it.

This is Barbie the fashion doll. The Barbie who is an icon of ultra-consumerist teenage girlhood, whose life is defined by her fancy clothes and her fancy car. The Barbie whose most salient traits are her hourglass figure and her long blonde hair and her feet that are always posed to fit into high heels. The Barbie of "math class is tough!" The Barbie who is kinda vapid and shallow and, yes, boy-crazy.

How can you tell a story about Barbie wrestling with the culture of patriarchy, and not talk about that? How can you depict Barbie falling victim to the patriarchy and have it look nothing like that?

...the movie does bring up the specter of Vapid Consumerist Barbie, briefly. When Margot Robbie's Barbie first comes to the real world and meets with the sullen teenage daughter character, she has a litany of That Thing thrown in her face, and it makes her sad. But nothing is ever done with it, and it goes nowhere.

And it could all have fit together so well. That's the hell of it.

You can imagine the version of the story in which Ken conquers Barbieland with patriarchy, because the Barbies are actually vulnerable to patriarchal narratives, because Vapid Consumerist Barbie is the chthonic serpent that gnaws at the foundations of Senator Astronaut Veterinarian Barbie civilization. He successfully makes them all forget that they're senators and astronauts and veterinarians, and turns them into airheaded teenage fashionistas who think that math class is tough.

And this avails him, and the other Kens, nothing. Even within the "patriarchal" version of Barbieland, Ken is still an afterthought and an appendage. He still gets treated like dogshit, just in a different idiom.

Because the thing that has always been true of Barbie, though every age and every phase of her mythos, is: she is the main character of her own story.

This is what the movie was telling us all the way back in the horrific 2001-pastiche prologue, right? Even when Barbie was just a swimsuit model, the point was that she let girls tell stories about themselves (or idealized/aspirational versions of themselves), not about boys or babies. That is a truer, and more powerful, feminist message about the meaning of Barbie than any message the movie actually bothers conveying.

The gag scene practically writes itself: the brainwashed Barbies are sitting around in a giggly slumber-party huddle talking about how dreamy Ken is, and actual Ken cannot get a word in edgewise, he can't even get them to notice he's there, because even Vapid Consumerist Barbie is fundamentally centered in her own life. Her narrative is not about a boy, it's about the experience of being a girl (mostly engaging with other girls) who likes thinking and talking about boys. Which is very much beside the point, if you started out with the complaint that your girlfriend never paid any attention to you.

Patriarchy hurts men too, indeed.

The movie ends, as I've intimated, in a disappointing squidge of thematic confusion. Barbie announces that she never really loved Ken, and leaves him, because...well, because these days the smart-set target audience is allergic to romantic narratives that Produce the Couple, as far as I can tell. Then she goes to the real world and becomes a real girl, a move that means nothing and is nonsensical even by the standards of the Barbie metaphysics, because the storytellers don't know how to end her arc and Becoming a Real Girl is the sort of thing that feels like a meaningful conclusion.

The Kens...sigh...the Kens ask for equal rights in Barbieland, more or less, and get told, "nah, but we'll throw you some bones." And they're happy with this, more or less, because they're dumb and don't really care. The narrator says, approximately, "maybe someday they'll make as much progress as women have in the real world." Haw haw.

It's probably too much to hope for a movie like this to be willing to say something substantive about responsibility and kindness in relationships. It's almost certainly too much to hope for a movie like this to be willing to say something about the nature of love symbols and love narratives. But all the pieces really were there, laid out very conspicuously. The movie could have wrapped up with: Ken doesn't need to be more important than Barbie, he doesn't even need to be as important as Barbie, he just needs to be treated with human decency. And if little girls are going to play with Barbies, and fantasize about having cute guys hanging all over them -- maybe they should have functional models of romance and human connection in which to root their fantasies, and not terrible ones.

#media analysis #barbie

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carolmunson · 1 year

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baby, as if (part 1)

recommended listening: as if - blaque (2000) summary: your on and off again situationship just so happens to be the tri-state area's friendly neighborhood drug dealer. the robinhood of the the neighborhood. and you couldn't be any more toxic with each other. does the playboy know how to play nice when you start seeing someone new? dark!modern!drugdealer!fboy!eddie (but when i say modern i mean anywhere between the 2010s and 2020s. everyone is in their late twenties in this fic tho. except reefer rick.)

WARNING: 21+, minors DNI. this is a DARK piece of fanfiction. if you are sensitive to topics regarding threats of violence, references to abuse, active fighting between a couple, severely toxic relationships, manipulation, coercion, depictions of violence, drug use, alcohol use, potential gun violence, controlling behavior, blatant endangerment, threats of financial abuse, harsh name calling, and anything regarding genuine bad relationship content i would not recommend reading this work. this is not like my sadist!eddie fictions -- reader and eddie are NOT in a healthy relationship -- he is NOT A GOOD GUY in this. this fic does NOT contain non-con or dub-con. DEAD DOVE. DO NOT EAT on all warnings tho.

Two Months Ago

The screaming had both of your throats hoarse. Yelling from inside the club to the walk to the Camaro. The bouncers were so used to it by now that they just rolled their eyes. Not that they'd bother concerning themselves with the man whose always slipping them fifties so they'll let his friends in.

"You think I give A FUCK about you?! You think I -- HEY! HEY! GET IN THE FUCKIN' CAR. I'm talkin' to you!" "FUCK OFF! 'Get in the fuckin' car' -- fuck you, don't tell me what the fuck to do," you half yell while you click through the parking lot passed the car that's just roared to life.

He barrels around the hood, grill blowing smoke in the cold air from the heat. The parking lot is wet and your heels aren’t doing you any favors while you stumble over to the asphalt to call a cab. He growls when he gets to you with a grip so tight on your bicep that you yelp.

“Always out here fuckin’ embarrassing me,” he grumbles while he drags you toward the passengers seat of of the open car, “You drunk bitch.”

“You’re drunk,” you mumble, crossing your arms while he slams the door behind you. He takes his keys out while he walks around the front, falling into the deep bucket driver's seat. When he puts the key in and the engine revs loud, you groan. He revs it again just to fuck with you.

"Can you just fucking drive?" you shrill, "God, who're you trying to fucking impress out here?"

He pulls out of his spot and squeals out of the lot onto the street, immediately seething, "Who am I try'na impress? Me?"

"Alright, heeeere we go," you roll your eyes, street lights catching in your vision -- there and gone and there and gone. It's like they go all the way back to your brain. The lights spin with you.

He presses on the gas when you make it on the highway, speeding dangerously when he gets his hand on the clutch. He swerves between cars, one hand gripping the wheel, the other sits on his thigh. His brows are knitted together in a scowl.

"Don't you pull that 'here we go' shit, you always gotta fucking START somethin'," his free hand slaps down on the center console and the sound makes you jump, "Can't you ever shut the fuck up? Huh?"

You grin, it's the tequila -- it always made you a little excited for a fight, "Ooh, look how mad you are. You don't give a fuck about me right? RIGHT?! So what're you mad for?! What're you mad for?"

"Ooh-hoo-hoo, you piss me the fuck off. See what fuckin' happens if you keep runnin' your mouth," he grumbles, eyes getting dark. He reaches into his leather jacket pocket at a red light, pouring a bump of coke out on the back of his thumb. He snorts it loud because he knows you hate the sound of it.

"If you don't give a fuck then why are you so mad I danced with that guy? You were pretty busy with Jess and Shauna in the back room so why'd you make me leave the club?" you ask, taking the baggie out of his hand. He snatches it back roughly.

"Cause you looked stupid," he says like it's obvious, pressing on the gas again, "Like some dumb easy slut, all fucking over him. And when you look stupid, you make me look stupid. I don't fucking like that, I don't need people to think I keep bitches like that around me. You're so fuckin' sloppy."

"Oh, so lines off a stripper's tits doesn't make you look stupid?" you jeer, "Throwin' ones doesn't make you look stupid?"

He turns to look at you, "You're so dumb. How's throwing ones gonna make me look stupid?"

"You know what? You're right. It doesn't make you look stupid."

He huffs out of his nose, eyes rolling, an angry smirk flashing his teeth in the streetlights. You take a second, smiling at your reflection in the windsheild.

"It makes you look broke."

“Oh, I’m broke? I’m fuckin’ — " he speeds so fast your head hits the headrest, “I’m fucking broke? Who bought the heels you got on? I’m fucking broke?”

“I don’t ask for shit from you, you’re a fucking bum!” you yell back, “You’re such a fucking bum.”

“You want me to get your fuckin’ phone shut off? I’m a bum but I’m paying for your fuckin’ phone?” he yells back, swerving as he peels down the back roads towards Hawkins.

“Oh shut the fuck up, you f—”

“How’re you gonna pay for it, huh? Tips at the fuckin' diner aren't cuttin' it — should I start sellin' those videos you send me?”

Possessed, your hand comes out to smack him hard upside the head while he turns down the street, coming to a stop at a light, “Why do you always gotta say some dumb shit?”

You shove him, hands coming at him to to it again but he grabs your wrist in a bruising grip, "You think that's smart? What happened the last time you put your hands on me, huh?"

He shakes you by the wrist, eyes flashing erratically, "Huh?!"

"Want me to break your wrist again?" he challenges, fingers wrapping tighter, cutting off the circulation to your hand.

You get quiet, still fuming, but his hold on your wrist is starting to throb. You shake your head 'no'.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he huffs, shoving your arm back at you while the light turns, "So shut the fuck up."

You both stay silent after the threat, he slows down when he gets into Hawkins, leaning back in his seat and chewing at a hang nail on his thumb. The steady thrum of the music in his car and the liquor in your body take over and before you know it, the liquor wins. Eye drifting closed with every streetlight you pass.

Your eyes open with a start, stomach lurching while you fumble for the door handle in the car. You heave out of the crack in the door, murky hot liquid pouring out of you with each wretch. You take a deep breath through your nose when you're done and rub your eyes. It was still dark out, the lights in Eddie's trailer were on.

You reach for your phone in your purse by your feet, eyes bleary when you click it on to see your lock screen.

4:37 AM

You groan -- you were dragged out of left the club at 2, there's no way it took almost three hours to get home. It was only 45 minutes away.

So he just fucking left me in here?

You get out of the car, slamming the door so hard that you were disappointed it didn't shatter the window. You take off your heels on the stairs to the door of his trailer, feet hitting the wet grass -- it centers you for a moment. The chill in the air hits you and you shiver -- you're dehydrated and tired, but puking knocks your hangover right out of you. Maybe you could get him to just drive you home so you could get some sleep before your shift at 3.

The door is unlocked which is unusual but what you walk into isn't. He's making out with the neck of some girl who lives a few trailers down, her hips grinding against the kitchen counter she's propped up on, his ringed hand gripping her bare tits with her tank top pulled under them. He's changed into a pair of black sweatpants, tattoos dark against his pale chest and arms, his other hand teasing her over her pajama shorts. Her breathy moans ring in your ears and you let out a sigh. Of course.

You put your phone, purse, and heels on the kitchen table -- clearing your throat to get their attention. The girls face snaps to attention, red as a tomato when she sees you there with your arms crossed.

"What the--" Eddie starts when she pushes him away from her, hastily covering her chest and pulling up her tank.

"What the fuck? Who is this?!" she shrills, hopping off the counter and reaching for her white puffer coat on the table.

"I don't fucking know Trista, can you calm the fuck down?" he lies through his teeth like he was born to do it.

"You're such a fucking asshole, Ed," she barks, "See if I come here at 4 in the morning anymore. You fucking dick." Trista slips on her knock off Uggs and wrenches open the trailer door, slamming it behind her. You stifle a giggle as he turns to you, eyes angry.

"Look what you did," he huffs, "Always gotta ruin shit for everybody."

"Are you fucking with me right now?" you ask, eyes wide, "You just left me in the fucking car?! Was I supposed to just walk at 4 in the morning?"

"Your phone works, you could've called an Uber and gone the fuck home," he snaps, grabbing a half empty Fiji water bottle from the fridge, "I told Trista she could come over and now you fucked up her whole night."

"Her whole night, or are you mad you didn't get your dick wet?" you tease, "Looks like you're just pissed you didn't get to hit."

He reaches into his sweatpants pocket, opening his phone up to a text, looking at the screen while he speaks to you, "Why did Rick tell me you gave that guy your number?"

"Again," you start, "And I'll speak slowly, since I know how hard it was for you to graduate high school -- Why. The fuck. Do you care?"

"Because he knows you fuck around with me and my friends," he steps to you like you're his prey, "You don't know him, he might be working for someone else."

You step backwards, used to this kind of waltz, doing anything you can to not get trapped between him and a wall. It always ends badly for the wall. Sometimes it ends badly for you.

"He might be trying to get to me or Rick, or anyone else. And since you're always on Instragram posting where the fuck you're at, it'll be pretty easy for him to find us," he warns. Sometimes every sentence he said to you felt like an insult, but that's how you learned to be just as bad.

"Trying to find you? Who are you?" you laugh, dodging when his hand reaches out to grab you, "You swear you're special. You deal drugs in Indiana. You're barely moving big shit here."

"You love to fucking lie, don't you?" he asks, finally catching you roughly by the jaw, "You love just saying shit. You're always tryin' to piss me off."

"Don't fucking touch me," you hiss, smacking his hand away from you. He catches you again by the wrist and in the light you can see the bruises starting to surface from when he grabbed you in the car. You yelp again when he closes his tattooed fingers around you, re-awakening the pain.

"What did I say in the car? About you putting your hands on me?" he pulls you towards him so you're chest to chest, peering down at you with bloodshot eyes.

You're able to pull out of this grip, shoving past him to get your stuff off the table, clicking your phone on again, "Well he didn't even text me so, I don't know what you're so mad about."

"I know he didn't 'cause Rick and the guys made him delete all your shit from his phone," he says, leaning against the counter.

"Seriously?" you huff, turning back around, heels in hand, "What's fucking wrong with you? You're always doing this shit. I can't fuck around with any of the guys I know, I can't fuck around with guys I meet anywhere else -- you don't want me, so why don't I get to do anything?"

"What was his name?" Ed asks, crossing his arms, "The guy you gave your number to. What was his name? If you can tell me, we'll go find him and I'll let you put your number back in his phone. Fuck it, I'll put your number back in his phone." You click your tongue, crossing your arms with an eye roll, "Fuck off, Ed."

"Exactly," he responds, "You just wanted to act like a slut at the club. Don't even care who it is as long as you're gettin' some attention."

"Okay?" you shrug, "And how're you better? You were about to be balls deep in Trista for what?"

"Cause I wanted to fuck. Are you serious?" he laughs.

"You don't even know her last name."

"Oh I don't? Trista Katradowski? 24 years old in her last year of nursing school? Moved here in 2011 with her mama and little brother Trey? Daddy's in jail in Jacksonville?" he takes a careful step closer to you with every word until he's caging you in against the table, leaning in close enough that you can smell the liquor on his breath, his skin mixed with his cologne, "What is it? You jealous?"

His lips linger over yours for a moment, noses brushing, his bangs graze your eyebrows, "Wouldn't've let her come over if you didn't pass out."

"You shouldn't of just left me in the car," you mumble, avoiding eye contact with him. If you look at him you'll let him fuck you, and you're stronger than that now, "Someone coulda--"

"Coulda what? Broken into the Camaro?" he asks, letting his hand find your waist, "I think everyone over here knows better than to mess around with my stuff, right?"

He waits a moment to continue, voice softening into something gentle. He nuzzles against your cheek, "C'mon, did you really think I'd let someone hurt you? Have I ever?"

"Stop," you whine. It's hard when he starts to talk sweet to you. He's like a magnet. He smiles so pretty, he has such a way of making it feel like you're the only person he's like this with. You duck out under his hold and walk to the bathroom, rinsing your mouth out with whatever mouthwash he had left over in the medicine cabinet.

"C'mon," he whispers softly, lips dragging over your shoulder. He presses his hips against you, pinning you between him and the sink, "Stop acting like you don't want it. Lemme make you feel good." "I'm about to take a shower," you mumble, shaking him off -- like you weren't both just screaming at eachother. He looks at you in the mirror, brows knitting together, his jaw clenches.

"I need to shower, too," he murmurs, kissing your ear, "Don't make me waste all that extra hot water."

"You're not showering with me," your voice raises slightly, trying to ignore how good his lips feel when they ghost over the back of your neck. His hands find the hem of your dress, the stretchy fabric smoothing over your hips while he starts to take it off. "Don't be like that. Not after you made Trista leave. S'not fair," he says. His fingertips trail over the front of your thighs, the outsides of your hips before his big hands smooth over your waist and tummy. He pushes the dress further up over the swell of your breasts, bra tight over them. You let him take your dress off for you, sighing when he does.

The soft glow of the early morning starts to peak through the window, that dark blue to light blue to orange. His lips are pillowy, pressing against your shoulder again while his hands roam your chest over the cup of your bra. He bought it for you.

"C'mon, bend over," he urges again, you can feel how hard he is against your thigh. And fuck, you want to. You want him to make you feel good, he's the only one who knows how -- he made sure of that. You want to but you shouldn't, you don't need to. He's so bad for you. You're bad for each other. It always goes like this. He'll fuck you and treat you sweet after you fight for a few days or weeks, and then he'll forget you exist for however long until he wants it again. Not you. Whatever 'it' is you have with each other. This give and take, push and pull. Never close enough but definitely close enough. It hurts worse every time.

"I'm not doing this with you again," you shove him off and he sighs an angry sigh before pulling off his sweatpants and opening the glass door behind him. You hear the water turn on and groan.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you ask, "I just told you I was--"

"Don't you got a shower at home?" he asks, "Bye."

"You're fucking annoying," you growl, slamming on the frosted glass.

"You can get in with me, or you can leave," he says, "I don't give a fuck what you do."

You know he really doesn't.

You slip off your bra and underwear, angry at the throbbing between your legs winning over your brain for the millionth time. You open the door, spice scented steam hitting your face and seeing his with a soft smile on it.

"C'mere," he mumbles, pulling you forward against his soapy skin. Why did he have to smell so good? Look so good?

"We're not fucking," you declare, standing in the spray of the water. He nods still covered in lather, finger reaching out to brush over the fingertip shaped bruises on your bicep from when he pulled you over to the car earlier. He tuts to himself, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says softly, letting his hand fall back to your waist. Your heart hammers at the word, even more so when he pulls you in close against him. He hums low in his chest when you lean your cheek on his tattooed chest, hand coming up to smooth your hair off your face.

"You only call me that when you want something," you murmur, eyes closing while his fingers trail down your back with the water. You're the only person he calls 'baby' like that, and even then it's far and few between. It's his secret weapon, his silver tongued magic spell -- you get so pliant, so dizzy. So wanted. So claimed.

"You're already givin' me what I want," he says softly, "Look how sweet you get f'me. You get so nice."

His fingers slide between the two of you, you're half expecting him to take care of his hard on but instead he slips his first and second finger between your legs. You sigh into the feeling, reaching for his shoulder. He looks down at you with a merciless grin.

"Such a dirty girl, aren't you?" he teases, voice sliding down from soft to salaicious.

"Yeah," you breathe out, face melting while he keeps a perfect pace on your clit.

He mocklingly matches your expression, voice lilting, "Yeah? That feel good?"

"Yeah, it feels good," you whine back through gritted teeth, already close from how he teases you. Your thighs shake around his wrist when the pleasure starts to build in waves in your lower belly. "You want me to use my tongue? Taste you?" he asks, a little hitch in your breath answers for him. He likes asking you so plainly 'cause that little blush you get drives him insane. He smiles dipping down to your neck, tongue striping up to catch the water dripping down it onto your collar bone, "Yeah? You want me to lick it?"

"Please," you beg, eyes rolling when his other hand slides between your legs from behind, massaging over your entrance. So fucking wet, he mumbles to himself. He takes his hands away, kissing slowly down your front while turning you over. He doesn't have to ask you to bend forward, your body does it on instinct -- pressing your face up against the tile wall, holding onto the inlet soap dish for some support. He bites the back of your thigh when he gets to his knees, hard enough for you to hiss. He groans when you do, taking a wet hand and smacking your ass hard before gripping both cheeks in his hands. You feel him push them apart, thumbs separating your lips with a slick click, tongue laving over your exposed pussy.

"Ohmigod," you gasp, "Oh that's--Oh fuck." "Mmm, yeah?" he moans into you, eyes closing when he pushes himself deeper against you, forehead pressed against your ass. You can hear the flick of his tongue against your folds, gliding through wetness. Your eyes close, legs starting to quake as he creeps further forward.

"Open up, princess," he murmurs against your thigh, "Gonna cum on my tongue, huh?"

You open your legs but he doesn't go to your clit like you expected, he stays slipping over your folds and back down to your opening, wet muscles fighting each other before easing in one finger. You let out a shaky breath as he breaches your walls, hips bouncing back against the digit. You don't see it, but he smirks at how easy it was to get you like this. He tongue ventures further back, letting his other hand spread one of your ass cheeks where he stripes over your tight hole. He grins at the sound you make, he knows how dirty it makes you feel to like when he does that. But you get so wet when he works his tongue there, getting you nice and relaxed while your cunt pulses around his finger.

"You like that?" he asks, teeth grazing the fat there. Your hips pushing back against his mouth answers enough, your hand reaching back to rake against his wet curls. He obliges happily, a second finger slipping between your legs while your moans mix with the thrum of the water hitting the shower floor.

"Turn around," he suggests, guiding your hips so your back is against the wall. He puts a leg over his shoulder to get better access to you, mouth latching to your clit the moment he can reach it. He looks up at you, brown eyes eager for you to come undone -- but he's not looking at you lovingly. He's challenging you, and himself, to see how fast he can get you to do it. You start to shake when his tongue flutters at the same time his fingers curl to press against your g-spot.

"Fuck, fuck, Ed -- m'comingm'comingm'coming --" you moan out, little squeals coming out of you while he eats you through it, taking his fingers out and collecting your cum in his mouth. He stands up quickly, pressing you up against the wall with his body, his big ringed hand reaching down to wrap one of your legs around his waist. Eddie eases in slow, watching your eyes roll back when he presses in to the hilt, holding in there for a moment so you really feel him. He takes a shaky breath when he starts to thrust into you, a barely audible ah shit, so tight coming out from the back of his throat.

He presses his forehead against yours, deep breaths puffing against your closed eyes while he pumps slowly into you, "You like feeling me like this? Nice and slow?"

You nod against him, unable to talk with how deep he's hitting. His hand cups your jaw, guiding you to look up at him. Your noses brush but you know he won't kiss you, he never does, he hasn't in a long time.

His thumb traces over your lower lip, pulling it down and then letting it go. His thrusts pick up when you make eye contact, his eyes are dark, locked on yours. Eddie's hand hoists your thigh up against his hip a little higher, using that leverage to get deeper inside you.

"Oh fuck, you feel so fucking good," he huffs, face dropping to your neck. You cry out when he pulls your skin between his teeth, sucking and biting at you, leaving marks that everyone will see at work later. Everyone will know who left them. He makes them impossible to cover up, "Thought about this pretty pussy all night."

The head waitress, Sandra, will ask why you 'keep seein' that boy', Phil in the kitchen will shake his head at you -- asking why you won't go on a date with his son. 'Atleast he's got a respectable job!'

But if it wasn't for Eddie, the diner would still have broken windows from when it was robbed last year. If it wasn't for Eddie -- the diner would probably would have closed entirely.

"Ed, I'm gonna -- oh, like that -- M'gonna cum," you gasp, gripping his shoulder. He doesn’t speed up, he knows better, he keeps the same solid steady pace — a touch rougher than before.

“Look at me when you cum,” he mutters, “Wanna watch you.”

“Eddie please,” you whine, eyes shining when they meet his. He holds your head in place by your jaw, leering over you while you babble, “OhmyfuckingGod, ohmygod Eddie — Ed, oh —“

“That’s it, say my name,” he grunts, breaking into a smile, "Gettin' me close, talkin' like that." He feels you pulse and gush hard around him, thumb getting back to your lips where you take it into your mouth obediently -- leaving him to chase his own orgasm. Every whimper out of your mouth makes his cock twitch 'cause he knows he's got you feeling good. Every clench around him is another orgasm won -- he wanted to wear you out, watch you need to hold on to him to get out of the shower. Make you immediately text your friends about how you let him fuck you again but it was 'sooo good' so it's fine.

White heat hits his belly and he pulls out, pumping himself a few times before spurts of cum paint your tummy and thighs.

"Shit, shit -- fuck, baby, that -- shiiit that's so good," he breathes out. He leans against the wall opposite down while he comes down, reaching for his shampoo, continuing to shower like he didn't just blow your mind.

You shake a little while you open the shower door to get a fresh wash cloth from under the sink, sighing when the hot water hits you again. You lather up with his soap, you'll smell like him all day now -- it's like he plans it. Like he does it on purpose.

You don't speak for the rest of the shower, just in bodies. You both stood there in the water for a little after you were both done washing your hair. Hands traveling, lips gliding, but never against eachother's. You know better than to ask if you can just sleep here.

He grabs you a towel and watches you dry off, remnants of him scattered on your skin in shades of lilac and magenta, faded yellows and taupes. You wince when you run your fingers over the hickeys he left you, examining them in the mirror. He leaves you to get dressed alone, walking into his room to tug on a pair of jeans, slipping on an old t-shirt and a black hoodie to slip his leather jacket over.

You both appear in the hallway at the same time, back in your dress from the club with your heels in your hand.

"Don't wear those heels out anymore," he says, eyes lingering on the stilletto point of the heel.

"You bought them for me," you say, looking at the ground.

"Okay, and?" he responds, grabbing his keys when you both walk into the kitchen. You grab your purse and your phone, seeing a couple of notifications but he puts his hand to your cheek before you can read them.

"Hey," he says, "Look'it me."

You look up at him, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth while he speaks.

"You gonna wear them out again?" he asks softly.

"No," you respond, still spacey from your orgasms, "I can throw them out."

"Don't do that, baby," he laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek near your ear, "They can be just for me."

Everything always is anyway.

He yawns at a red light on the ride back to your apartment, driving much slower and level headed now. The sun was starting to rise over Hawkins, pink and soft -- cotton candy skies after a bitter pill night. You ached between your legs, your wrist throbbed, but your heart was swollen with the sound of him saying 'Baby, baby, baby,' over and over again.

"You want a coffee?" he asks softly, pulling into a drive thru.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you answer.

"Whad'dyou want?"

"Just a small hot coffee with milk," you mumble.

"You gotta speak up," he says, tapping his head back on the head rest while he rolls up to the speaker.

"Just a small hot coffee with milk and sugar," you say a little louder. He leans forward to order, getting himself a black coffee. He pulls around and his free hand finds your thigh while you wait. The touch makes you hold your breath, he squeezes and then soothes, the rings feeling colder from the lack of heat in the car. He passes you your coffee and then puts his in the cup holder.

"Just Venmo me three bucks," he says, pulling out from the window and back onto the road.

"Pfft," you huff. Three fucking dollars? You reach into your purse and take out a folded up five and put it on the center console.

"Keep the change," you spit out.

"You wanna get out and walk?" he asks, shoulders tensing.

"You couldn't cover a three dollar coffee?" you ask back, eyes narrowing. His head turns to you, knowing the streets so well he barely has to look at them.

"Thought I was broke? Isn't that what you said?" he smirks when your jaw clenches. He grabs the fiver and tucks it into his pocket, turning up the stereo -- part way through Metallica's 'For Whom The Bell Tolls'. You put your phone in the cup holder while you drink your coffee, a fatigue headache building behind your eyes with every tree you pass.

"Tired?" he asks. You just nod, forehead pressing against the cool window.

"Me too," he mutters, followed by another big yawn. The Camaro turns down your street, stopping in front of the two-family home you live on the second floor of. A small one bedroom, but by the grace of God you made enough at the diner to pay for it. Your mom still lived in your childhood home on the other side of town with your little brother. A small one family with dirt cheap rent that she still couldn’t afford since your dad died three years ago. Eddie paid your mama’s rent, too.

Your daddy was the manager at the auto shop and your mama cut hair out of your kitchen -- still does. Eddie started working with your dad when he got out of high school and treated him like a son. He’d always talk about how it was great practice for when your brother got older since he was such a handful. Outside of Eddie’s uncle, your parents were some of the few adults to really care for him. They were able to see him for his talents instead of his setbacks. They never even judged him for selling drugs (‘You gotta do what you gotta do,’ they’d say, ‘He was dealt a rough hand, he’s just making the most of what he does best.'). He’d spend a lot of time at your house, come to family game nights when Wayne was at the plant. Your dad would do all the older father and son stuff he couldn’t do with your brother yet. They’d invite his uncle, too.

But when your daddy died of a heart attack, your family didn't really know what to do. Things had always been 'almost comfortable' with finances, some months going better than others. Money went from almost comfortable to 'What're we gonna do?' very quickly. Eddie had taken care of the funeral costs, now at a level with Rick that he was moving bricks out of state. He was bordering on being a main supplier for parts of Michigan and Ohio, every cop on the way paid off with women and pills. Every cop paid off with money and a threat.

Once he was able to get Wayne set up with his own place and Eddie took over the trailer, he started paying for your mom. At first he did it anonymously, he didn't want your mom to feel like he didn't think she could do it on her own -- it's just that she shouldn't have to. Eddie felt like he owed it to your family, especially your little brother, to take care of the people who took care of him. In fact, sometimes it seemed like Eddie was a bigger pillar in your family than you were. In the whole town really. He'd sort of become the Robin Hood of Hawkins in his own way, always showing up for people who needed it more -- whether it was legal or not. Down to helping the owner at the corner store after it got robbed and he was beat up.

The cops never found the guy who did it, but Eddie had. The new cross tattoo on his knuckles three days later was an easy tell. A new cross for every body he'd caught.

Eddie turned the car off when he pulled up in front of the house and you tossed him a look, "You coming up?"

"I'm tired," he repeated, "Lemme come lay with you."

"Ed..." you started, but he was already getting out of the car. He was doing it again, building you up, up, up, just to toss you when he was bored. A pattern he loved to sew, the one you could never break -- because when he picked you it felt so good. He finally fucking chose you. You were important for at least a day, a few hours, thirty minutes. But when he was done...that's what you were trying to avoid. The ache. The wondering what you did wrong. The arguments later. You follow him out and he opens your door with the spare keys he has to your apartment. Sometimes a little terrifying to know you might not always be totally alone.

"You coming?" he asks while you answer a text at the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah, one sec," you whisper, waving him off. You hear him open your front door and kick off his combat boots, the slink of his leather jacket coming off and being tossed on your small kitchen table. He walks heavy through the place like he owns it and you wince, hoping it doesn't wake up your downstairs neighbors.

You meet him up there with a scowl, "There's people sleeping downstairs, you know."

He rolls his eyes at you, walking to your bedroom and pulling off his hoodie, curls in a puffed mess when the fabric slide over them. He takes off his torn up Corroded Coffin shirt (though they haven't played a gig in months) and tosses it on your dresser. His jeans follow and you come in while the denim is pooling by his knees. He ignores you, climbing into your bed in his boxers while you close the blinds in your bedroom to block out the creeping morning sun. Your phone buzzes and it reminds you of the time when a text notification pops up. 6:15 AM. You set an alarm for 1 PM, at least you'd have a little time for yourself before your closing shift. You change into a big t-shirt and slide into bed next to Eddie, putting your phone on your makeshift side table face down.

He can't keep his hands off you, it feels like heaven. Nothing compared to this, not the shoes or the phone bill, not when he'd get your mom a new hair dryer or your brother a new gaming console. Not when he'd get you gifts -- because the gifts always came with a price. You always had to work hard for them. The bruises always had to fade first. They always came with your apology.

But when he touches you like this, soft and deliberate -- it's because he wants to. He wants you. You think it makes him feel safe.

"When're you waking up?" he asks, nuzzling into your neck, pulling your hips over his.

"One," you reply. He nods, a soft 'okay' coming out of his mouth when you feel his teeth and tongue graze your jugular.

"Ed," you huff, "I gotta sleep."

"You sure?" he grins, hand coming up to hold your cheek, "I can put you to bed baby, I promise."

You look at him with rounded eyes, pleading for him to just let you rest but you know you'll give in and so does he.

"I'll be quick," he mumbles, face getting closer to yours. Your noses brush, eyes bursting open and fluttering closed again when you feel his soft full lips press against yours. This is how he always wins. Giving you just enough to skate by, but taking all you have to give him.

His tongue takes no time to push past your lips, kissing you deep and slow while he climbs on top of you. If you didn't know him, you'd swear he was in love by the way he carefully presses your thighs up against your chest, the way his fingers wrap in your hair, the grunt he lets out when he pushes into you. Quiet and confident, he slams into you, covering your mouth as to not wake the neighbors. And it did put you to bed -- you were both completely worn out when he was done, so much so that he didn't move out of your sleepy hold over his chest.

He heard you click off your alarm when you woke up, going back to sleep when you started the shower. Eleven minutes later it went off again and the fuse in his chest was lit. He lifted his head up with half asleep eyes, brows furrowed and angry. Why didn't you know how to turn off a fucking alarm?

"Fucking Christ," he mumbles, flipping your phone over and hitting 'stop' instead of 'snooze', his eyes linger on your home screen for a moment. He puts the phone down and crawls out of bed, the shower in the bathroom coming to a stop. He gets dressed again: jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, socks. He checks his own phone, still hanging out in his pants pocket. Three of the girls he met last night left multiple texts earlier this morning. He couldn't remember their names if he tried. Jess and Shauna sent 'thank yous' for the tips, telling him that two of the new girls want to meet him so they can buy -- followed by multiple snowflake emojis. A missed call from Rick, but no follow up message which meant the call wasn't important.

You pad into the room, hair wet and back in your pajamas, while he scrolls through his notifications.

"I gotta go," he says, not looking at you, "Heading to Rick's for something."

"Okay," you nod, pulling your dress and apron out for the diner -- they liked the old school style there. The owner never really got out of the 60s. He steps out and pulls on his jacket in the kitchen, following him to pass him his watch. He puts it back on without saying thank you.

You reach out to hug him goodbye and he placates you with a one armed squeeze, texting someone back when he does. When you lean in to kiss him goodbye, he leans back -- looking at you quizically.

"Hey, no," he says, shaking his head with a little laugh, "C'mon, you knew what this was."

"Oh," you whisper, heart shattering, the familiar sting of his rejection sweeping over you in icy waves, "Yeah, sorry."

"I'll talk to you later," he says, shimmying out of your hug. You hear him leave, the Camaro revving loud before he pulled onto the street, the hum of his music muffled from behind the windows. You swallow the tears building in your chest and nose. How could you have been so stupid? Of course it didn't mean anything.

Eddie pulls into a McDonald's drive-thru to get lunch, cigarette held loosely between his lips while he lights it. He rubs his eyes in the parking lot, the icy white of the sky was blinding. He leans back in his seat, scrolling through his recent calls to call Gareth.

"You better be fucking awake, man," he mutters to himself.

"'Sup," Gareth's voice flows through the speakers of the Camaro, "You good?"

"Where's your roommate been the last couple weeks? Who's he been hangin' out with?" Eddie asks with edge.

"I don't know, man. His friends? We don't talk," Gare responds, "Why?"

"Find out and get back to me," he says, "Before I gotta find out myself."

"Yeah, that's fine. You sure you're good? You sound pissed."

"I'm not pissed," Eddie says, he was pissed, "Just find out where he's been and who he's talking to."

He hangs up, seeing a message from you -- something along the lines of: sorry for thinking too far into it again, have a good day. He takes a deep breath, igorning your message, and puts his music back on, eating in silence while he watches a show on his phone. He didn't really have to go to Rick's, there was a bigger reason he had to leave your apartment.

He had to find out why the fuck Steve Harrington been texting you since five o'clock this morning.

#dark!eddie munson #dark!eddie #every tw you could imagine

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zbeatt · 5 months

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Sega? More like So gay because you're smoking Mad Reefer if you think this twink is slaying Beaver

#games #video games #jet set radio #jet set radio future #sega #im so excited for new jet set radio #lgbtq #lgbt #uhhh #jsr #new jet set radio #jsr future #jsrf

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aegor-bamfsteel · 1 year

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What do you think about the book 'A Caution for young girls' written by Lady Coryanne Wylde?

Nope, anon, I don’t like it.

I feel that some feminist critics talked to GRRM about the lack of known female authors in Westeros as compared to the real life European Middle Ages; women—often of the cloth—were writing since at least the 8th century about their relationships with G-d, medicine (particularly related to women), advice on rulership, plays, biographies/pilgrimages, rules for their monastery, philosophy, fantastical long poems, both plainchants and polyphonic music; it’s estimated that 10% of all troubadours may’ve been women. The first autobiography written in English is supposedly Margery Kempe’s, dictated to a scribe in about 1440. In Westeros, until the release of Fire and Blood, all known authors were male (with the exception of Daenys the Dreamer, who wrote the lost book Signs and Portents) and there were only a handful of professional female singers (it’s unknown if they wrote their own songs). However, as I’ve explained in another post about GRRM going out of his way to mock certain American feminist iconography in Fire and Blood, he introduces 2 alleged female authors with Coryanne Wylde and Rue, both allegedly septas…and they write about 1) her alleged “erotic adventures” including being sold into sex slavery or 2) a supposedly inaccurate and sexually-charged biography of a great man who was probably her lover. What variety, especially compared to real life female authors.

I’ll mention that the bulk of “A Caution for Young Girls”, while allegedly written by Coryanne, probably wasn’t. The first copy appeared in 90, about 40 years after she’d disappeared in the Disputed Lands. There are four versions of it around, and the first shorter one that says she was the handmaid to a queen (Alysanne) and paramour to a young knight (Howard Bullock) who fled to Essos at least match up with what we know of her life. The others are longer, since apparently mummers decided to add more erotic incidents to the story, probably those after she’s been abandoned in Myr and seemingly enslaved. “A Caution for Young Girls”, like the famous 1936 film “Tell Your Children” (better known as Reefer Madness), belongs to the genre of faux-morality exploitation; allegedly being a warning for young women to not engage in intercourse with married men or else facing terrible consequences; however, considering Baelor ordered copies burnt and it’s more popular with brothel people and mummers than the pious, it’s really a series of titillating (or, considering it’s known for depravity, possibly including disgusting or anatomically impossible sex scenes ala Marquis de Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom) “adventures” that allegedly (but probably not, if you think about it) happened to one woman. And just like Reefer Madness, which is laughably inaccurate about the effects of marijuana, “A Caution for Young Girls” seems to gloss over the real horrors of slavery in Volantis, Lys, Qarth, and the Basilisk Isles in favor of eroticism. Considering slavery is a huge part in the main series, and a lot of Book 5 is devoted to how cruel and unstable it is, with enslaved women treated as sexually expendable trash…having one of the few female writers mentioned in the series seemingly make light of it isn’t that amusing to me. Yes, cruel reality being made palatable into songs is a big part of the series, but Fire and Blood isn’t written in a way that makes us empathize with Coryanne’s pain or struggles the way it does the sympathetic characters of the main series.

That the first English autobiography by a woman involved visions from her faith, her struggle with postpartum depression, meeting with other great Holy Women (Julian of Norwich), getting tried for heresy due to her faith multiple times but managing to be acquitted each time…there’s no comparison between Kempe and GRRM’s alleged female autobiographer. Kempe is her own person; Coryanne is a vehicle for sexual adventures (most of which are probably made up by people unaware of the reality of slavery), just like Rue is the scribe writing about the sexual adventures of Alyn Stu Velaryon. GRRM could’ve taken more from history and had in-universe female authors write about their visions (not just Daenys), music, plays, woods witches writing down medical knowledge, rules for motherhouse living, advice on government, etc; it would’ve gone a long way to convincing me Alysanne actually made positive lasting change for women, had she patronized female authors or artists (why is Coryanne the only one of her companions who wrote anything when most of them were septas?)

I can’t help but feel that some feminist critic complained to GRRM about no in-universe female authors, and he wrote Coryanne and Rue—known for highly inaccurate sexually charged biographies—to piss them off. Between the Maiden’s Day Cattle Show, the watered down versions of famous historical women (Eleanor of Aquitaine got imprisoned for 16 years because she encouraged her sons to rebel against their father, contrast Alysanne Targaryen; Mathilde of Boulogne rescued Stephen I’s cause by raising an army to chase Empress Matilda out of the city, then exchanging Stephen for Matilda’s strongest supporter, contrast Helaena/Alicent; Joan of Arc led the French to victory within months and defended herself Heroically on trial for heresy, contrast Jeyne Poore/Jonquil Darke), then naming an incompetent easily fooled knight who got brutally killed after the creator of Wonder Woman (Professor William Moulton Marston)…GRRM just showed how little he cares for the historical tradition that have inspired Western women for generations. Coryanne’s “writing” is just one example of that mockery.

#ask #anti grrm #anti fire and blood #female characters #male writers #rants #gif #feminism

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lokis-army-77 · 2 years

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Safe With Me Pt. 1

Eddie Munson x female reader

Word Count: 4005

This is a fix-it fic of season four of Stranger things. It follows the show, for the most part, I have just changed a few things so that I could add the character of the Reader.

Warning: Language, description of death. Let me know if there are any more. This series will have smut in it eventually.

Main Masterlist (taglist linked here) Series Masterlist

Next >>

A loud banging at my front door woke me up from my usual Saturday off-work sleep-in. Groaning, I lifted my pillow over my head to drown out the noise. It didn’t help any when my mother came into my room and pulled the pillow away from me.

“Sweetheart, a couple of your friends are at the door. They say it’s important.” She informed me sweetly before leaving me to get up.

I twisted my head to look at my alarm clock. 12:25. “Ugh.” I sighed as I pushed myself out of bed and quickly pulled on one of the Iron Maiden t-shirts I had stolen from my boyfriend and a pair of acid wash jeans before heading to the door.

“What in hell are you guys doing waking me up on my day off work?” I glared at the two people standing on the front steps.

“Uh, it’s about Eddie,” Dustin said carefully.

“What about him?” I asked, yawning into my hand.

“Do you know where he is?” Max asked.

“If he isn’t at his trailer, then I have no clue where he is?”

“How do you not know where your boyfriend is?” Dustin’s tone shot up in disbelief.

“I’m sorry? He usually comes by here at one on Saturdays to pick me up, so he should be here soon if you really need to see him.” I crossed my arms, as they stared at me. “What?”

“That’s just it, he isn’t coming.”

“Dustin, I literally just woke up, I’m in no way able to comprehend why you are being so cryptic.”

“I’m not being cryptic, I’m telling you he isn’t coming.”

“And why wouldn’t he?”

Dustin leaned to look behind me into my house before grabbing my arm and pulling me out onto the steps before reaching behind me to slam the front door closed.

“What the fuck Henderson?”

“Have you not seen the news? Have your parent’s not told you?”

“Told me what?” I looked to Max as she spoke.

“Eddie is suspected of killing Chrissy Cunningham.”

My eyes went wide and my hand covered my mouth. “This better be some really sick joke you two, because it isn’t funny.” I shook my head at them.

“It isn’t a joke. I woke up this morning to cops and people surrounding Eddie’s trailer. All I know is that last night Chrissy went into the trailer with him and he drove off like a mad man ten minutes later.” Max paused.

Stunned, I stood there for a second. I remember he called me last night after Hellfire saying he was making a deal with one of the cheerleaders and he would see me Saturday afternoon, but other than that, I hadn’t heard anything else.

Then Max spoke again in a whisper, “Something weird happen too, at first the TV started to ask crazy but as I went to fix it, all the lights in the trailer started to flicker.”

“You don’t mean this might have something to do with the upside down do you?” I asked, hoping that wasn’t what she was insinuating.

“It’s the only other explanation, and we both know Eddie would never kill anybody.” Dustin grabbed at my shoulders.

I closed my eyes to think. I had never wanted Eddie to get involved with this other world under Hawkins crap. I had been unwillingly dragged into it a few years ago when Jonathan Byers asked for my help finding his brother since I was their next-door neighbor. I thought this was all over after Starcort, so I just didn’t mention it to Eddie, knowing if he were to find out about it, he would either freak out or dive into it and not even think about graduating.

Taking a breath, I said, “I, uh, I might know where he is, but I have no clue where where he is might be.”

“That makes literally no sense.” Dustin sighed.

“Eddie’s never taken me with him but I know sometimes he hides out at Reefer Rick’s, the guy he gets drugs from.”

I looked between the two kids and jumped back in surprise when Dustin made an “Ah-ha!”

“What?”

“Put your shoes on, we’re gonna need some help.”

…...

“So why are we here?” I ask, looking up at the Family Video store sign.

“We need help and Steve and Robin are perfect. Plus we need a whole lot of phones if we are going to find Rick’s address.” Explained Dustin as he threw open the front door.

“How many phones do you have?” He asked as he made his way to the counter.

Robin and Steve looked surprised to see the three of us bounding into the store.

“Uh, three?” Steve said questioningly.

“Technically four if you count Kieth’s in the back.” Chimed Robin.

“Why?” They both asked at the same time.

Dustin didn’t answer, he only threw his duffel bag over the counter and hopped over after, knocking over everything on the counter. I stood back and watched as Max went to the back to grab the third phone and Dustin start typing away on the video store computer.

“What are you doing?” Cried Steve.

“We’re setting up base of operations.”

“Woah, Woah, Woah. Someone was murdered, you can’t be playing here Henderson, it's Saturday, our busiest day.”

“We aren’t playing, Steve, this is life or death.” Dustin’s tone was deadly serious.

“What do you need the computer for? Get off of there.” Steve tried to remove Dustin from the stool he was on.

“I’m looking up Eddie’s friend’s phone numbers.”

Steve gave Robin a look before finally making eye contact with me. “Oh great, is that why his girlfriend is here too?”

“Hey, don’t talk about me like I'm not standing right here.” I gasped, finally making my way around the counter to join them.

Steve eyed me, hands on his hips. “How do we know you aren’t an accomplice, hum?”

I shoved his shoulder, “I can't believe you would say that, especially after I helped you at Starcourt. Eddie didn’t kill anyone and if I had helped with it, I wouldn’t even be here. Max, hand me a phone, I’ll start with the numbers I know.” I reached out my hand and Max gave me the phone closest to her.

Ignoring the others and their bantering, I started to call the boys in Corded Coffin. If anyone knew where Rick’s house was, it would most likely be them. One after one, I called them and no one knew a thing. They all said the same thing, that they knew off Reefer Rick, but it was just rumors and apparent urban legends. That's what the others got for answers when they called the rest of what could be called Eddie’s acquaintances.

“This is useless, no one knows a thing about this guy.” I sighed as I set the receiver down. It had been hours since we started calling.

“Yeah, literally nobody knows. We’ve called like fifty people and most of those were leads that other people gave us.” Max sighed.

“Do we have at least a last name?” Robin asked.

“No, he’s just some legend around town.” I sighed.

“Bet the cops have a last name.” I heard Steve mutter from the front of the store.

“What? Steve, you can’t be serious, the cops?” I asked incredulously.

“Hey, all I’m saying is that if he is a drug dealer he has to have been caught at some point, which means the cops will have him in the system. Simple.”

“No, not simple,” Dustin argued. “We can’t go to the cops.”

“I think at this point they should be filled in on what we know.” Steve threw his hands up.

“You think Eddie is guilty, don't you?” I could feel the seething anger bubbling up inside of me as Steve scoffed.

“Wait for a second, I didn't say that, I believe in innocent until proven guilty, I just think that the cops should know what is going on. We can’t rule out that he didn’t not do it.”

“What the fuck man? That is exactly what we are trying to do. And even if you can’t believe it, I do, my Eddie wouldn’t do something like that.” I turned away from him, walking away from the group for a second to calm my nerves.

Stepping back over, I watched as Robin’s face lit up.

“Wait a second.” Robin put shoved her phone away from her on the counter. “We are going about this all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, if we got the information to call all of these people from our database, then shouldn’t we be able to figure out if one of the Ricks in the system is Reefer Rick? I’m sure we can figure it out based on what movies they have rented.”

“Robin, oh my god, you are a genius.” I smiled and followed her to the computer along with everyone else.

Quickly, she typed in the name Rick into the customer search bar and amazingly twelve active accounts pulled up. One by one we clicked on them and watched as their recent rentals popped up on the screen. The first few were duds, but Rick five, Rick Lipton, was a hit. No one who wasn’t either a stoner or on any other drugs would have rented the first three Cheech and Chong movies.

“The address is 2121 Holland Road. That’s out by Lover’s Lake.” I pointed at the address on the screen.

“In the middle of nowhere.” Observed Max.

“It’s the perfect place to hide.” Robin slid off of the stool and smiled.

“Good work,” I gave her a high five. “Now, we need to get there fast, it will be dark soon.”

Quickly we all began gathering up our things while Steve took care of the two customers that were still in the store. Thankfully, they didn’t take too long to check out. Then in a matter of minutes, we were all piling into Steve’s car and hauling ass out of the parking lot.

…….

It was dark by the time we reached Rick’s lake house. The yard looked overgrown and there were no lights on in or around the cabin.

“This place gives me the creeps,” I said as I clambered out of the back seat and onto the gravel driveway.

“Yeah, not the most welcoming of places,” replied Robin as she came to stand beside me.

After each of us grabbed a flashlight from Dustin’s bag we walked up to the front door. Dustin started to right the doorbell but when there was no answer, he began to knock erratically, yelling for Eddie. As the group tried to figure out how to get inside, I moved to look around the other side of the house.

There, down by the water was a boat house with the light on on the outside of the door. “Guys, I think we should check that out.” I looked over at the others. Slowly they left the porch and followed where I was pointing my finger.

Shivering as we made our way down to the boat house, I felt my heart start to beat harder and louder in my chest. It felt like I was in a Friday the 13th movie and I was definitely walking straight into a trap.

I was the first through the door, “Hello?” I called out into the silence. “Eddie?”

The others followed suit, calling out for Eddie in case he was hiding. Dustin called out, telling him we were there to help.

Slowly, so as to not trip over all the junk on the floor, I walked to the left side of the boat, which was suspended over the water in the middle of the building. The other two girls followed me and the two boys went to the right.

I shone my flashlight behind every nook and cranny on the wall, moving boxes and tools around to check behind them, but Eddie was nowhere.

There was a table beside the wall, to which Max called me and Robin over. “Someone was here, look.” She held up an empty food wrapper. I picked up one of the beer bottles that was half finished and sniffed it.

“The beer is still fresh, it has to be Eddie.” I place the bottle back down, voice wavering.

“Maybe we spooked him and he ran.” Suggested Robin, “He can’t have gone far.”

I nodded, trying to stop myself from wedding tears at the moment. I couldn’t help but be worried for him though.

“Don’t worry, Steve will get him with his oar.” Dustin deadpanned as Steve kept hitting the tarp in the boat with a wooden oar.

“Considering that everyone in here has almost died multiple times, I don't find what you said funn-” Steve’s banter was cut off by him and Dustin shrieking.

I jumped at the loud bang of feet hitting the ground and Steve’s yelling.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” He screamed before he was slammed against the metal wall. I watched this all from the other side of the building.

“Eddie!” Dustin yelled, trying to grab his attention away from hiring Steve. “Eddie, it’s me, Dustin, I’m here to help. That’s Steve, he isn’t going to hurt you. Please.” He held his hands out so Eddie could see he had no weapons on him.

I quickly ran to the other side, saying Eddie’s name softly, but he hadn’t heard me.

Dusting quickly talked Eddie down, but when Steve dropped the oar, it spooked Eddie again. He was tense and shaken.

“What are you doing here?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“We came to find you. To help you.” He pointed to Robin and Max, explaining who they were, before shrinking his flashlight at me, he said my name as he did so. To see me, Eddie had to turn his head completely away from Steve, which he was hesitant to do.

When his eyes met mine, I saw him visibly relax. “Eddie, baby, step away from Steve, please.” I pleaded. He turned back to Steve and tensed a little bit.

“Eddie, I swear on my mother, we are not here to hurt you.” Called Dustin, the others agreed in a chorus of swears.

Finally, Eddie moved away from Steve and moved to crouch down against the wall. Letting the tears finally spill over, I ran to him, kneeling down in front of him. I almost cried harder when he flenched away from my hands as they came out to take the busted beer bottle away from him.

When I tried a second time, he let me and I threw it to the ground before pulling him into a hug.

“Eddie,” I cried. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His arms were so tight around me that I thought he would crush my ribs.

“I-i-i don’t know. I d-don’t know what’s going on.” He clung to me, whispering into my ear.

“It’s okay, I’m here now.” I pulled away slightly, bringing my right hand up to cup his cheek, smoothing over his skin with my thumb.

Dustin crouched down beside us and began to talk softly. “Eddie, we just wanna talk.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed, “We want you to tell us what happened.”

Eddie eyed them suspiciously before looking back at me. I nodded, confirming that they were telling the truth. “It’s okay baby, you can tell us.” He looked close to tears as he shook in my arms. I smoothed his wild hair away from his face, trying to calm him down some more.

“You won’t believe me,” His voice wavered in a way I had never known it. Filled with fear and doubt. It broke my heart that the thought I wouldn’t believe him, wouldn’t understand.

“Try us.” Something in Max’s tone must have struck something in Eddie because his eyebrows furrowed and he took a deep breath before moving so he could stand and pace the floor.

He stood before us nervously, clasping and unclasping his hands together and shifting his weight on his feet before sitting back down on a box. “Um, well uh. You see, Chrissy had asked for a deal and we were gonna do that after school, but she didn’t exactly want weed. So after the D&D campaign and the basketball, she met me at my van and I took her back to my place to find her something stronger.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘Eddie, why would you sell Chrissy Cunningham something stronger than weed?’ Well, you didn’t see how scared and paranoid she was, usually, I don’t sell the strong stuff, but every once in a while,” He shrugged his shoulders but continued. “ We got to my place and she stayed in the living room while I went to go find what she wanted, but when I came back, it was like she was in a trance, asleep with her eyes open, just standing there.

“It was fucking creepy and then out of nowhere her body just like lifted up into the air and, uh, she just like hung there. In the air. And her bones uh-” Eddie sounded close to gagging as he recounted how Chrissy’s bones started to snap and break, the sounds he described were enough to even make me feel a bit queazy.

“And, and, her eyes man, it was like something was in her head, pulling her eyes back into her skull. I, I didn’t-t know what to do so I-I ran away. I left her there.” Eddie's hand covered his mouth as he stopped talking.

Slowly I scooted my way to him, taking his hands in mine and holding them tight, He looked down at me with sad, distant eyes. Leaning up, I whipped a stray tear away from his cheek.

“You all think I’m crazy, right?” He choked back.

“No Eddie, we don’t think that. I don’t think that.” I stared up at him as I spoke in a soft voice.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me. Come on, I know how this sounds,” Eddie raised his voice, pulling away from me. I shrunk back, giving him some room.

“We aren’t bullshitting you.” Max pushed.

“We believe you,” Robin added.

Eddie scoffed, holding his head in his hands.

“Eddie look, what we are about to tell you might be a little difficult to take in.” Dustin started.

“Okay?” Eddie looked up at the group through his bangs.

“You know how people say that Hawkins is cursed? They aren’t entirely wrong. There is a completely other world. A world that is hidden beneath Hawkins.” As Dustin started to explain the upside down to Eddie, I watched as his face contorted into confusion. Every so often he would look from Dustin to the other faces in the group and then land on me. We were all nodding along to what Dustin said, agreeing with him.

“What do you mean? Like ghosts and shit?” Eddie asked.

I shook my head. “There are many things way worse than ghosts.”

“There are monsters, evil, grotesque monsters from this other world. We all have faced off against them before. We thought they were gone, thought everything was safe again. But they have come back before and that’s why we needed to find you” Dustin Continued.

“Eddie, baby, if they are back, we need to know. Did you see anything weird that night, other than what happened to Chrissy?” I asked.

He shook his head as the others started to name off tail-tale signs of the upside down leaking into our world. “No, no, no, there was nothing you could see, noting you could touch. She was just standing there. I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t budge. Like she was in a trance.”

“A spell.” Dustin thought aloud.

“Curse,” Eddie added.

“Vecna’s curse.” Dustin realized.

“Shit,” I whispered under my breath. If that is what we were dealing with this time, I have no clue what we are going to do.

“Wait, who is Vecna?” asked Steve.

“He’s an undead creature of great power,” Dustin explained.

“A spell caster,” said Eddie.

“A dark wizard.” I finished.

“Wait, hold on.” Eddie stopped us. “Why are we talking about a D&D character?”

“Well,” I started, scooting back closer to him. “Every monster we have faced has been eerily similar to the monsters in D&D. Comparing them and naming them after those counterparts gives us something to go off of when we fight them, but Vecna?” I looked into Eddie's eyes and then back at Dustin. “I’m not sure we can deal with this on our own.”

There was a short moment of silence, where no one moved or said anything, the weight of the situation coming down on all of us.

Steve cleared his throat. “Um guys, it’s getting kinda late, I think we should get going.”

The group nodded, but I stayed where I was. “I’m not leaving Eddie by himself, you guys can go without me.”

“But-.”

“No buts Dustin, I’m staying. Look,” I sighed, “I’ll fill Eddie in on the bast couple of years and you guys can go grab food for him tomorrow. Now go.” I shooed them off and they went without a fight, all waving goodbye.

Eddie and I were quiet for a while after we heard Steve’s car pull off down the road. The only sound around us was the chirping of crickets and the sloshing of water.

“You should have gone with them. I’d be okay by myself.” Eddie finally muttered.

I was leaning against the side of the box he was sitting on, so I laid my bed back to look up at him.

“I would never dream of leaving you alone out here after what you have been through.”

“But your parents.”

“What about them? I am almost twenty years old Eddie, I can do what I want.”

A beat passed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded hurt.

I looked at my hands, picking dirt from under my fingernails nervously.

“I’m sorry. I- I thought it was all over, I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I’m your boyfriend, I think I deserve to know when you go around fighting otherworldly monsters.”

“I know, I know and I am sorry. I just didn’t want you to get hurt. We all have almost died more times than we can count and I couldn’t do that to you, knowingly put you in danger.”

“Died? You almost died?” He was angry, understandably so. I turned around to look at him, he was looking back at me, eyes boring into my soul. “What do you think I would have done if you had died? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Eddie, please.” I tried to plead.

“No, don’t Eddie me. I- you are the best thing that has ever happened to me and hearing from you that you almost died, more than once.” He didn’t even finish the sentence, he only scoffed and turned away.

“I really don’t want to fight you on this Eddie, it’s over and done with.”

“Then go.”

“No.”

“Go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“God, you are so fucking frustrating.”

“Look, I am going to tell you everything right now. I know it doesn’t make up for the fact that I didn’t tell you after it happened, but you need to know it all now.”

“Fine.”

“Can you sit down here with me?” I was getting kinda lonely sitting on the floor with him on the box behind me. I wanted to hold him, to know he was there with me and not somewhere far away.

He said nothing as he slowly lowered himself to the floor beside me. And even though we had just fought, he laid his head down in my lap, wrapping his arms around my legs as he spread out on the boat house floor. Smiling, I began to play with his hair as I recounted all the messed-up shit that happened over the last three years.

Eddie Taglist: @loveofmylife12@ellabellabus07@wickedwitchofwest@siriusstwelveyears@ameliakf13 @milly-louise @darkscrossfire @harrypotter-posts @dedeinspire

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #fix it fic #stranger things

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stevestark · 17 hours

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Stevestark's Steddie Fic Master List:

An ongoing list of all of my Steddie Fics; Completed Fics listed in order of first published to most recently published, followed by WIPs.

COMPLETED:

hell was the journey (but it brought me heaven): Rating: G Word Count: 4,271 Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Dustin Henderson, Robin Buckley, Lucas Sinclair, Erica Sinclair, Mike Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Will Byers, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Max Mayfield Tags: Steve Harrington Has A Bisexual Awakening, Light Angst, Sexuality Crisis, Fluff, Happy Ending, One Shot

They win, again, and they have to force themselves to celebrate something immediately after. Again. And, somehow, Steve is the only one who struggles with the whiplash of one day fighting for your life, and the next, buying someone a present. Or - Steve can't think of what to get Eddie for his birthday, and it leads to a bisexual identity crisis.

there's something about you in the moonlight (but your eyes go so well with the day): Rating: G Word Count: 3,898 Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Background Characters Tags: Eddie Munson Has A Bisexual Crisis, Steve Harrington is Eddie Munson's Bisexual Awakening, Sexuality Crisis, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending

Eddie has always liked girls. He's never questioned that, and he's never questioned the possibility of liking boys. Until he's thrust into the chaos of the Upside Down, and suddenly, Steve fucking Harrington is making him feel…something.

it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound (it's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you): Rating: T Word Count: 3,280 Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley & Nancy Wheeler Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Robin Buckley Tags: Fluff, Angst, Recreational Drug Use, Happy Ending, Getting Together

It's not that Steve suddenly doesn't like getting high. He remembers fucking loving it. It's more that every time he contemplates doing it, all he can think about is Russian accents, pain, and needles being shoved into his throat.

for me it was enough (to live for the hope of it all): Rating: G Word Count: 3,527 Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson & Nancy Wheeler Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, The Party Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Bisexual Awakenings, Recreational Drug Use

Steve comes to the slow realization that he's like, super into Eddie. Eddie comes to the sudden realization he's equally into Steve. Neither knows the other feels the same; what happens when they each confide in one of their friends?

they told me all of my cages were mental (so I got wasted like all my potential): Rating: G Word Count: 13,011 Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Tommy Hagan, Reefer Rick, Robin Buckley, Mentions of Other Characters Tags: Drinking, Recreational Drug Use, Bisexual Crisis, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Lives, Angst With A Happy Ending, Slow-ish Build

"He’s done fighting it. Eddie Munson crawled under his skin back during his freshman year, and never really clawed his way back out."A series of events dating from pre-season 1 through season 4. Eddie and Steve keep crossing paths and…it doesn't always end well.

i think your house is haunted (your dad is always mad): Rating: T Word Count: 8,663 Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Will Byers & Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers & Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson, Joyce Byers & Steve Harrington, Minor or Background Relationships Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington's Father, Joyce Byers, Will Byers Tags: Period-Typical Homophobia, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Found Family, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Protective Jim "Chief" Hopper, Slow Burn

Ten year old Steve Harrington asks what he thinks is a perfectly normal question. Over the next several years, he tries to figure out what was so bad about it.

all these people think love's for show (but i would die for you in secret): Rating: T Word Count: 4,150 Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Dustin Henderson, Nancy Wheeler, Wayne Munson, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mike Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Joyce Byers Tags: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Idiots in Love, POV Alternating, Suicidal Thoughts

Eddie survives the Upside Down, but at the cost of Steve getting stuck there with no way to get him back out. Weeks after, burdened with survivor's guilt, Eddie realizes Steve is still alive. He knows Steve is still alive. Because he's deeply in love with Steve, and he's suddenly coughing up bloody flower petals...and everyone knows, Hanahaki Disease won't manifest if the person you love is dead.

Eddie and Robin's Very Real Heterosexual Adventure: Rating: T Word Count: 13,055 Relationships: Robin Buckley/Eddie Munson (Fake Dating), Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Wayne Munson, Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Original Female Character(s), Minor Characters Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mild Angst, Himbo Steve Harrington, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Disaster Eddie Munson, Lesbian Disaster Robin Buckley, Everyone Is A Disaster, Hijinks & Shenanigans

Dustin decides since Robin won't date Steve, she should date Eddie. Somehow, Steve talks her into it⸺even though he's the only one who knows she AND Eddie are gayer than the fourth of July.

A Bet's A Bet: Rating: G Word Count: 1,398 Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper Characters: Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson, Joyce Byers, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers, Jonathan Byers, Argyle, Nancy Wheeler Tags: Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Getting Together

Steve loses a bet with Robin and she gets to choose his Halloween costume...which just so happens to pair perfectly with Eddie's.

IN PROGRESS:

wool to brave the seasons (on single thread of gold tied me to you): Rating: G Word Count: 19,742 Chapters: 12/? Last Update: 26 Apr 2024 Relationships: Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Erica Sinclair, Mike Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Will Byers, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Jim "Chief" Hopper Tags: Pre-Relationship, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Post-Canon, Fluff, Steve Hates Reading, Eddie Loves Reading, The Lord of the Rings References, Slow Burn, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

"Hey, what's Mordor?" "Huh?" "Back at Skull Rock. You said something about following Henderson to Mordor. What's that?" "...you don't know Lord of the Rings?" "...no, and suddenly I'm afraid to admit it." "Oh,this is going to be fun." ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── What happens if Steve admits to Eddie he's never read Lord of the Rings, or, really, any book? Eddie reads it to him, of course.

#you can ignore this post #it's just for me to pin to my blog #an ongoing list of my fics #completed and WIPs #steddie fic #my fic #also ignore the formatting it keeps unshrinking parts of words and I'm done trying to fix it

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bellamer · 4 days

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The eople who made the Reefer Madness musical remake should have continued a series of musical movies about more satanic panic conservative propaganda type stuff and it’s just Alan Cumming spreading false information to schools

Like a musical remake of Mazes and Monsters, the movie that tried to paint Dungeons and Dragons as some sort of demonic witch craft that’ll make you go crazy would slap

#reefer madness #alan cumming #mazes and monsters #dungeons and dragons #dnd #satanic panic

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musicalpilftournament · 11 months

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Mrs Lovett vs Mae Coleman

Propaganda (Click names for full propaganda pages)

Mrs Lovett: Absolutely insane, horny as hell, she really is a mother to Toby (not the best one though).

Mae Coleman: She’s not a parent but is the only one in the “bad guys” of the show with a conscience and concern for the kids doing *the marijuana*, and in the end chooses to defend the teenage main character against the US legal system. Said defense involves her killing her abuser with a garden hoe, trying (and failing) to beat up a police officer while STILL drenched in blood from the aforementioned murder, and throwing herself in front of a car to get the passenger’s attention. Oh ALSO she’s in lingerie like the WHOLE MOVIE. Reefer Madness is friggin hilarious and although it leans very much horror-black comedy more people need to see it if that’s their jam, I was really impressed with it! It’s got bops and Alan Cumming and Kristen Bell!

#mrs lovett #sweeney todd #mae coleman #reefer madness #pilf tournament #polls

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mornington-the-crescent · 1 year

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I voted FDR in the poll because of well, the everything, and I was astonished to see how many people had chosen Nixon.

I know our education system is bad, but it was genuinely horrific to see all the other options in the single digits. For most of these people, the only bad thing they know about Nixon was watergate. I remember at least being taught about the internment camps in school, even if they neglected to mention who was president at the time.

FDR fancied himself king of America, and it's disheartening to know how few people realize how genuinely evil he was.

I mean, Nixon was on there mostly to prove that tumblr as a whole does not understand or remember history. Their knowledge of history comes from half-remembered public education, and from ahistorical and hysterical tumblr posts.

Don't get me wrong, Nixon did fucking suck.

He normalized trade relations with China, which ruined American manufacturing, sending countless American jobs overseas, and the rest of the world soon followed suit; that's why 90% of what you own is cheap and low-quality and made in China. Not to mention that the massive influx of foreign money is what led to the CCP being able to continue to prop itself up, when it otherwise would have collapsed under the weight of its own incompetence and inefficiency decades ago otherwise, like every other experiment with socialism inevitably does.

Then there's his taking America off of the gold standard, which permitted the massive expansion of the money supply, which led to the inflation of the 1970's, and all subsequent inflations, since the main safeguard and deterrent to inflationary monetary policy has been removed.

And then there's the incredibly underhanded tactics that he used to to get his political opposition: See, in spite all of his hatred for hippies and the Black Panthers, you can't ban ideologies or political movements. But, both groups tended to smoke marijuana. So what do you do? You stoke latent anti-Mexican sentiment in the American populace, and paint weed as a demon drug that makes people promiscuous and a danger to society. And once it was criminalized, well, now he had all the excuse he needed to crack down on certain groups who opposed him. He wasn't throwing them in jail for their ideology; he was throwing them in jail for the reefer! Totally different! The "War on Drugs" is total bullshit, and like all attempts at prohibition in this country, it just led to a greater amount of the "banned" item in increasing potency and availability, while creating a robust criminal underclass to supply the prohibited good.

And we can't forget that he ordered the bombing and invasion of Cambodia and Laos, two countries which had the misfortune of simply being next to Vietnam. He even ran on a platform of ending the war in Vietnam, and while the peace talks were already started by the time he was elected, it took four more years for America to finally withdraw from a war it had no business being involved with in the first place.

He weaponized the FBI and IRS against political enemies, keeping tabs on anyone that he thought was against him, spying on and even illegally wiretapping opponents. He, like so many others, tried to consolidate more and more power into the Executive branch of the government, outside the normal separation of powers. His election strategy was to openly court racists who were mad about desegregation.

And, of course, I'd be remiss if I forgot to mention Tricky Dick's Wet 'n' Wild Water Heist of 1967. Leave the water in the Reflecting Pool alone, man.

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 2 years

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Hey writer! I've been going through your stories and I think they're great! I have an idea but I can understand if you're uncomfortable with it but I think you're funny enough to do something cool with it.

So Reader introduces Loki to weed, maybe? How do you think he'd be like? What would it be like to babysit him?

*In Marge Gunderson voice* Oh dear, my first crack!fic request!

So, I hope you don’t mind that I changed it up a bit. Planning this one out, I couldn’t really see Loki as the type to partake (not judging, I blaze it myself). So, I switched the places: Reader is the one smoking and Loki is the babysitter. Also, I added Thor so Reader had a smoking buddy.

“Blazing with the Boys”

Summary: To celebrate a mission well done, you and Thor decide to take a few hits of the devil’s lettuce. Loki takes it upon himself to take care of you and see to it that you and Thor don’t paint the town green.

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader Content Warning: cannabis use, fluff/crack!fic (or is it weed!fic?) Word Count: 1.5k

“It’s like being drunk, I guess,” you explained to Thor as the pair of you sauntered proudly down the hallway (Loki following two steps behind) towards the kitchen of your living quarters on the Avenger’s compound. “Only you don’t really lose your motor skills so much as just want to eat a lot.”

“Now, repeat the part about laughing?” Thor asked, interested.

“Everything becomes funny, depending on the kind you get,” you said. “Even Adam Sandler movies! So, are you in?”

Thor shrugged. “It sounds like something worth trying.”

You’d just returned from a difficult mission, or rather, would have been a difficult mission had you and Thor not rolled Nat-20s on your strength checks and kicked serious Hydra ass. You and Thor had discussed on the way back that you wanted to celebrate with something special, and your cousin had managed to sneak in a quarter of good-quality sativa and your favorite glass bowl (hand blown and shaped like an avocado). Thor was interested to hear more about it and had decided to indulge with you upon your return.

You were extra excited, seeing as Loki had been able to see you in action, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was more than a little impressed with you. However, now that you all were back, Loki had reverted to his normal, dignified self. “It sounds like more effort than drinking,” Loki scoffed. “Y/N, do you really need to--?”

“—Loki, it’s actually safer for a Midgardian to have a hit than take a shot. We don’t have livers of steel like you all seem to do out on Asgard.”

“Its true,” laughed Thor. “It takes an entire keg to get me feeling anything these days. Your mead is like water here.”

You shrugged and turned to Loki, still behind you. “I think it’d be fun if we made a trio, though.”

Loki smiled at you. “I trust you know more about this cannabis substance than I, but as someone who has enough chaos swimming in his brain all day and night, I think I’d prefer to sit on the sideline for this one.”

You frowned playfully. “I’m sorry you don’t approve, Reefer Madness.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t approve. Perhaps I could stay around and make sure you and my brother don’t ascend to too much trouble?”

You smiled and winked at your still-new lover. You and Loki had been casual for a while before deciding only a few weeks ago to become exclusive to one another, and you were still having a good time with your ‘honeymoon phase.’

“I suppose that could work. We need to make sure Thor won’t eat all the pop-tarts,” you suggested, slipping a hand into his.

Thor laughed. “I can contain my hunger, Y/N. No need to worry about my self-control!”

-----------------------

Thor had lost all self-control, tearing through box after box of the mass-produced breakfast pastry. The S’mores hadn’t stood a chance, and those Wild Berry ones were next. Open boxes and discarded wrappers made up a pile at Thor’s side, a few more un-ravaged ones set in a pyramid on the coffee table in front of him.

“Thor, you’ve had three hits,” you said, holding the bowl in your hand and taking small sips of smoke out of it. “For someone with a liver of steel, you seem to have a brain of jello.”

Thor looked up from his current conquest. “Jello? Where?”

Deciding to only invite the Asgardians to your reefer party, you’d set up the sofa in your suite in front of a television, turned on a random station, and started passing the cannabis back and forth while Loki sat at your side, observing with keen interest. You had been afraid for a moment that Loki would judge you, but you were now pretty impressed at how he was acting less like a babysitter and more like a researcher.

“It smells terrible,” was the only criticism he’d given.

“That’s what the incense is for,” you’d replied, lighting a stick of lavender incense and setting it on the table. The two herbal scents mixed together in the air, making your living room smell like Tommy Chong’s van.

You passed your bowl to Thor, who inhaled deeply, not even coughing a little (impressive!). “EXCELLENT! ANOTHER!” he yelled, raising the bowl in the air.

“No!” you and Loki yelled at once. You were barely able to duck over the arm of the sofa to catch the avocado bowl as Thor tried to throw it on the ground. “Chill out, Lonely Island! Smash this and we can’t have anymore!”

The television station you’d flipped to (for being an Avenger along with tech-savvy super-billionaire Tony Stark, you sure did have shitty TVs) was showing an episode of Columbo, which made you smile.

“D’awwwww my dad and I watched this all the time!”

“What program is this?” asked Loki, absentmindedly reaching out and tucking a loose tendril of your hair behind your ear.

“It’s a mystery show! Only you always see who the killer is in the first act, and the rest of the show you try to find out how the little Italian cop figures it out!”

“It sounds a rather cerebral show, given your current state of mind,” Loki replied.

You nodded. “Yeah, most people watch cartoons or That 70s Show, but c’mon! Peter Falk is boss,” you slurred, the cannabis finally hitting your faculties.

Loki could barely watch the program as you and Thor kept adding your personal commentary, both of you higher than Willie Nelson at Coachella. The entire time, Loki couldn’t help but chuckle at the two of you acting like fools.

“There is no way he will find out the poison was in the tooth the whole time,” Thor insisted. “That’s a clever murderer right there.”

You shook your head. “Columbo always gets his man.”

Loki chuckled. “I preferred the last episode, where he staged the funeral for his wife. By the way, do we ever get to see her face? He talks about her constantly!”

You looked at your boyfriend, and the swirling world around you froze as you looked upon that handsome face, clearly enjoying observing you and your friend getting green-faced. “No, my love, but I’m sure glad I get to see your face every day!”

Loki grinned. “Oh, are we at this portion of the intoxication? Where you can’t keep your eyes off of the most attractive man in the room?”

You nodded eagerly, leaping over the sofa and falling into his lap sloppily. You looked up, your head in Loki’s lap, and you reached up, running a hand down his face. He began stroking your hair like a lapdog, which made you sigh with contentment.

“Can we go to your room?” you said quietly. “I love you and I want you.”

Loki shook his head gently. “No, my dear. I cannot make love to you while your mind is off elsewhere like this. Besides, someone sober needs to stay here and make sure my brother doesn’t induce a heart attack.”

You sighed, curling up the rest of your body. “But can I stay here in your lap?”

Loki smiled. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t, darling.” You rolled onto your side to face the television, your head still in Loki’s lap as he continued to softly stroke your face and fiddle with your hair. After a little while, the weed made you sleepy, and the last thing you saw before closing your eyes was Thor staring down an empty pop-tarts box, looking sad.

“I love you too, by the way,” Loki added after your eyes were closed, but just before your consciousness slipped away.

"Mmmhmm, I’m gonna forget that when I wake up,” you warned, finally drifting off into a THC-induced slumber.

Loki chuckled and traced your cheek with a loving hand. “Well then, that only means I get the pleasure of telling you all over again in the morning.”

He sat back, still petting you affectionately, and watched contentedly as Columbo saved the day again.

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@lokisgoodgirl @xorpsbane @mischief2sarawr @mochie85

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