#the Jonathan frustration is real though

[heavencasteel420]

In my hypothetical no-UD AU, Joyce and Bob are seriously dating but Hopper is friends with both of them and there are kind of flirtatious vibes all around. But Will and Jonathan are both just like “whatever, let’s not look at that too closely.”

[laundrybiscuits]

(Continued from this snippet! Content notes: police interrogation, homophobia)

“You don’t look gay.” The detective gives Steve a very obvious once-over. Steve tries to look gayer as subtly as he can. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Guess I’ll have to let my boyfriend know you don’t think I look gay enough to fuck him.”

The detective’s face twists slightly, like he’s smelled something bad. “No need to be like that. I’m just saying, I bet a good-looking guy like you could get a girlfriend pretty easy.”

“You’re not my type,” says Steve. He smiles with his teeth, even though his heart is going fast and he can feel his palms starting to sweat. 

The detective’s hands tense, and Steve wonders if he’s about to get hit, but they relax again and the detective sits back.

“Just doing my job,” says the detective. “Because, funny enough, we asked around with all your little friends, and it seems like you used to be a bit of a ladies’ man.”

“Things change,” says Steve. 

“In fact…seems like none of your friends ever even saw you talk to Munson before. Moved in different circles and everything. I remember what high school was like.”

The detective leans close. 

“So why would the captain of the swim team, a nice normal boy from a good family with a string of pretty girlfriends, ever—ever—stick his neck out like this for some murdering scum like Munson? That’s what I’m trying to figure out, here.”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that,” says Steve. His mouth is dry. His pulse is thundering in his ears. “He didn’t kill anyone. He was with me the whole time. He’s—he didn’t kill anyone.”

“Hm,” says the detective. 

It takes a while for them to stop interrogating him. They keep asking him the same questions over and over, trying to trip him up. He asks for water and doesn’t get it. In the back of his mind, a hysterical little voice is shrieking Scoops Ahoy! I work for Scoops Ahoy!, but he manages to keep it locked down. Doesn’t let himself get baited, just keeps repeating that Eddie was with him the whole time and neither of them know anything. 

It takes a while, but it’s over eventually.

When he leaves the station, Eddie’s standing outside with Hopper and Joyce Byers, wearing a shirt and jeans that definitely belonged to Jonathan at some point. Eddie’s got his hands tucked into his armpits, looking antsy and tense, but he’s free and standing on his own two feet. It’s a pretty big upgrade from when Steve last saw him about a week or two ago. 

It’s almost too easy to go straight over to him, wrapping him up in a tight hug like they’ve had their arms around each other a million times. 

“Oof. Easy there, tiger,” laughs Eddie. “I’m, uh, still a little fragile.”

“Sorry,” says Steve, and loosens his hold. He doesn’t let go all the way.

“Come on, boys,” says Joyce. “I’m taking you two home. Steve, Eddie’s been staying with us, but we’re a little short on spare beds and it’s not great for his recovery. We’re moving him to your place until we can figure out something better, okay?” 

———

Joyce drops them off and helps carry in a few garbage bags full of Eddie’s stuff. There’s not that much.

And then the door closes behind her, and Steve’s alone with Eddie for the first time since—actually, maybe ever. 

“So,” says Eddie. “What…the fuck, Harrington.”

“Is that an actual question?” Steve says. He rolls his shoulders, trying to get some of the stiffness out. “I mean, didn’t Hopper and Mrs. Byers explain everything to you?”

“Kind of? I mean, I still think this is probably the worst idea of all time, but they told me—anyway, what I meant just now was a much more personalized and individual what the fuck. As in, why the fuck would you agree to any of this? You know you’re never gonna get another girl in this town to look at you now.”

“Dumping me already? Ice cold, man.”

Eddie groans and actually throws his hands in the air in frustration. Steve hadn’t known people did that in real life. 

“Jesus christ.” Eddie wheels around and grabs two of the garbage bags. “I can’t do this right now, I need to take a fucking nap. We will be discussing this later.”

“Still don’t know what there is to discuss,” says Steve, but he picks up the last garbage bag and leads the way to the spare room. 

Eddie pitches forwards onto the bed, arms outstretched and face mashed into the pillow. “Fuck yes, I am going to marry this goddamn mattress. Hit the lights when you leave,” he says, slightly muffled. 

For a second, Steve finds himself stepping forward with a hand outstretched to—do something. He’s not sure what. Touch Eddie’s hair, or something dumb like that. His face warms. He’s really glad Eddie isn’t looking at him and doesn’t see how he’s kind of just standing there with a hand out for no reason. 

He turns around, flicking the light switch on his way out, and doesn’t look back.

[caesariawritesstuff]

Damaged Goods

Summary: When Jonathan Crane comes to work for the GCPD, he sets his sights on the young detective who's involved with Edward Nigma.

Content Warning: Angst & Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Minor spoilers for Cat & Mouse

Word Count: 6.7k

Note: This fic is purely self-indulgent and currently not canon to the official Cat & Mouse!Verse...but it might be! The Jonathan x Detective brain rot is real and this desperately needed to be on the page.

Following in the path of Edward Nigma was something Jonathan Crane had never quite pictured himself doing. He did not have the same weakness Edward did: he was not bound by an ego so large that it ruled his every move, or an obsession with riddles and puzzles. Jonathan was immune to such weakness. While, of course, one could say his own obsession was with fear – he did not considered that obsession to be a weakness, to be something that held him down. His obsession made him stronger, made him more capable than the others around him – it was simply too bad the others around him were incapable of showing the true fear on their faces when he walked by. He’d only been at the GCPD for a week now. When City Council approached him a few days ago about a case needing to be solved, men and women being murdered and their bodies melting from the inside out at result of a toxin  that the medical examiner could not identify, he found his interest piqued.

Of course, they offered him something in return: for helping solve the case, he would be granted release from Arkham and the chance to reform. It was a tempting offer, however, Jonathan did not have much use for such things as “reform”. What he did not like was competition – someone else out there experimenting with toxins and causing fear and paranoia in the heart of Gotham’s citizens was his job. Fear was his domain, and he would not be upstaged. However, he couldn’t deny that getting out of Arkham for some time would be a nice reprieve away from his cell in Solitary Confinement. He’d been stuck there for the last several months, hoping to get out as soon as the opportunity presented itself – he just hadn’t imagined it was presenting itself in the form of a City Council member with a tempting offer he couldn’t refuse.

Though, Jonathan admitted he felt a bit like a hypocrite. It was only months ago that he was sitting across from Edward Nigma, being told of the same opportunity the man had been given, and feeling a bit like it was a waste of Edward’s skillset.

“The GCPD?” Jonathan had asked.

Edward only nodded, not looking up, his gaze focused on the white chess pieces in front of him. They’d been a stalemate for an hour now, neither one moving their piece.

“Whatever will you do there, Edward?” Jonathan asked. “Commit yourself to a life of humiliating stares from those around you? You know what they’ll think. What they’ll say.”

Edward’s brows furrowed for the slightest moment, the only tell of his frustration that Jonathan noticed with ease. The two had known each other long enough. But even Jonathan had to admit that Edward’s determination to his silly little reform was quite fascinating. The fact that Edward hadn’t even attempted to break out of Arkham in the last three years was telling enough, and Jonathan only wondered what Edward was afraid of now that Batman was long gone. Still, the thought of Batman had a deep anger rumble in Jonathan’s stomach. The Dark Knight was long gone, and he’d won – being the first to unmask the Bat – but it had not come without it’s own price. Being injected with a high dose of his own toxin had sent him spiraling into his own fear state, one that took him months to recover from. But that was a different time, one he had put behind him long ago.

“I’m going to do it, Crane,” Edward finally said. “Batman is gone. I don’t feel like wasting the rest of my life in a cell. There’s so much greater things out there for my genius and I. Think of everything Gotham is missing out on without me there?”

Jonathan held in a sigh. Of course Edward’s patented ego was coming out, no matter how much he claimed he did not have one. He said nothing, contemplating Edward’s words. In truth, Jonathan felt quite differently – there were much better things Edward could be doing than wasting his time down at the GCPD, but he held his tongue.

Edward finally met his eyes, hardened, dark shadows circling underneath him. “I made a promise, Crane. I don’t intend to break it.” With that, he moved one piece across the board and smirked. “Your move.”

If Jonathan had known he would be following in Edward’s footsteps now, perhaps he’d have done something differently. At the time, he’d thought Edward’s “promise” was foolish, one he would not be able to keep, but so far he’d been proven wrong. He’d heard of the cases that Edward had helped solve with the aide of a silly little Detective – a detective, whom Jonathan had come to learn, Edward had quite the obsession with.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes as he looked around at the GCPD morgue. There was quite the chill, but he was used to it, and he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the sidewall: three years had done quite the number on him. The mask that had been grafted to his skin had once been his face, but over time, the graft itself had begun to break down. He would have ignored it, if not for the infection that had begun underneath, prompting the Arkham doctors to convince him to go in for surgery to correct more of the damage from Croc’s mauling. Several surgeries later, he still did not quite look like himself: but his nose had been restructured, his lips slightly fixed, though there was still damage to his eye. His brown hair was thinned across his head, fully grown back by now, and yet he didn’t quite care for his appearance. He had been fine with the mask – though the Arkham doctors didn’t seem quite convinced to allow another one to be grafted onto his skin. Perhaps it was for the best, considering the way it’d broken down once.

Frowning, he studied himself a little further, taking note of the little scars across his pale, aged skin. He straightened out the white lab coat he wore, delicately laid out over a pair of tan pants and a brown sweater with gold accents. The brace around his leg was still secure, considering it was permanently broken, but he was used to it. His frown deepened and he turned away, back to the task at hand: the body splayed out across the silver tables, each of the victims’ bodies cold, gray, the stench of death permeating the room. Jonathan’s gaze slid to the other side of the room, where the medical examiner, Dr. Collins, was currently busy working on writing up reports about the victims. Jonathan turned back and headed over to one of the bodies, snatching up the clipboard and quickly skimming the initial reports Dr. Collins had made. The mans findings were…adequate. It was not wonder City Council had called him in to consult on this case; the man certainly was out of his element.

Just as he set the clipboard down, the sound of footsteps got his attention and he perked up just in time to see two people walk inside – you, and your partner, whom Jonathan had come to learn was named Mack Rollins. But Jonathan’s gaze immediately landed on you, studying you with a strange interest, taking note of your black slacks and green blouse that was open just enough to reveal a bit of cleavage. Jonathan wouldn’t normally take note of such trivial primal things, but, well…he found himself curious about what Edward Nigma saw in you. He’d never known Edward to have interest in his own primal urges, but knowing that you were capable of wrapping a man like Edward Nigma around your little finger, well…it was quite intriguing. Something he found himself needing to study, to analyze, to pick apart, to understand. What was so special about you that could make a man like Edward Nigma follow you around like a lost puppy dog, with you holding the leash?

That, Jonathan found, was the question he was most curious about.

As soon as you and your partner walked into the room, a strange tension sucked out the air, so sharp it couldn’t be cut with a knife. Jonathan narrowed his eyes, but Mack stepped forward, hands shoved into his pockets and said, “Crane. Have you made any progress on our victims?”

Jonathan studied the man slowly, deliberately taking his time to answer the question. He never imagined he’d be down in the GCPD morgue consulting on a case, but here he was. He set the clipboard aside and said, “It seems the victims have all be killed with a concoction of very lethal neurotoxins. Discovering the toxin compound will take time.”

You frowned, glancing down at one of the bodies, studying it carefully. Jonathan noticed the subtle way your lip jutted out, almost as if in concentration – but that was when he noticed something else, too: there, around your neck, was a silver chain, and dangling from it was a green question mark pendant. Clearly a gift from Edward.

Mack sighed, turning to you. “Whoever this bastard is, he’s killed every week. I don’t doubt he’s going to let up, and what is he planning?”

“This could be a trial run,” you said. “An attempt at seeing how his toxin works before he uses it on a mass crowd of people.”

Jonathan smirked, because he had a feeling you were correct in your assumption. It was entirely possible that the culprit was preparing for something big. After all, one did not perfect their toxin without a bit of experimentation, now did they?

Dr. Collins spoke up, “We’re taking care of it,” he said. “Dr. Crane and I are working day and night to analyze the toxins compounds. We’ll let you know as soon as we have something.”

Jonathan glanced at the man, frowning, even though his words were true. Jonathan was being worked like a dog day and night for the last several days since he arrived, and the weight of his newfound ankle monitor around his ankle was certainly not making things easier. The only reprieve he had was to head back to his city council issued apartment and catch a few moments of sleep, but even that was far and few between, as he kept himself awake most of the night pouring over medical files and chemical compounds in an attempt to understand this new toxin roaming Gotham’s streets – and, perhaps, set his own new plans in motion the moment those fools at city hall granted him his reform. But first, he had to play by the rules.

Mack nodded, and turned on his heels, before heading back the way he came. You followed him, but for the slightest second, you met eyes with Jonathan. It was brief, enough to make something coil in Jonathan’s stomach, a strange curiosity, and then you were out of the room without another word.

______

Several hours later, Jonathan found himself rubbing at his tired eyes. It was getting late, and he needed to send over the new reports that Dr. Collins had written up. Easier to do it by email, but he couldn’t help the curiosity building in his veins. He had not been able to stop thinking about you since you left; his curiosity needed satiating. His thoughts only continued to fill with questions: he did not understand what Edward saw in you, or why he’d gift you anything at all. Even if the necklace did look like a shiny collar more than anything.

Collecting his things, Jonathan made his way down the hall and took the elevator up to the Homicide Divisions floor. He waited patiently until the doors opened, and he stepped out, narrowing his eyes. Most of the detectives had gone home for the night, leaving behind empty desks stacked full of mountains of paperwork, but Jonathan’s gaze immediately strayed to the Cybercrimes Division office down the hall. He wandered through the room, each step a dull ache against his broken leg, but when he peeked his head inside – he realized the office was empty. That was, until voices from the other side of the room got his attention.

There, in the break room, he noticed you standing by a coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup. Steam floated into the air, and you turned back, leaning against the counter as you said, “Edward, I don’t understand why you think this will help us.”

“Because, my dear, it’s important that we cross reference everyone from every single pharmaceutical company in Gotham,” Edward replied, his voice smooth, arrogant, familiar.

“That is going to be hundreds of people,” you sighed.

“Correction, my dear: a few thousand,” Edward replied.

There was moment of silence, and Jonathan lingered back, before he heard a small laugh escape from your lips. His eyes narrowed into slits, but he walked into the room, finding you and Edward sitting across from each other at a small table, a laptop in front of Edward. You immediately turned around and found him standing there, and your lips fell open slightly, as if in surprise to see his presence.

“Crane,” Edward said, a hint of surprise in his own voice. “Finally emerged from your cave, I see. How are you faring here in this wondering institution?”

Jonathan was quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and Edward – taking note of your body language, the way your foot touched Edward’s underneath the table, how your arm was just a little too close to his own. A clear sign of physical connection that Jonathan was not used to seeing Edward display with someone else.

“I have some records for you,” Jonathan said smoothly. “I thought I’d deliver them myself.” He wandered over, handing over the file to you.

You hesitated, but took it, and for just a moment – your fingertips brushed against his own. The sensation was quick, barely a heartbeat, but for some reason it made Jonathan’s stomach tighten with something strange, a stirring deep within his gut. He met your eyes once more: wide, with a heavy coat of mascara, your lips tinted in a pink, glossy sheen. You glanced at Edward as you took the files.

“Thank you, Dr. Crane,” you finally said. “I’m sure this will be helpful to the investigation.” You leaned back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as you opened the folder, as if no longer considering him and his presence.

“Crane,” Edward said. “Come. Sit. Do regal us with tales of toxins.” He gestured to the seat in on the other side of the table, before picking up a mug of coffee and taking a slow sip.

Jonathan hesitated. He had work to do, too much, but he found himself interested. He hadn’t spoken to Edward much since arriving to the GCPD, but now was the perfect opportunity to get to know you a little better – perhaps, to understand what this strange hold you had over Edward was that had him so intrigued. There certainly couldn’t be anything that special about you, now could there be?

Jonathan pulled out the chair and sat in between the two of you finally, resting his hands in his lap, but he took note of the way you looked up from the folders and shot Edward a look. A silent conversation seemed to pass between you and Edward, something written in your gaze that intrigued Jonathan even more – but what was it? Perhaps it was apprehension. With the way your shoulders suddenly tensed, he couldn’t help but notice the flicker of uncertainty that passed through your eyes. Jonathan lips pressed into a thin line.

“How are you liking it here at the GCPD?” Edward asked, leaning back in his chair as he folded his hands together. “Is it everything you dreamed of, Crane?”

“Why yes, Edward,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I can see why you’ve stuck to your…reform for so long.”

Edward smirked, a low chuckle rumbling from deep within his throat. “Well, I do what I must. Gotham is in need of my services, after all. And what would they do without me?”

You snorted, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Edward shot you a grin and you smiled back at him, an exchange that did not escape Jonathan’s notice.

“Right,” you said, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palm. “Oh yes, the great Edward Nigma, forever offering his services to Gotham. How grateful we are.”

Edward’s smirk grew. “Well, detective, someone has to be.”

Jonathan sensed another silent exchange a words, and a tricky look seemed to fill Edward’s eyes. It was quite clear what your relationship with Edward entailed. Jonathan had not been blind to the whispers he’d heard running through the GCPD. The officers certainly liked to talk, and their mouths were bigger than their brains.

Edward opened his mouth to speak, but Cash’s voice boomed from the other room, “Nigma! Get your ass in here!” he called out.

Edward rolled his eyes. “Apologies, Crane, but the Commissioner calls.” He backed out of his chair and stood up, before pausing to glance at you once more, and slipping out of the room – leaving Jonathan and you all alone.

His gaze slid to you once again, but your attention was back on the folders before you, spreading out a series of toxicology reports. He couldn’t help but notice the look in your eyes, the way your bottom lip jutted out, as if in a pout, and your brows furrowed with the very obvious look that you had no idea what you were reading.

“Toxicology is not your forte, detective?” he decided to ask.

Finally, you sighed and shoved the papers aside. “Definitely not. I have no idea what any of this means.”

Of course you don’t, Jonathan thought. How could he expect someone as simple as you to understand something so complicated? What ever did Edward see in you? He fought the urge to roll his eyes, trying to keep his composure, and he slid one of the papers back to himself. With his index finger, he pointed to one of the toxins, explaining just what it did and how it affected the human body. You listened intently, nodding, as if taking in all he was saying.

“So,” you said when he was finished. “This is more complicated than I thought.” You leaned back in your chair and groaned, crossing your arms over yourself. Your breasts slightly popped out of your blouse with the movement.

Jonathan was quiet for a long moment. He studied you carefully, trying to understand what was so special about you. But you glanced at him, before looking away again, the movement so fast Jonathan registered it for exactly what it was: a moment of fear.

As if you were afraid of him.

A ripple of excitement surged through Jonathan’s stomach. He lifted his chin slightly, his curiosity increasing, and he found his thoughts wandering – wondering just what would happen if he injected you with his toxin, what kind of response he would get from you. What dark secrets would spill from your lips? What was your greatest fear? What things would you scream out as you writhed around, desperately searching for a way out from your nightmares? That, Jonathan realized, was what fascinated him most of all.

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat, your fingers straying upwards to play with the dangling pendant around your neck. “I should be going. Thank you for this, Dr. Crane.” You snatched up the files and began to head out the door. But as you did, you stole one glance back at him, studying him, before slipping out the door without another word.

Jonathan’s lips curves upwards, his curiosity fueling him even more now. He was not sure what it was – but there was something about you that had him…interested, in a way he had not been in a very, very long time. And he was determined to figure out what it was about you that was burrowing into his brain like some kind of rabid parasite, eating away at him. Whatever Edward saw in you, he wanted to find that little thing for himself. And oh, how fun it would be to pry it out of you, to make you squirm, to understand what exactly was so special about you that had Edward wrapped around your little finger. Because if you could make a man like Edward Nigma break…what other dangers did you possess?

That, Jonathan discovered, was what he wondered most of all.

______

The days passed slowly, and Jonathan was no closer to finding the solution to the toxin this new murderer on the streets was using. But with each passing day, as he found himself coming to and from the GCPD, he found himself running into you more often that not. In the halls, he often caught glimpses of you by Edward’s side, and he watched as the two of you left work together, arm in arm, whispering to one another in the shadows. Jonathan was not sure what it was about your relationship with Edward that fascinated him so, but it did not take Jonathan long to learn that the people called you the Riddler’s Whore, whispered about you behind closed doors, found it unbelievable that you would be with a criminal like Edward. And perhaps that was what Jonathan needed answering – why such a respected detective in the GCPD would fall for a criminal, albeit a reformed one, like Edward Nigma.

It did not take Jonathan long to devise a plan of his own, one to get you alone for a small moment, just to ask a few questions. He timed the seconds until he could set his plan in motion, and when the time came, he called upstairs to your desk, asking if you could come downstairs to the morgue. Dr. Collins had already left on his lunch break, and he knew your partner had taken the day off work – leaving you all alone. It did not take long for you to come downstairs, and he heard the elevator doors open, your heels clacking against the floor as you made your way into the morgue. You stepped into the room, hanging back in the doorway slightly.

“You wanted to see me, Dr. Crane?” you asked, one hand gripping the doorway.

Jonathan pretended to barely notice your presence, glancing at you for a split second. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve made progress in determining the toxin,” he said.

“Oh?” you asked, your attention fully on him now.

Jonathan nodded, turning back to his desk, and he glanced at the clock – and right on time, all of the lights in the GCPD went on, bathing everything in darkness. He heard your heals clack against the floor, as if you were shifting back and forth on your feet, and a moment later, a thunderous bang rang throughout, as if the backup generator was kicking on. A soft blue, overhead light came overhead, but most of the room was bathed in darkness.

“Shit,” you mumbled underneath your breath.

It was just as he’d planned – hiring a few men to cut the power to the GCPD and to the elevator. There was no way you’d be getting back upstairs now, at least not until the problem was fixed. He had twenty minutes, tops, perhaps. Enough time for what he needed.

“Afraid, detective?” he asked, busying himself with a few vials of chemicals, carefully not breaking contact from the vials.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” you said, stepping further into the room.

“Then what are you afraid of?” he asked, curious.

You were hesitant for a moment, so long that he turned back to see if you were even listening, but you crossed your arms over yourself and leaned back against the wall.

“All right,” you sighed. “I’ll play your game, Crane. If you want to know, I’m afraid of being eaten alive.”

“Eaten alive?” he asked, brows raising.

“Yeah. You know, by a shark or a crocodile. Or a dinosaur.”

“Dinosaurs went extinct millions of years ago, detective.”

“Well if you can create a fear toxin that makes people experience their greatest fears, what’s stopping some scientists from re-creating the dinosaurs?” you asked, but there was something oddly playful in your tone.

Jonathan did not know how to respond to that. He did not recall ever being questioned about the scientific recreation of dinosaurs before, but alas, that was besides the matter. He turned back to his vials, the stench of chemicals filling his nose. The clinking of vials filled the quiet space.

Jonathan took a moment to listen for any movements, but you said nothing, so he continued, “You and Edward seem quite close.”

“Well, he is my boyfriend,” you said.

Jonathan scoffed at the word, how juvenile it sounded. He glanced back at you and finally said, “I’ve never known Edward to take interest in such…menial pursuits.”

You shrugged, not breaking eye contact from him. “Well, things change.”

Jonathan finally swiveled around in his chair, studying you with clear, careful intent. “And what will you do when he decides he’s finished with you?”

You straightened. Now he had your full attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It was his turn to shrug, nonchalantly, as if without care. “We both know Edward only cares about himself. His narcissism doesn’t lie. Surely you can’t be that naïve, can you?”

“I know who he is,” you said, quietly. “I know what he’s done, and I’ve accepted it.”

“Have you now?” Jonathan asked, his curiosity growing. Now this was making him grow even more fascinated: what would cause a GCPD detective like yourself to fall for a criminal like Edward? The two of you were on completely opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet, somehow both enamored with one another.

“Yes,” you replied, staring at him closely, eyeing him as if he might make a move. “What does it matter to you, Crane?”

“I’m simply fascinated,” he replied. “What’s so special about you that has Edward so…enamored. I can see the way he looks at you. The way he follows you around like a poor, lost puppy. I’m…curious.”

Your quiet for a long moment, your eyes narrowing into slits. They sparkled in the darkness, the blue hue of the overhead light casting shadows across the room.

“You’re going to have to ask him,” you finally said, your tone level, composed, but there was just a hint of uncertainty in it that Jonathan detected.

“I’m not asking him, detective,” Jonathan replied. “I’m asking you.”

Your frown deepened, and you finally looked away. “Well, I can’t give you an answer, doctor. Ask Edward yourself.”

Jonathan leaned forward slightly in his seat. “Doesn’t it fascinate you as well?” he asked. “Why someone like Edward Nigma would become so infatuated with you?”

You shifted back and forth on your feet, heels clacking, the only sound in the room, in the quiet stillness. Jonathan counted the minutes – he still had about fifteen to get what he wanted, the answer he was desperate for. His own fascination with you was beginning to grow further, a desperation to understand you. To understood what made you tick, what you feared, the pieces of your mind he wanted to shape and mold and understand.

He could see that look in your eyes, as if you were asking yourself the very same question, trying to understand it yourself. A smirk curved at the edge of his lips, realizing he had you right where he wanted you: questioning the very fabric of your relationship with Edward, held together by fragile threads. Jonathan quirked a brow, studying you carefully.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered him, your voice quiet.

Jonathan clicked his tongue in response. So, even you did not seem to know what was so special about you that had allowed you to wrap Edward around your little finger. But Jonathan was determined to figure out just what little piece of you was – to twist it and mold it to his own.

Jonathan finally stood, backing away from the table of vials and taking a step towards you. “You didn’t answer my question, detective. When Edward has decided he’s had his fill of you – that you’re no longer his shiny new toy – what will you do? I’ve heard the rumors. Tell me…has Nigma ruined you? Corrupted you? When he’s finished with you, who will want you afterwards?”

Your mouth falls open slightly and you step back a little, the shock written clearly across your face. It’s clear his question has taken you aback, and that makes a flicker of pride spark in Jonathan’s chest.

“You’re damaged goods, detective,” Jonathan continue. “No one will want you now that you’ve been…tainted by Edward, will they? He’s taken that innocent part of you and twisted it until there’s nothing left of who you used to be, is there?”

“Crane…” you said, a warning in your tone. “I’m not playing this game with you. Stop trying to get under my skin.” Your body went taught then, and he could practically smell the fear radiating off your skin, a deliciousness that only fueled his intrigue more.

Jonathan stepped a little closer now. “No games, detective. A simple discussion.”

“A discussion that’s starting to piss me off,” you mumbled. “Remember, doctor, I can go right to the Commissioner and have them throw you right back in Arkham.”

One of Jonathan’s brow quirked upwards. “No need for threats, detective. I’m merely expressing my concern. Once Edward has decided he’s had his fill, who will want you? Who will touch you? You’re corrupted, ruined…damaged goods. That’s what you are now, aren’t you?”

In that moment – something fills your eyes: a pure, raw rage, unfiltered, as if burning against the firelight. It’s clear as day, the sudden change in your demeanor, how your anger is beginning to take hold of as fierce as a wicked storm. The change is subtle, but enough for Jonathan to take notice, and his brow quirks up even further in interest.

“I think we’re finished with this discussion,” you said, turning away from him, your gaze sliding towards the door. The power is still out, the elevator still out of use, and there’s nowhere to run, but Jonathan can tell you’re searching for an escape route – he can see the fear that you’re trying so hard to control, to keep contained, and it lights a fire in his belly, stirring excitement deep within him.

Jonathan takes another step closer, and your head snaps to him. “You can feel it, don’t you? How you’re nothing but a tarnished toy? That feeling of hopelessness, knowing that no one will want you when Edward has finished his games with you.”

“I don’t remember asking you for a therapy session, Crane,” you snapped.

The snap makes a shudder run through Crane – and that’s when he see’s it: the fear, unaltered, pure, raw, fear. The fear that you know he’s right – that no one will want you the moment Edward has decided to be done with his shiny new toy. Jonathan knows it’s only a matter of time.

“You know I’m right, don’t you?” Jonathan continues. “You know Edward will bore of you, eventually. And who will want you then, I wonder?”

You said nothing – but the fear in your eyes was clear, sending another ripple of excitement through his stomach. Jonathan took another step closer, until he was a mere inches away from you, listening to the way your breath hitched in your throat – but you did not back down, remaining still, defiant – a clear sign you did not want to give into your fears.

The edges of Jonathan’s lips quirked upwards. “That’s what you’re afraid of most, isn’t it, detective? Being cast aside and treated as nothing but his plaything?”

You didn’t break eye contact from him. “This isn’t a therapy session, Crane.”

The bite in your voice made him tremble. “I’m merely expressing my professional opinion, detective. Edward will have his fun with you, and when he’s finished, you’ll be broken beyond repair. No one will want a tainted little thing like you.”

You scoffed under your breath, turning to face him again. The burning defiance was still clear in your eyes, across your face – but there was something about that defiance, something about the way you held strong, unbroken and unyielding, that made something in him snap. Something stirred in his gut, a strange sensation, an excitement he had not felt in quite some time – years, perhaps, but enough to make the hairs on the back of his own neck raise in question.

“Maybe I like being a little tainted,” you finally said.

Your statement caught him off guard. He had not expected such an interesting response from you – to declare that you did not seem to care how Edward might have ruined you for anyone else. Perhaps, if you were anyone else, you would be cowering from him right now – afraid, trembling, terrified of what he might do to them. But you stood firm, the defiance written across every inch of your skin – and that was when it clicked for Jonathan.

Ah. There it is, he realized, as the puzzle pieces came to place in his own mind. It was your fire – burning as bright as a dying star, refusing to be smoldered – that had Edward so captivated by you. The way you spoke, carried yourself, a flame never going out, no matter how much damage had been done to you. And there had been quite a bit of damage, Jonathan had come to learn – and yet you were not allowing that damage to break you.

And, perhaps, Jonathan liked that, admired it even. A strong mind was rare to come by.

Crossing his hands behind his back, his excitement growing, he began to circle you, like  a hunter stalking its prey. His eyes roamed over every inch of you, taking in the parts that he had not allowed his eyes to stray to for too long. He was not a man who gave into such…primal desires before, but standing here, listening to your defiance – it excited him, in a way he had not been excited in a very, very long time.

“So, you enjoy the thought of being ruined and tainted by Edward? Interesting, very interesting,” he murmured, making a mental note of every word out of your mouth, how your body language threatened to betray you.

“What does it matter to you anyways, Crane?” you sighed, a sound out of your mouth that somehow sounded both bored and exasperated.

That made him pause, stopping his tracks right in front of you. His gaze roamed over you from head to toe, before landing on the green question mark necklace resting delicately at the hollow of your throat. Jonathan took a step closer, before reaching forward and capturing the pendant between his first two fingers, rubbing at the surface with slow, delicate care. You sucked in a breath, your body going taught, and you began to take a step back, but Jonathan only tightened his grip on the necklace, making you pause.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” he continued, his voice low. “The way he touches you. Edward is positively smitten with you. Now I can see why.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. You were just inches away from him, enough that he could take in every delicate line on your face. “Let go of me,” you whispered,

He ignored your demand, swirling his thumb along the dips and grooves of the pendant, before his gaze met yours again. “This little trinket says quite a lot more about your relationship with Edward, doesn’t it? That you belong to him?”

The breath hitched in your throat. “So what if I do? Does that bother you?” There was a tremble to your voice now, one Jonathan couldn’t help but notice.

He quirked a brow. “It’s simply an observation, detective,” he said. “But when the time comes for him to discard you, whatever will you do? That’s what scares you the most, isn’t it? That desperate, primal need to be wanted, even if it’s by a man who will never love you?”

You sucked in a shallow breath, as if trying to keep yourself composed. “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, Crane. If I want therapy, I’ll get it from someone else.”

The bite in your voice makes Jonathan pause, but the corners of his mouth quirk upward. He tilts his head to the side, his gaze roving over your body in fascination, wondering what a dose of his toxin would do to you – what sort of secrets you would reveal, how long it would take for that precious little mind to break. But he could see it in your eyes, the truth you were fighting so hard not to reveal: your true fear was not being eaten alive. It was being tossed aside and unloved, forgotten, unwanted. Jonathan could see it written across your face plain as day.

But you didn’t break your gaze from him, the defiance still written clear as day, as if you were trying to prove to yourself and to him that you weren’t afraid. Excitement bundled in Jonathan’s stomach, a desire, a need, an aching suddenly pooling in his core, to watch that defiance in your eyes fade into nothing but submission and surrender. Jonathan smirked, his thumb continuing to trace circles over the pendant in slow, meticulous strokes.

Your breathing was shallow, but your gaze narrowed, and you finally reached up to swat his hand away, but with his other hand, he grabbed your wrist tightly. You gasped as his fingers dug into your skin, and he nudged you back, until your waist hit the small metal table. His grip tightened on your necklace, carefully yanking your head closer to him, until he was but inches away from you, your breath on his skin.

“Come now, detective,” he said lowly. “Acts of physical violence aren’t tolerated here at the GCPD, now are they?”

“Crane…” you said, a warning in your tone. He could feel you shuddering against him, the terror in your eyes exciting him, even though you fought hard to control it.

He finally dropped the pendant, but his fingers hovered a little too long near your collarbone, before he dropped your wrist as well and dropped his hands back to his sides. Excitement pooled in his stomach, aching deep inside of him. He took a step back, and just as he did, the lights flickered on once more, bathing the room in a bright white light glow. He took a step back and tucked his hands into his pockets, turning away as if the entire interaction hadn’t happened at all, returning to his desk and the vials and reports surrounding him. As he slid back into his seat, he watched you spin on your heels, muttering something vulgar under your breath. Jonathan chuckled lowly to himself, and a moment later, he heard the elevator doors ping out.

“Detective?” Dr. Collins asked from down the hall. “Are you all right?”

Your gaze slid back to him, then to Dr. Collins. “Everything’s fine.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Dr. Collins asked, lowering his voice, but Jonathan could still hear, listening in.

You were silent for a beat, before shaking your head. “No. I’m fine.” Then you turned and walked away, out of the room, your heels clicking on the way down the hall.

Jonathan returned to his work, smirking. A productive session. He’d already learned enough about you in twenty minutes than he had all week – and what he’d learned had been very, very fascinating. Now he understood what Edward saw in you, what would draw you to him, make him…crave you. Jonathan paused, his fingers hovering over the vials as a hint of something pulsed in his stomach, spreading down to his loins, tightening in the confines of his pants. Crave. That word meant a lot of things. And, the more he began to think about it, the more his own craving for you began to grow into something deeper, into something he had not felt in quite a very, very long time.

Smirking, one thought crossed his mind, Until next time, pet.

It was a good thing Jonathan didn’t mind damaged goods.

The amazing @finzphoenix did a wonderful job of drawing what I imagined a post-Arkham Knight Jon would look like, which you can find here!

[ymaohoh]

Masterlist

So I've fallen right into the deep end of the HellCheer fandom. Ride or die. I'm in love with Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson. The fans are fucking talented too, alright? I've been binging fics and the artwork but there's certain troupes/ideas/prompts that keep rattling away in my brainbox. I'm going to note them here for if (or when) I maybe write something for the two...but (public service announcement) if anyone knows a fic out there which can scratch these little itches please link me up.

Updated: 18.04.24

My Completed Fics

Chrissy starts dating. Eddie's not thrilled - Dating Chrissy - oneshot

Eddie wants to buy something nice for Chrissy. Candles are romantic, right? He ventures on a quest to the mall - Yankee Candle Baby - oneshot.

Chrissy is such a Brat with Eddie and Jason watches it (while hiding). Jason's POV - Chrissy Cunningham is a Brat - oneshot - mature

What if Chrissy ran from Eddie after her vision? What if it pushed them apart? They later share a joint and things get much much worse. My take on 'Chrissy lives' but it takes a little while for them to get back on the same page - Chrissy Runs Away - Chapter 3/3.

Eddie and Chrissy have unprotected sex against a brick wall after his gig because they can't wait - “We could always just…do it anyway?" - oneshot - mature

Eddie and Chrissy die but they're summoned again for the final fight Ft. time travel and angst - my hope for season 5 - Howl - oneshot

Gender Swap AU where Ellie Munson saves Chris Cunningham - a play on 'Chrissy Lives' - Rule 63' - oneshot

Ongoing

Vecna keeps Chrissy in hell - 'and she's a bride of the fucking devil' - 2/2 chapters.

My Mess of Drabbles

Eddie dies and Chrissy is waiting for him - end of passion play, crumbling away - short drabble only

Chrissy the Vampire Slayer AU

Labyrinth AU

X-Files AU

Pirates AU

Stardust AU

Jason joins the good side AU

Photocheer moodboard (Chrissy x Jonathan)

Headcannon Prompts

Max's relationship with Hellcheer

Dustin's relationship with Hellcheer

Chrissy and Wayne Munson's (beautiful) relationship

Chrissy and The Party headcanons

Favourite Fanfictions Masterlist

Need a new fic? Not sure where to start? Check out these INCREDIBLE Hellcheer fanfictions

In need of/ Prompts

Chrissy gets her first tattoo. A cliche at this point no? I'm torn between her getting this done without Eddie knowing as a surprise, or if I want him right there holding her hand.

Eddy eyeing her up in the school cafeteria or class. Basically Eddy simping over Chrissy.

Anything with Eddie and Chrissy reuniting after death / or in the upside-down (manifesting the second).

Chrissy and Eddie getting high together. Maybe a dash of 'will I remember any of this tomorrow?' as they confess their feelings and frustrations.

Eddie loves Chrissy in a sundress. The more feminine, girly, and flouncy the better. He wants to get his hands under it.

He also loves her in a Hellfire top. Anything really that marks her subtly as his.

Other character POV's watching them flirt. Sweet sweet music to my...eyes?

He loves it when she wears one of his rings. She has plenty of her own jewelry (and it's all real gold/expensive/fit for a princess) but it doesn't mean anything really. Her eyes light up at his rings, though.

Together they create a D&D character for her to practice with. They discuss what type she's most likely to be (Eddie's a bard right?). I'm feeling Chrissy might also have that bard energy (she's THE hype girl, right?) or a healer? They definitely get distracted though and don't actually finish it.

He is a rambler. He talks when he's nervous - and Chrissy finds it easy to keep up.

Chrissy tells the jocks to leave the Hellfire club alone in the school corridor. She gets annoyed when she hears them referring to the kids as 'freaks'. Eddie adores the fire and nerve he sees in her eyes because it only really ever comes out when she's in protective mode (bonus points 1) if she tells Jason to fuck off 2) she walks away with the Hellfire club after).

Chrissy is the only one who gets him to study (and pass). He knows he has a reason to now, you know? They've got plans and he isn't wasting time.

Eddie has doubts about Chrissy really truly loving him - she's way out of his league, after all, so she makes sure to create visual reminders. She takes their photo together and tacks it up in her locker for all to see.

Eddie loves fucking Chrissy in her cheerleading uniform. She loves fucking him when he's backstage. They will want to mark their place in each other's bizarre worlds.

Eddie worries about his future with Chrissy (what's his dumbass supposed to do while she excels at college?) but he likes the way his last name suits her.

Eddie is ONLY soft for Chrissy. A scene where he's trying to be big and scary for the club and she unknowingly fractures this image by doing something oh so achingly cute. Maybe she giggles or squee's during a D&D session? It takes him ages to drag himself back into his DM role.

I'll be adding to this , fo' sure.

Is there an official name for this dynamic? Unpopular baddass x sunshine princess?

All aboard the ship. Ahoy ahoy.

[tempestvista]

spoiler warnings for TMA

There is a decent possibility that I am going to eat my words if anything changes greatly since I have not fully finished TMA (Iirc I'm in the middle of season 4? I've been on pause for a bit though so I need to find my place again)

But can I just say how frustrating it is that like everyone villainizes Jonathan Sims in the fandom lmao?? Especially without even considering him and his character + character development as a part of his multi-faceted person and instead just dumbing him down to a one dimensional evil guy who they can also ship with others because ui ui sexo sexo

Now there are obvious things/reasons to dislike him. Namely, the stalking of his employees, which, I don't think I need to explain why is problematic and gross.

But the things I see listed as points against Jonathan Sims are often just… Side effects of him being non-consensually turned into a monster by a deeply calculating man who has a plethora of more knowledge from the get-go and far more manipulation over the situation than Jon himself? ''He killed innocent people!!'' Alright, so did multiple of the other characters?? Like a lot of them, actually?? That's. A really common theme??????????? An overarching pattern (in my analysis/eyes anyhow) in TMA is that literally almost no one gets a happy ending and usually the ones who ''do'' are based in the suffering of others + they've been turned

It just actually infuriates me when I see the "he killed innocent people'' argument without anyone acknowledging how it is near impossible to fight your nature as an avatar and again, really, really loosely saying here because I do not fully recall, but it seems like going against that nature can and WILL kill you. And you can call it selfish, but really, who WOULDN'T want to die? A lot of people have both a conscious and primal instinct to, you know, LIVE.

And again, also not acknowledging that multiple others have done the same.

Also, I see people either justify or entirely ignore the fact that at some point he was being utterly demeaned and belittled by everyone around him. If he wasn't being manipulated by Elias, he was being avoided by Martin, Melanie making cruel digs, being hovered over also by any given person, and generally having petty to hateful comments tossed at him by MOST individuals on any day at any hour. I acknowledge my bias and love for him really does jump out in this, but it also does make me mad that no one seems to care for the fact that he is ALSO a victim. He's a victim of manipulation, of being groomed into being an avatar (at least in my eyes), of being harmed by multiple entities and having lasting marks and impacts from each of them, of being falsely accused of murder (and everyone he knew at the time BELIEVING he was guilty), of being kidnapped/held hostage (MORE THAN ONCE), having to witness literal ghosts/bodies/skins of previous people he knew be lifted around and surrounding him talking about how he's a failure, a bad person, a bad archivist, the worst of the worst- which I cannot IMAGINE the nightmares that that situation would breed. Genuinely just sit and think about that for a moment. Also, as far as the Unknowing and any harm derived from that situation, if we're talking specifically about Sims again, he also had to live with the fact afterward that he was the reason Tim got killed. He has to live with the fact that he was so overwhelmed by everything and the manipulation of Nikola + the Stranger that when he came out of it, Tim had to be the one to end it because Jon failed to. He has to live with Tim being gone, and the fault of it weighing down on him. That is something that I do think one can blame him for (if I am recounting this all correctly). I wanted to bring this up in specific because Survivors guilt is very real and that whole ordeal and blaming must have been something beyond harrowing. He had to realize a thing was basically marching around in the corporeal idea of Sasha and that it WASN'T. HER. Of course this whole podcast is centered around being a nightmare, which is why I find it important to acknowledge the impacts of the nightmare on the people who very much are experiencing them!! And on a continued basis!! Living in that consistent traumatizing environment, developing hypervigilance, watching people drop like flies around you, like. holy shit man. Being traumatized, being threatened by what seems like fate itself at times, and also being used as a pawn for a massive scheme which he didn't even know was a thing. He used to have a life prior to all the world-ending, supernatural, lovecraftian horror stuff that became his new normal.

I know a lot of people would bash the ''I'm a victim too!'' card, but I really don't think that is an easy dismissal here because he just legitimately is.

That, and the people who villainize him also get really.. weird? At times? Like I know this is no longer an uncommon opinion - at least I hope not, but I don't really interact with TMA fandom at all besides liking, reblogging and saving fanart + fics- But people really just tend to make him into this gross or just. Absolutely downright awful human being (occasionally fetishizing his very nature even sometimes) and then Martin is the cutesy innocent person who has never done a single thing wrong in his life, Tim is the sexy hot bisexual who would fuck anything from a lamp-pole to eight mothmen, and Sasha is some demure, sweet and lovely little thing who only exists as just another background person in the polychives.

I can't say I've really seen that characterization of Sasha often thankfully… but that's also because some people straight up forget she was a vital character at one point lol (and I confess I'm not deeply attached to her so the art I save of her is usually secondary/included in other fanart)

I know some of this is redundant, and I am certain that if my memory wasn't so in and out as it is (especially as of late, the dissociation has been… bad, topic for another day, anywho-) I would be able to make more points against the things I've seen, but this is just one facet I really felt like addressing, since I think almost no one is innocent in TMA and harping on Jon specifically is … honestly pointless?? And bland/low hanging fruit as far as the conversation goes? Like big whoop, he's a monster, so is a majority of the characters in TMA? Lmfao??

All in all I say this without aggression or targeted vitriol. I hope people understand I am allowed to be angry at words without hating and/or wishing harm upon the people who say them /npa gen

And if someone happens to see this and has something to contribute, or a point to be made against me, I will gladly listen and engage! I like when people show me my errors, it gives me more perspectives. (Not intended arrogantly, genuine).

I do want it to be clear though that just because this is something I would love to discuss if anyone actually DOES - that doesn't mean I'm accepting of petty spats or arguments.

[savelockwoodandco]

It's been a year of campaigning and I can't help but feel despondent about the chances of the show even though I know these things take time. I know I'm not the only one as well. I think it's the fact we don't have any sort of sign from anyone official that any of what we're doing is helping. Any real sign of major progress. Just hints and after a while you begin to wonder if it's just our own confirmation bias. There's no clue if any progress is being made at all. A part of me wonders that they're too afraid to tell us any bad news. Another part of me is still hopeful that no news is good news. Idk. I just wish we had anything concrete, some sort of acknowledgement, that we're not screaming into the void and it's not hopeless still and that we're somewhat closer to getting the show saved now than we were last year. Right now its a struggle to hope and I fear its all the more frustrating that situations like last year's strikes probably ended up causing a lot of internal industry changes we may not even be able to account for or that may be affecting how long this process takes. It feels like we know less now than we did last year. Do you have anything to shed some light on this from a different perspective? And if you're feeling sad yourself, all the hugs from me to you and Twitter Mod 🫂. If you don't have any optimism you don't need to give hope to us too since that's an unfair responsibility to drop on you.

Hi Anon! Thanks for the message and for the hugs for both of us!

It's amazing to think it's been a year of campaigning -- us mods have had so many things happen to us since we started this blog, and we're sure it's the same for many of you.

We were pretty sure we'd start to see a sort of 'settling' effect on the enthusiasm for this campaign as the year mark came, and sure enough here it is! That's not a problem or unexpected -- it's hard to keep up efforts and enthusiasm over a longer stretch of time! Having been in many, many campaigns before (successful and otherwise), we're prepared for the long haul, but we totally understand the sort of despondent feelings that come from time to time, especially as the campaign goes on.

A year, in the scheme of things, is really not that long for a campaign all things considered. It feels incredibly long sometimes, sure, but with all the legalities, scheduling issues, rights issues, and everything else that comes with modern TV, it's a pretty short time frame. The hints, good things, and continued momentum from the fanbase and from those directly involved from the show are always heartening, and happen with regularity -- but can feel like very little sometimes. We always recommend taking breaks when burnout starts, and that holds even more true the longer the campaign stretches.

Ultimately, us mods are still as optimistic as we were when we started this blog almost exactly a year ago. There's no 'set' timeframe for renewal/saving efforts -- it can be two months, it can be two years, it can be even longer. Just look at Julie and the Phantoms, whose rights were just barely released by Netflix -- a long time coming (out of Netflix's own pettiness, to be sure), but that's 3 years after its cancellation. The wheels of TV grind slowly, but they do grind on.

As we stand, with having had multiple events with the cast/crew of Lockwood and Co, with Jonathan Stroud, and with more to come -- as well as the outward support of both Agents Stroud and the love CF has for the show, we see no reason to give up the fight. No news is definitely good news -- if there was no chance, they'd tell us flat-out -- and for the time being we're continuing on with the same fighting spirit and enthusiasm that we've had for a year.

Take breaks, take heart, and keep noticing the little things. We're here for encouragement and support whenever y'all need us!

[rosiemarieyn]

One Day

pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader (teen&adult)

Summary: "Don't make promises you can't keep" you trusted him not to but it seems like he was like the others.

Genre: angst, friends to strangers, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

Word count: 700

Note: Y'all I just watched "A Quiet Place 2" and UGH I might write something with Emmett next.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

You threw a rock into the lake, watching it skip with ease while your eyes fell onto Jonathan’s failed attempt at throwing a rock. His little huff of frustration made you giggle as he looked over at you, he’d always have cuts and bruises over his body from his parents, you told him to call the cops but he would never listen to you.

“how do you even skip a rock???” he put his hands in the water, feeling the coldness of it throughout his body.

“Well first you have to grab a flat-ish round rock, then you hold it between your fingers and throw at an angle!” you described at him while grabbing another rock and throwing it in the lake and watching it skip 3 times before it fell deep in.

“you know, one day I will leave this shithole of a town and become a great man.” he ran his wet hand through his hair, slicking it back and smiling dumbfoundedly.

“I hope you do Jon, hope you do.”

“Don’t forget about me okay?”

He suddenly turned his head at you, his eyes betraying his real intentions. “I would never!!” he said, you smiled adoringly with a mixture of sadness in you, you knew he would.

And he did.

It has been years since you saw his face, 20 actually, he gazed in your direction like he used to do before turning away. Leaving you in the past even though you were the only reason he was able to leave that place.

“You’ve changed,” you murmured behind him, catching his attention right away as he slowly walked towards you, he stood tall, still as skinny as he used to be. He spoke calmly after adjusting his tie and straightening his suit. Still as perfectionist as ever.

“That I did, sweetheart. I changed, and I don’t regret it at all. I suggest you stay away from me as we are two separate people who have no connection anymore.” He took his leave once again, carrying his suitcase in one hand and checking his watch with the other.

“But you said—“

He didn’t even give you time to speak what was bugging you for an eternity, just kept walking and walking before disappearing into a crowd of people. You were, again, left with the burden of his so-called “love” he said he felt for you in the past.

“One day I will make you my wife so we can live happily ever after!” He swung his wet arm over your shoulder, making you shriek at the coldness and him laughing his heart out.

“That's impossible, Jonny. We’re too young—“ he put his other hand over your mouth, shushing you and slowly turning your head towards his direction, his blue eyes felt heavenly at that exact moment. His soft smile bringing joy to your face, making your heart flutter with adoration and warmth.

“I said one day, not today…although we can start today if you wish to.” That cocky smirk of his forming on his mouth, you quickly pushed his hand away from your mouth and furrowed your brows. Of course, it would be considered as pouting in his eyes —not that you meant it to be seen as rude anyway—.

“JONATHAN!!! That’s inappropriate.” he cackled at your little tantrum, it was quite cute in his eyes.

He abruptly took hold of your chin, carefully observing your face before whispering his feelings out.

“One day, You and I will leave our parents, who did us wrong—“

“Mine are good people unlike yours.”

“… Anyway, like I said, one day we will leave PEOPLE who did us wrong and we will start a family together, happier, better, and kinder.”

He took your hands in his, kissing your forehead.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Then why did you make a promise you can’t keep Jonathan?” You mumbled behind him even though he already left. Oh to face the sorrows of the old times once again.

Maybe one day he would fulfill his promises.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

taglist: @hiraethberry @1-fuzzy-squirrels @justcallme1anangel @tejasvkris @rosierosem @meowsicles39

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

We're Still Shit Out of Luck, Munson (pt. 2)

Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Part One Masterlist

Summary: After being snowed in with Eddie and accidentally falling for him, you two are left to figure out what this is and how to make it work – by any means necessary.

Word Count: ~8.6k

Warnings: Angst. Swearing. Fluff. More fluff. Eddie's a hopeless romantic.

A/n: Thank you everyone for the love I received on part one of this fic. I had no idea people would like it so much. Please let me know your thoughts! Love hearing from you all, and thank you for reading <3

And tip: you can listen to any song from Stick Season by Noah Kahan while reading

--

It hadn’t been enough for Eddie. 

One kiss. That’s all he was able to sneak in before the most horrible and irritating people ever (read: friends he loved dearly) interrupted you two. Then you were gone from his grasp, leaving him cold all over again in that godforsaken cabin. At the sound of Steve’s voice announcing they had made it back, he couldn’t help pressing his mouth to yours before the moment came crashing down around him.

It had ended all too quick, the pulsing left on his lips aching to return to you. The taste of you left him intoxicated, crawling back for more if Harrington’s stupid grin and stupid hair hadn’t waltzed back with his arms wide. You offered an apologetic smile to him before turning to greet the group, his own feet trailing behind you.

And that was the last day there before the weekend ended, so he couldn’t even share the bed with you for real this time. With you in his arms… as someone who wanted to kiss him. They’d been in and out of the room even while packing, telling story after story of the motel and plows. You couldn’t blame them – you’d come along to spend time with them, not to fall for Eddie. Though that certainly wasn’t a horrible coincidence.

But in the spare moments between Robin asking if you’d seen her hairbrush for the third time and Jonathan trying to figure out the drive back on that outdated map, it’d been quiet besides the rustling of clothes being shoved back into bags. You’d wanted it all to be comfortable, to feel as easy as it had been just hours ago, but everything weighed over you. It lingered in the air, stealing the breath from your lungs until you rushed out in a whisper, “I’m driving back to college tomorrow.”

A hard swallow bit down your throat as you risked a glance to him, and you lost that gamble. You would’ve loved to look up at his soft eyes to find that adoration he had for only you; hell, even a hardset glare at this shitty situation sitting in front of you. But they were neither. His eyes had looked up at you in raw shock, betrayal almost at it all. Then they broke as they turned just a bit shinier.

“How long?” he asked, voice quiet as he continued packing things into his bag.

“How long… what?” The pit in your stomach refused to ease, even without him looking at you now. It just wanted his arms back around your body.

His labored sigh snaked through the room – not out of frustration, but because he feared for the worst. “How long is the drive from Hawkins?”

You paused, leaving an expectant pocket of silence threatening to swallow up everything in its path. You’d changed your mind, wanting him to meet your eyes again. Please look up, Eddie. 

“I, uh… a few hours, a bit more. Three if you speed,” you told him, hoping he could tell that you were practically begging him to visit without you having to voice it. To be sure, you reached out your hand toward his. If anyone walked in, your body would block their view – and you’d almost pity them for missing out on the freckles that dotted the back of Eddie’s fingers, freckles that you rubbed over with your thumb like it could grant some wish.

Still, he hadn’t raised his eyes an inch, so you squeezed his hand and said, “Well, if someone wanted to drive there, they’d probably need the phone number of the student. Just in case, of course.” And his silent laugh brought a warmth to your chest you had missed.

“I suppose they would, wouldn’t they?” Eddie asked, tilting that lopsided grin your way. “So, sweetheart…”

“Yes?” you said, expression innocent and holding back a laugh as you waited for him to ask.

He sighed again, but it held no malice. “Could I get your phone number?”

You pretended to think about it, pursing your lips before saying, “Well I think it would only be fair if I got your number in return, wouldn’t it? Especially if I’m to make it to your concert.”

And he nodded, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “God, I got to kiss a genius. You come up with the best ideas.”

A laugh bubbled up your chest as you lightly smacked him. “Just because flattery works on you Eddie doesn’t mean it works on me.”

“Oh, so a genius and  a liar…” he said, shaking his head. He brought a hand up to brush a finger against your cheek, his eyes unwavering this time. “Because I know exactly what happens when I call you the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Part of you hated he was right, like your heated cheeks and inability to form words. But the other part of you nearly damned it all to kiss that smug grin off his face. Though none of it mattered, as every part of you hated the approaching footsteps and dropped hands, especially the wave of cold they left in their path.

Nancy had come to announce that they’d be leaving soon, and you found it hard to hide your disappointment. The two of you couldn’t even convince the group to let you ride back with him in the van, insisting that Robin and Steve lived closer to Eddie than your parents did.

You’d wanted to speak up, to tell the lump in your throat and their judgments to go to hell. Eddie nearly did say that. But neither of you knew what existed between the two of you, and jeopardizing it by telling your friends was not on the table. 

God, he wished you were on the table, him between your legs and mouth on yours.

His eyes blinked hard as he concentrated on the road again, playing your secret goodbye in his head throughout the whole ride back. Eddie dodged side-eyes from Steve and occasional questions from Robin about whether he was okay because he didn’t once complain about the terrible choice of music they picked.

You’d caught Nancy’s gaze in the rearview mirror a few times, knowing she had silent questions she wanted to ask. And you expected a call from her later when it’d just be the two of you, but she let you sit there quietly for now, planning all the different weekends you might be free to drive back here. For Eddie.

–

“Does next weekend work?”

“I’ve got Parent Weekend then. What about the weekend after? The… 16th?” you asked, looking through your calendar as you stood in your college dorm’s common area on the public phone.

The sigh coming through his end of the line had you chewing on your lip before he answered. “They’ve got me working a double that weekend, some dick called out.”

“I’m sure he didn’t do it just to spite you, Eddie,” you said, offering a small laugh.

“Well he did spite me by making me wait to see you again.” You could practically see the way he huffed, laying in bed at his place with those wrinkles set deep between his eyebrows and hand too tight on the receiver. “Okay, what about the 23rd then?” he asked.

You flipped through your calendar, the rustling of the pages filling the nearly empty room. As soon as you saw your writing there, your eyes squeezed shut, not realizing you let out a soft groan.

“No good, huh?” 

“No,” you breathed out, hand coming to rub down your face. “Got a test and an essay due that Monday. Professor Quinn’s class, can’t fail it.”

“‘S okay,” he offered, but Eddie’s voice made your lips press together to stop you from saying something you might regret – like ‘But I miss you’ or ‘Come anyway, please.’ Instead, you let the static fill the space between you. When imagining him this time, you tried picturing yourself right next to him, laying against his chest as he read some book out loud to you or talked about some metal song and its meaning.

It shattered apart when he spoke again. “Guess I won’t see ya until our concert, then,” he said, his words flat and shoved through the line with a wince. ‘Corroded Coffin’ was written on the Friday after, surrounded by a few doodled hearts. You’d wanted to see each other sooner, but the universe seemed to have other plans.

“I know… I know,” you told Eddie, trying to offer some reassurance to unspoken words, but it felt as much for you as it was for him. “I’m sorry, but I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Eddie.”

A soft hum came from him, followed by, “I like when you say my name.” Now that there was nothing to be done for these horrible plans, you were grateful he changed the subject.

“Yeah?” you asked, feeling a smile grow across your face. “Would’ve picked you as a ‘darling’ or ‘handsome’ kind of guy. Maybe a ‘super handsome Dungeon Master Eddie’ for special occasions.”

You hadn’t realized how much you missed the waves of his laugh until it kissed your ears against the phone. “Well now that you’ve said it, I could certainly get used to the last one, sweetheart. ‘S got a nice ring to it,” he said, his grin evident in his voice. “Really though, ‘Eddie’ sounds perfect coming from you.”

Thankful he couldn’t see the way your face lit up or stomach flutter from his words, you shut your eyes and just stood there listening to his soft breaths. Only when you heard someone come in to use the phone did you say something. “Gotta go, Eddie. You promise to write?”

“Course, I’ll see you soon,” he said, and you weren’t sure this call had made your body feel better for talking with him or worse because it reminded you that he wasn’t actually there.

Either way, you told him “Goodbye” with a sad sort of smile on your lips.

“Bye, sweetheart. Dream of me.” With that, he hung up, leaving you there for a moment listening to the dial tone before remembering the girl waiting there.

You nodded your head to her as you passed, taking your much too full calendar with you. And you did dream of Eddie, trying to hug him but no matter what you did, he slipped through your outstretched fingers like sand. The next time you spoke with him, you wouldn’t tell him that you woke up with tears in your eyes.

–

Eddie had tried, he really had. Harder than he’d ever tried at school, that was for sure. He’d pleaded with every one of his coworkers at the auto shop to take his shifts that weekend so he could visit you – he had promised to take double the shifts for them, had even tried bribing them with money, even though it’d only been $5.

And he got rid of one of them, opening up Saturday even if  he had to be back on Sunday. But he’d get to be with you for a few hours. That was enough. When he’d gotten ready to make the drive and surprise you – hair clean, clothes unwrinkled, and a pile of your favorite snacks – his phone rang.

He regretted picking it up, fearing it’d be work. And he was right. His boss said the guy who’d promised to take the shift bailed, so Eddie had to come in or he’d be fired. Slamming the receiver down, he let out a guttural groan that burned his throat. Throwing off his nice clothes for his grease-stained ones, he couldn’t bring himself to even tell you about his plans at all, knowing you’d be just as disappointed as he was. 

His grip on the steering wheel did nothing to relieve his anger – at his coworker, at his stupid job, at whatever sick and twisted universe was laughing at his misery. The only thing that got him through the weekend was picturing finally seeing you again. Toothy grin and warm touch wrapped around him, jokes that made him shake his head, and kindness he wasn’t sure he always deserved. But you gave it to him without question, and he counted down the days until he could have that again.

–

The week leading up to Eddie’s concert, the weekend you’d finally be able to spend time with him since those days trapped in the cabin together, you found yourself pacing more often, picking at the seam of your jeans, abusing your lip with your teeth as you thought of every detail the weekend held for you two.

You packed your bag with everything you needed well before you left, checking at least twice every day until Friday finally came. Maybe you were doing a bit too much, but you’d already made him cookies in the terrible dorm kitchen, so there was no going back now. You tried to keep most of this excitement down when talking with Eddie, not wanting to overwhelm or intimidate him with your feelings – but even with your worries, you knew he wouldn’t be, not with how much he talked about wanting to spend every minute with you while you visited.

After your final Friday class, your legs carried you through crowds of people as you grabbed your things and said a quick goodbye to your roommate before racing to your car under building waves of rain. The engine rumbled to life in the damp air that turned your deep breaths foggy, and as you turned out onto the street, you only hoped he felt just as excited to see you.

–

Eddie was losing it, practically shitting himself when Friday came. He’d spent more time cleaning his apartment than he had in his entire life, scrubbing things he had never known he had to clean. His clothes were folded, his fridge and cupboards filled with drinks and snacks he knew you’d like, hell, he even tucked in his sheets when making his bed. What were you doing to him?

He walked – no, floated really – through work, his palms constantly sweaty and body fidgety. His mind sat elsewhere while under the hood, nearly taking off his fingers when not paying attention one time. And though his feet were tired, he took a long shower after work to scrub himself free of dirt and grease. Because you were coming, just a few hours before his show at The Hideout, and everything had to work out, right? Right?

And standing in the middle of his apartment, looking out at the storm rolling in, Eddie believed, naively, for a moment. Until his phone rang.

–

You shoved your fingers under your arm, hoping to warm them up just a little as you stood in the phone booth. As it rang again and again, you pretended the water dripping down your cheeks was only from the rain you’d run through. You eyed your car on the side of the road dipping slightly to the side from its popped tire. The sun had started its descent now in the late afternoon, and the streets filled with more and more cars as rush hour grew.  You were only halfway to Hawkins.

“Hello?” 

Your bottom lip began to quiver, trying to focus on the way his sweet voice brought you into a safe hug rather than how it broke your heart.

“Hey, Eddie,” you whispered, not trusting your words quite yet. Though it didn’t matter to hide anything, not when it came to you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, worry instantly coating his words like suffocating sap threatening to drown you.

Glancing at your car once more, you swallowed down a hard lump in your throat and ripped the bandaid off. “I, uh, got a flat tire. So I’m stuck here for a little bit – I called a local tire shop and a guy’s going to hopefully get here soon to help.”

You heard rustling from his side of the line followed by keys jingling. “I can come get you, where are you at?” he asked.

With a shallow laugh, you told him, “I’m still an hour and a half out, Eddie. And it’s rush hour. You won’t make it back in time for your show.”

“Doesn’t matter. Where are you?”

You shook your head, more for yourself than him. The zipper of your coat clinked against the glass of the phone booth as you shifted, your fingers tightening against its hem. “I should still be there in time to drive over with you to warm up, okay?”

Your eyes shut at hearing his rough sigh. An aching erupted in your chest as you whispered out, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he told you. “Though, at this point, I have to ask. Were you some criminal in your past life? A murderer?”

“I don’t think so…” You let out an unsure laugh through your nose. “Were you?”

“Must’ve been, because it feels like we’re paying for something – some horrible destiny to make up for our past mistakes,” he said. And though he tried joking, the reality of your distant relationship and its obstacles weighed heavy in the miles between you.

You chewed on the inside of your lip, ignoring the pounding in your ears as you said, “Couldn’t be too horrible if I’m seeing you.”

His cheesy smile practically shone through the phone as he laughed. You imagined him covering his eyes with a hand, his cheeks dusted pink. “You sure know how to melt a guy, sweetheart.”

And rather than hang up, Eddie talked with you about everything and nothing while waiting for the tire guy. You’d long since dried, your cheeks warm rather than wet as you laughed at his story of him, Steve, and Robin getting kicked out of a movie theater for quoting all the lines of The Labyrinth and throwing popcorn at each other.

You used up all of your spare change to keep the call going, Eddie promising to pay you back despite your protests. But as the sky began to turn a darker shade of blue, the rain still dripping outside, a pit ate its way in your stomach when help still hadn’t arrived.

In a lull, you said in a weak voice, “Eddie…”

“Don’t,” he breathed, and you winced. “He has to be there soon. He has to, honey.”

“It’s getting late. I won’t make it in time to drive over with you.” It came out a whisper, your head leaning against the cold glass. With a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, you said, “Think we’re shit out of luck again, Munson.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah…”

Eddie’s words felt as a plea that would break your heart to deny him. “That’s okay. Just meet me at The Hideout.” He paused, before saying, “Please.”

“I will.” And you wanted to say something more, even opened your mouth to tell him how important this was and how hard you’d get your stupid car to work to get you to him. But you were running out of minutes on the call, and with no more change in your pocket, you just said, “Can’t wait to see you. Good luck, Eddie.” You’d make it there, someway, somehow.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Be safe.”

–

When Eddie knew you’d hung up, he pressed the receiver down much too hard. His fingers pressed against his head, twisting around his hair. He’d see you. You’d come. It’d be okay.

But as he laced his shoes, grabbing his guitar and equipment, he couldn’t stop the disappointing possibility of coming back here tonight without you – his spotless apartment that felt much too quiet, too empty now. Maybe he’d make a mess before falling asleep just so it’d feel like you’d left your clothes there.

The slick roads reflected shimmering lights from street lamps. Rain drops flew past the headlights of Eddie’s van, thundering against its metal exterior. He tried drumming his fingers to the beat of whatever song played in the background, not that he really focused on it, but his tapping fell off rhythm, joining the cacophony outside. 

Even when he pulled up to the back of The Hideout, his mind felt as foggy as his clouded windshield. He barely caught Gareth’s slight frown as Eddie just nodded to him, bringing his equipment inside without a word. It wasn’t until he’d readied everything and snuck a glance out into the crowd did his body start to come back online. You weren’t there. Checking his watch, he saw there were only ten minutes before they’d call the band out.

He bounced back and forth on his feet, shaking his hands out as if it could toss away his stabbing nerves… or maybe it felt like a sharp pain carved out by your absence. Eventually, Jeff came by, clapping a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“You ready, man?” he asked, adjusting his guitar strap as he did so.

Eddie nodded hard, sending his hair flying. Perhaps if he faked it hard enough, it’d somehow come true. “Yeah,” he breathed out, “We got this.” But he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything more. He checked his watch again, and a few more times. His head peeked out to the crowd, looking one more time for you – for those eyes that’d tell him it was all okay. For that smile whispering promises of better days together. 

But he didn’t see either, and as Gareth let him know it was time to get into places, Eddie imagined whether you’d make it time for him leaving. That at home, he could strum on his baby for you, give you some sort of concert. Or if you were still stuck there an hour and a half away, he’d drop everything to make it there in 45 minutes – god, he’d really just let you stay there. He shook his head. He should’ve just left to get you, and his hand would be entwined with yours right now, your head leaning on his shoulder.

Even after that, Eddie began to plan other weekends that’d work for him. He’d make any of them work. Fuck work and his shitty coworker. He’d have you. And as Corroded Coffin walked out onto the small stage, a forced smile on his face and too shallow breaths falling from his lips, he took his spot to find you mere feet away – soaked from the rain and out of breath. But you were there.

–

You’d made the drive as fast as you could, but rush hour took mercy on no one. At least Eddie wouldn’t have to know how many times you nearly screamed at the other drivers for getting in your way, because you’d made it in time. Almost forgetting to even lock your car, you sprinted under the rainstorm into The Hideout the second a voice from the speakers announced Corroded Coffin. You squeaked out apologies to people you pushed past to get closer to the creaking stage.

The heat of the people around you made your damp clothes stick to your skin, the beads of raindrops plopping down around you. But you couldn’t find yourself caring too much when Eddie walked out, clothed in his leather jacket and red flannel tied around his waist. His wild hair spilled around his face in a halo, framing his eyes that immediately found yours. Eyes shining a warm brown in the stage lights, softening as you gave him a small wave, unable to dampen your growing smile.

He mouthed back “Hi” with the widest, toothiest grin you’d ever seen. And if you thought your hammering heartbeat couldn’t grow stronger, you were almost thankful to be wrong once they began playing. 

You weren’t sure what to focus on – his hands as they effortlessly floated across his guitar, his veins visible as his fingers flexed. Maybe his legs. Eddie never seemed to stop moving, his thighs tight under his black jeans. You tried his eyes for a bit, but they rarely left your face, and you could only take his intense gaze for so long. So more often than you’d admit, it landed back at his mouth moving along to the words, though it often quirked up into a smirk at your constant staring.

But how could you not stare? You’d made it, and here he was. You swore your smile never left your face through the whole performance, not that you remembered much of it. It passed in a blur, your body only calming when the last note drifted into silence, a promise of Eddie coming out in a few minutes settling into your relaxing shoulders and deeper breaths.

Shuffling through the crowd, you planned to grab a drink when you heard the unmistakable sound of Eddie’s voice saying your name. You felt his hand brush up your arm before you saw him, his fingers wrapping around you and pulling you to him in a crushing hug. Your face pressed against him as a breath rushed from your lungs, shutting your eyes as you let reality sink in.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty,” he said, his voice next to your ear. Eddie tried pulling away, but you held him even tighter.

“Don’t care,” you whispered to him, feeling him smile against you.

You eventually let him pull back, and you couldn’t say you missed hugging him – not when you took in the hopeless look on his face, one that probably matched yours. “Wanna get outta here?” he asked, thumb rubbing back and forth along your arm.

“Shouldn’t I meet your bandmates or something? Are you sure you want to leave?” You furrowed your eyebrows, not wanting to make him leave if he enjoyed myself.

But that made him laugh. “You can meet them at a different show. We’re on limited time, sweetheart,” he said, entwining his fingers in yours and leading you through the crowd and outside. Thankfully, the rain had softened into a light drizzle.

He walked with you toward his van around back, which made you pause. “Oh, I parked over there.” You pointed to the other side of the lot.

But Eddie swung your hands forward and back, squeezing just a bit harder as he asked, “Would it sound too desperate if I said I’d rather just drive together? We could come get your car tomorrow.”

Your grin must’ve looked teasing because his face dropped, his mouth opening as if to say something to explain himself. But you couldn’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the giddiness threatening to fall from your lips at his sweet words. “If the owner’s okay with it, then yeah. I’d love to, Eddie. But I have to get my things from my car.” You squeezed his hand back as he nodded before continuing, “I could meet you back at your van if you need to still pack up your things.”

“That’s alright. I’ll come with you,” he said, letting you bring him to your car. Though it was only a minute there and a minute back, you were glad he came along – even if to just ask you how the drive had been and take your constant compliments on how well he played. And that look reappeared like it’d always been there, the one that made it hard to think and look away from his gaze.

Eddie of course offered to carry your bag back, but you offered him the cookies you made instead. As he opened them up, you rambled. “Hope you like them. They’re chocolate chip. But if you don’t, blame my terrible dorm kitchen.” And you began to say, “We can make some together if they didn’t turn out–”

“Holy shit, are you Martha Stewart?” he said, disbelieving laughs coming out in between bites. “I can’t bake for shit, but I’d learn if you gave me this recipe. Here, have one.”

He held out a cookie in front of your mouth as you two walked, making you try to grab a bite while moving. But it was worth it because he wasn’t wrong. Your family recipe never did disappoint.

The cookies ended up in the front seat as Eddie loaded your bag into the back. He climbed in next to you, casting glances your way the entire time he drove the two of you back to his place. “You had dinner yet?” he asked.

“Besides one bite of a cookie, no. Didn’t get the chance – I was running late somewhere. Can’t remember where though,” you teased, nudging his elbow with yours.

He gave a soft smile, saying, “I hope it was worth it, whatever it was.”

“Oh it was.” Though your head leaned toward the window, eyes watching cars and buildings pass by in streams behind the rain, you rested your hand in your lap, his laying right on top. Never far.

“Okay, well even though I’m sweaty and you got soaked by rain – and it’s pretty late – we could go out to eat somewhere. I mean, I’d like to take you out somewhere. If you want… you did have a long drive and–”

“Yes,” you told him, stopping his adorable rambling and pretending you didn’t see the blush on his cheeks. “I want to go on a date with you.”

He nodded, making a turn into a parking lot as he said, “Yeah? Yeah, good.” And you could’ve sworn that under the soft storm, tires rumbling, and quiet music coming from the radio, you heard him say a celebratory “Sweet” under his breath. 

Looking up, you saw the neon signs lighting up the windows of a diner that boasted its late hours, all of it making your stomach growl. Your smile at the promise of food wavered a bit at seeing Eddie’s unsure look, but you’d have no more of it. You nodded toward the door, telling him, “C’mon casanova. Swoon me on this date.”

–

And swoon you he tried. Eddie forgot to get your door, but he held the diner door open for you. His feet shuffled under him in quick steps as he tried to make it to the table before you, planning to pull out your chair… but you chose a booth. Not that a booth was bad – it was the best seating option available he thought, but you were making him think harder about ways to impress you. Not that it’d work because he always found thinking to be the worst task around you.

He could barely concentrate on the menu that had too many pages, so he just decided to get a burger and fries. Instead, he watched your eyes flit through, your lips moving to the words of the Queen song playing above as your finger traced across the menu items. And an image of you and him dancing to a song in his tiny kitchen from his beat up radio had him breathless for a few moments.

But all he could bring himself to say to you was, “So, how’s college been?”

Your eyes flicked up to his over the top of the menu, some sort of look on your face that he couldn’t quite decipher. You let out a long sigh though, bringing your gaze back down. “Sometimes, I really wonder whether this degree is worth it, you know?”

“It’s gotta be worth something, right?” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “I mean, yeah it sounds like absolute torture, but I know you’re smart.”

You folded up your menu and set it down, making a flurry of emotion hit his chest. Your head cocked to the side as you said, “I thought you were too cool for school, Munson.”

“I am.” He pointed a finger at himself. “But you’re not. You’re too smart to give up on this. And that way, you can be the breadwinner, and I’ll get to be a gold digger.”

Eddie relished in the way you fought the giggles rising up as you shook your head at him. “I don’t have any money yet, Eddie.”

And he loved the way you began leaning toward him too. “Oh, but I’m playing the long con. In a decade, you’ll be making so much dough that I won’t have to do another goddamn oil change again.”

“Except for my car, of course,” you said, looking at him all sweetly like he’d ever deny you.

He nodded along. “Except for your car,” he said, “And mine, which I’m sure you’ll buy for me with your fancy job.”

“Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” Your smile had his own itching higher and higher. “Well, then I’m sure I’ll have to get you something your style. Volkswagen Beetle? Maybe a suped-up van to replace yours, get a nice airbrush design on the side.”

You raised your hand up to spell out the words. “‘Eddie Munson: Dungeon Master Extraordinaire’ in red and black, maybe Dustin will even get a place on it.”

He’d long since rested his head on his fist, trying his hardest to give you an unamused look. “Are you having fun there, sweetheart?”

You just nodded, a smug smile on your face, as the waitress came by to take your orders. Unable to resist giving you some sort of stereotypical date activity, he also ordered a sweet drink to share between the two of you. He would’ve dragged you to the photo booth too if he wasn’t looking so worn. 

And though you’d come all this way, just for him, and were sitting in wet clothes – despite him offering his jacket and flannel – Eddie couldn’t help the doubting thoughts fighting through his mind. You’d calmed him from his panicky state before, but it wasn’t until a lull passed between you two, his eyes unfocusing as he thought, that you reached across the table to hold his hand.

“You know you have me, right?” you asked, and he saw the openness in your eyes. The sincerity you tried wrapping your words in so they’d reach his ears.

Still, he leaned back. “What?”

You gave him that soft smile, ever so patient with him. “You’ve already got me, Eddie. Get out of that head of yours,” you said, tapping a finger softly against his temple.

“Yeah?” he breathed out, catching your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Yeah. I don’t let just anyone be a future gold-digger of mine. You’re lucky.” 

The laughs he let out brushed along your knuckles before he kissed them. He couldn’t say his thanks to you out loud, not just yet, but he knew you understood he was grateful.

So through the meal and giggly drinking through two straws together, and even the drive home, Eddie held onto you tighter. Not because he still thought you’d suddenly change your mind and leave, but because he wanted to memorize the lines of your palm, the way your breaths moved your ribcage up and down, how quick goosebumps erupted along your skin after he touched you.

He wanted to know everything about you. And he planned to after cleaning up and changing. He let you go first – trying not to continue tidying up, though it kept his mind busy from wishing a bit too much that he was in there with you, even if it meant just washing your hair or face. 

You came out in your pajamas, and Eddie had to keep his eyes from staring too much. Though he did say, “Like the Snoopy pjs,” as he gathered his own clothes. He meant it, but he mostly said it to watch you fluster under his attention. Before going into the bathroom, he said, “If you wanted to set up a movie, I’ve got some tapes next to the TV. And popcorn in the kitchen or other snacks and drinks if you’d like. Help yourself to anything.” And he shut the door, breathing in the steam leftover from you.

–

After stuffing your old clothes in your bag, you couldn’t help looking around. You did check out his movie collection, palming through it until you pulled out The Princess Bride. Setting the tape on the table to ask Eddie whether he’d want to watch that one, you strolled toward his music collection – a wide selection of records from Ozzy and Slayer to Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. Maybe, one day, when the two of you had unlimited time together, you could spend the day listening to all of his music as it floated through his apartment.

Your hand brushed along the back of the couch as you walked down the hall to his room, bringing your bag with. A smile overtook your face as you saw how neat it looked. You’d already shared a room with him, you knew he wasn’t this neat. But the effort he put into making his bed and… did he dust too? You ran a finger across the various posters littering the walls, neck craning to look at them all.

“Just because you’re wearing Snoopy pj’s doesn’t mean you get to snoop, sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice came from the doorway behind you, making you jump and slap a hand over your mouth.

Turning toward him, you gently smacked his shoulder. “You have to stop scaring the shit out of me, I swear…” you told him, shaking your head but giving a begrudging smile. He was dressed in his flannel pajamas and black shirt as he had at the cabin, making you avoid his gaze or he’d catch your ogling. Not that you’d been hiding it much tonight. 

“I’m sleeping in here, anyway. Thought I’d get a look around.” You hoped the joking would mask the pounding in your heart.

“Oh?” he asked, eyebrows raised and hands on his hips. “You think you just get to sleep in my bed? I haven’t even offered it to you yet.” The smirk hiding behind his teasing made your chest flutter for just an instant.

You inched toward him, eyes never leaving him. If he wasn’t going to let your heartbeat slow, maybe you could raise his. “Even though I baked you cookies?” you asked, voice softer now.

And it made him waver, words hesitating for a moment before he answered. “Even though you made me cookies. I mean, you can’t just expect…”

“Yes?” you asked from inches away now – eyes wide, head tilted to the side expectantly.

His eyes flitted between yours and your lips. “Stop that,” he whispered, all teasing gone now. He reached a finger to wrap around one of yours hanging by your side.

“Stop what?”

Finally, Eddie surged forward, capturing your mouth with his. A surprised noise came from the back of your throat before you relaxed into him, bringing your free hand to curl around his jaw. He pulled you in closer, closer, closer. You thought he wouldn’t stop until you two had somehow merged into one, the imprint of his fingers on your ribs.

But he pulled back, giving you both a chance to catch your breaths. He leaned his forehead against yours, whispering, “Been waiting for too long to do that.”

You just laughed against his mouth before kissing him again. The dripping of the leaky shower head or the feeling of the carpet below your feet, even your own goddamn name, all disappeared out of your awareness – Eddie’s mouth moving against yours the only thing keeping you grounded to reality.

Your hands braced against his chest as you leaned back just a bit, wanting to look into his dark eyes. “Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?” he said, voice soft as he refused to look away from you.

Breathing in, you told him, “I picked out Princess Bride to watch, that okay?”

And he let out a groan as he pulled you against him again into a tight hug. “I wonder if the whole world knows I’m the luckiest man to exist. Should I go tell them? I should tell them,” he said, dragging you along as he went to the living room and toward the window.

But you pulled him back, giggles erupting. “You are not going to scream out your window, you lunatic.”

Even his fake gasp at your insult didn’t stop him as he tried to open it with his one free hand. You pleaded with him. “I’ll make the popcorn if you keep that window closed.”

That made him stop, his body turning to give you a side eye as he considered it. “Okay… I think we have a deal. But I’m letting every person I talk to know about you, there’s no stopping me.”

“Fine,” you sighed, just happy to appease him for the moment. Though he didn’t even let you make the popcorn, just made you get the couch all comfortable while he made it – as a thanks for your ‘god-like taste in movies’ as he’d put it. Though you took it as a thanks for everything else this night too.

As he settled into the cushions next to you, the warmth of the freshly popped kernels washing onto you, you leaned into him under a blanket. The first moments of the movie came to life, the grandson’s coughing and his video game illuminating the room. Eddie couldn’t help quoting most of the lines from it, his impressions making you quietly laugh. And just like that, your whole body felt safe, your heart full in the way only he could make it.

–

Eddie lived for making you laugh, the sound practically music to his ears. So when he stopped feeling your shoulders shake after he made another dumb joke, he looked over at you. Your breathing had evened out, your eyes shut as you laid your head against his chest, his arm slung around your waist. 

While he’d let out a long sigh when you missed out on the final scenes of the movie, Eddie couldn’t say he was all that disappointed. Waking you up to go to his room meant falling asleep next to you, something he’d often dreamt about these past months. Except, through the end credits rolling across his grainy TV, his own eyes grew heavier. And with your soft heartbeat pounding against his body, he didn’t stand a chance at sinking into sleep along with you.

His dreams as he drifted in and out felt like floating, swimming through the ocean or resting on a cloud surrounding him on all sides. He only slipped from it from your finger brushing his hair out of his face.

In a voice that sounded as sleepy as his mind felt, you said, “C’mon, we gotta go to bed.” Eddie let out a soft groan, rubbing his eyes before blinking open to find you with an arm thrown over your eyes, leaning against the back of the couch.

“Okay,” he mumbled, “let’s go.”

You nodded but didn’t move, making him give a weak laugh.

“What? Don’t want to cuddle anymore?” he asked, pressing his hands on his thighs before standing up.

And that got you up, even with hesitant movements as you lumbered into Eddie’s arms, shuffling to his room together. “I’m going to cuddle you so hard,” you grumbled, your eyes barely open. 

“I’m sure you will, honey,” he told you, shaking his head through a soft laugh. He pulled back the covers on his bed, collapsing onto the mattress with you in his arms. Your head nuzzled into his chest before you let out a long breath that wavered through the air.

In a voice rid of any sleep, you muttered, “I had a nightmare.” Your fingers twisted into his shirt as your breaths began to shake.

His heart staggered for a moment as he opened his eyes, trying to find yours in the dark. But he couldn’t see you. He held you tighter against him as he asked, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I…” you started, your voice watery. It made his own throat tighten up. After a few moments that ate away at his insides, you spoke. “I lost you.” 

Eddie could feel your lips tighten, as if holding back tears. He didn’t ask you any more questions. Bringing his hand up, he rubbed a thumb across your brow bone. “I’m right here, sweetheart. You didn’t lose me.” 

Your body curled against him, pressing into him even closer still. But his arm wrapping around your back could feel you holding your breath. “Hey, hey. Breathe in and out with me, okay?”

He exaggerated the rising and lowering of his chest as he felt you copying him, your pounding heart beginning to slow just a bit. Eddie’s mouth dropped to kiss the top of your head, whispering against you, “That’s good, just like that.” Once you seemed to calm, he spoke again. “I hope you know that it’s pretty damn hard to lose me. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

The exhale of your soft laugh brushed along his arm. Your quiet sniffle filled the room, and he maneuvered to turn on the bedside lamp. He passed you the tissue box, which you took gratefully. 

“Sorry, Eddie. Didn’t mean to keep you up,” you said, your eyes cast downward.

“Don’t worry about it. I mean it, or I will actually scream out the window this time,” he joked, pursing his lips as he thought. “How about I read something… out loud. Would that be good?”

His eyes caught your hesitance, like you were about to tell him that you didn’t need someone to read you a bedtime story. Which he knew, but everyone deserved to be cared for. So he held his hands up, saying, “No scary books, I promise. How about a little Lord of the Rings? Just the beginning.”

And that smile that grew across your face made it all worth it. He picked Fellowship of the Ring off his shelf, propping up his pillow so he could read and have you resting on his chest at the same time. 

With a clean tissue crumpled into your hand, you wrapped yourself around Eddie as he opened up to the first page. He started telling the story in a quiet voice, but in the same way he narrated his D&D campaign, making you give a soft giggle.

“When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of…” Eddie began, working his way through the first chapter. It was only once your eyes began drooping, your head growing heavier on him, that he strayed from the words on the page.

He skipped any talk of an evil power rising. Instead, he made up more tales of Frodo and his friends, of the eccentricities of wizards – happy, calm things you were too tired to notice weren’t from the words on the page. Once he was sure you’d drifted off, Eddie carefully shut the book, setting it on his nightstand. His eyes danced over you one more time, trying to sear it on his mind, before he reached over and shut the lamp off.

And he refused to leave you throughout the night, always an arm or leg touching yours. So that you knew you wouldn’t lose him. Not here, or ever.

–

You paid Eddie your thanks for that night all through the weekend, not that he would willingly accept it. But when you awoke the next morning, your face pressed against his back and arm around his waist, you knew he was the reason you felt so at peace – at home. 

After laying there and listening to birds twittering outside the window, and sure that it was late enough in the morning for Eddie, you slipped from the bed. Grabbing his flannel from last night, you slipped it on and rummaged through his kitchen to cook up pancakes as quietly as possible. You brought them back into the room alongside syrup and a cup of orange juice (making sure to check the expiration dates first, knowing how Eddie was sometimes). 

Your entrance didn’t seem to stir him, so you set the food on his nightstand, running a finger up his arm to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. He seemed to lean into the touch of your hand, his eyes twitching before they peeled open. You watched the way his lips stretched into a smile as he saw you, his hand coming up to hold yours.

“Good morning,” he rumbled, and you couldn’t say you hated his morning voice. Not one bit.

“Good morning,” you whispered, picking up the plate. “Made you some breakfast, Eds.”

He’d begun to sit up but paused at your words, gaze switching between you and the food you held out for him. And you’d never seen the phrase “lovesick” so apparent as you did on his face, his whole body softening as he took the plate to rest on his lap. “Are you an angel or something? Did I sell my soul for this?” he asked before digging in and taking a large sip from the orange juice.

Sitting down on the bed, you let out a laugh. “You’re deserving of this, you know,” you whispered, eyes elsewhere since you couldn’t stand to look at him in your vulnerability.

But you didn’t have to. Eddie just took your hand and kissed the back of it. Then kissed you, putting all of his emotion into it before leaving you breathless. 

“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t need to specify what for, you both knew. 

That was how the weekend went – you and Eddie just understanding each other, moving together and leaving things unsaid but not unknown. In the spaces of these walls, you relaxed into him as no one else had allowed you to. He settled into a way of living that surprised both of you, one that ripped down any walls or performance he’d ever put up.

Outside of his apartment, he’d taken you around Hawkins, only visiting your friends for one dinner before returning back together. They’d given knowing looks when you two came in holding hands, and you both took the teasing. It all felt like how things had been, how they were meant to be.

And you knew he’d felt bad keeping you all to himself, but selfishly, you’d wanted the same. To take every minute he had so he could spend it with you intertwined. 

You refused to let yourself think of Sunday, of having to pack your things. Because you’d be back, or he’d come to you. For now, you were together. Nothing really mattered past that for the moment.

While the two of you lazed together on the couch, sharing life stories back and forth and creating a story that belonged to both of you, he pulled you against his chest. You dropped your fingers down to play with his, drawing shapes and words across his skin like scripture. After moments of silence that never felt uncomfortable, you angled your head to look up into his eyes, swallowing down a breath. “You know… I almost didn’t stay back when all the others left on that beer run,” you whispered against him, reminiscing about the cabin trip.

He hummed, the vibrations from his neck moving against you. “I know.”

“But, Steve had told me to get to know you, so we weren’t strangers,” you told him, shutting your eyes. “I’m really glad you’re not a stranger anymore, Eddie.”

As the sun reached past its peak outside and the world ran on without the two of you, the corners of Eddie’s mouth rose. The way his head came down to rest on yours told you everything you needed to know about his thoughts, the weight of it filling your heart. His thumb rubbed along the skin of your waist, hand coming up to hold your body against his. To press into you like your curves fit into the dips of him – as they always would, wherever he was.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

–

Thank Christ for Harrington.

--

@tea-with-cream-and-suga

A/n: Thank you for reading, love you all <3

[findafight]

On Steve understanding those pretentious metaphorical films (I know, we'vepretty much moved on at this point, but) I do think it would get Jonathan questioning reality a little bit, but I think the person it would really mindfuck is Nancy

Because she's a very straightforward person but she also fancies herself the smartest person in the room at all times, which doesn't slot itself into this context very well. As does Jonathan, she has this perception that Steve is an idiot, but while Jonathan is having to contend with Steve being on level with him on this one, Nancy is having to grapple the idea that Steve intrinsically grasps something that she for the life of her can't figure out

-@fandsart

I sent this a few days ago, but I think tumblr has been eating my asks. You aren't the only person I've sent one to recently that hasn't been answered. Anyway, I know this has largely been moved past, but on the whole "Jonathan having a crisis over Steve understanding the metaphorical and complicated foreign films" thing. I think that Jonathan might have a hard time with that and start questioning his judgment of people, yes, but the person really questioning reality as a whole about it is Nancy. Because while both Jonathan and Nancy have this low perception of Steve's ability to comprehend thing, Nancy specifically fancies herself as the smartest person in the room at all times, but she can't understand these things for the life of her. She's angry and confused and trying to convince herself that she's neither of these things

I got it! I started writing a response and saved as a draft and didn't get back to it! Honestly I love going back to things talked about a while ago so don't feel weird about that!

I agree! I also think it'd be interesting to apply this to horror movies, which often serve as allegories for other things. Like I can see them watching Carrie and Steve commenting that it's kind of weird that a story about the trauma of adolescents for girls was written by a man. Which is maybe heavy handed but it's something that Nancy would feel like she should have picked up on and be frustrated that she didn't. No one is doing adolescent teenager girl trauma like Nancy!!

But it's just not how her brain works. She likes facts and figures, interviews and observations. Metaphors aren't really in real life, though we use them to understand things, they aren't always straight forward. While Nancy wants to research and discover things, she possibly isn't interested in more... obscured meanings of things. (we sort of see this when she dismisses the alien newspaper, when they were actively looking for clues about something that could break all of someones without touching them!) and this might also influence how she views steve and his intelligence and how he views and interpret things.

She does think she's correct and how she thinks and sees things. and that frustration and stubbornness about being right would make her more frustrated because now that it's been pointed out to her, she sees it, but she didn't figure it out herself. It's an interesting way for her to try to grapple with having her worldview challenged!

With jon I think he would feel kind of off-kilter and embarrassed that Steve of all people got it, that this wasn't something he could feel he was better at than Steve or any random person. So that would maybe shift his view of Steve more than himself, but still both?

[thestrangestthing89]

It's interesting to me how many people claim that Nancy's storyline is being reduced to a love triangle but then go and reduce her to that themselves. Her story is not about which boyfriend she has. It's always been about Barb. But the people upset over Jonathan and Steve always, always ignore Barb and her role in Nancy's story.

I wrote about this more here because I was getting frustrated by the amount of people who were saying this and claiming that Steve and her are endgame simply because they interacted a bit this season when that wasn't the point in this story at all. Nancy had multiple flashbacks to Barb this season (and in the past). It should have been very clear that that was what was motivating her to do what she was doing.

That fact that there is a subplot where she wasn't sure which boyfriend she wanted hardly reduces her to a love triangle. She's allowed to be unsure of what's going on with her and Jonathan. She's allowed to care about Jonathan (I have seriously seen people complaining that when they are getting attacked in the hospital in S3 it was sexist for her to yell for Jonathan. It wasn't. She's scared and upset and not one person was bothered by him yelling for her. She's allowed to have a full range of feelings.)

If people actually want her to be a 3 dimensional character, she is going to have life experiences and emotions that reflect this. And part of that is going to involve her feelings for her boyfriend. It's not a bad thing. It's hardly the only point of her character. But if that's what you are reducing her to, then maybe the sexist biases are coming from you and not the narrative.

People examine female characters in a way they never would with male characters. It ends up coming across hyper-critical and like those characters are always wrong or written badly. This helps no one and is hardly a feminist critique. It's the same sexism that drives people to be hyper-critical of women in real life. Women and female characters need to be perfect. The need to be everyone's ideal of what a woman is supposed to be. Which is going to be different for everyone and is what leads people to feel like they are always wrong. To me, a lot of the criticism of Nancy comes from people who can't relate to her. Which is fine. She doesn't have to be relatable to everyone. But people seem to get annoyed whenever she isn't behaving like them and isn't acting like how they view a role model to act. She isn't perfect, she makes mistakes - ie her plan this season was reckless (and again driven by her flashbacks to Barb). She's allowed to make these mistakes. She's never been written as this flawless hero who always saves the day. And she shouldn't be.

The same thing happens with Joyce. I have seen people complain that her character has been reduced to her romance with Hopper when she is doing the same thing she's done since the beginning of the series. She has done nothing but go through hell and back to save the people she loves. Usually it's Will. And I don't think I've ever seen anyone complain when she was protecting her child. But the second a male adult needs that same help suddenly she's being reduced to something. But this is just what her character does for the people she loves. And it isn't a bad thing.

Anytime a male character gets put into a caretaking role they never receive any criticism. Care taking isn't inherently problematic or sexist. Hopper does everything he can to save the people he loves too an no one complains. And don't even get me started on Steve who does a fraction of what Joyce does and gets called a mom even though there is a an actual mom doing all the work and getting ignored. No one is allowed to criticize Steve. I have never gotten more hate than when I criticized Steve. Even though in the narrative, he isn't doing nearly as much as someone like Joyce is.

Again, female characters are allowed to care about the male characters. This isn't reducing them to a romance role or a caretaking role. But again, I feel like people's own sexist biases are what is causing them to oversimplify the female characters on the show and not anything from the narrative. I also want to point out here that we don't know a lot of Joyce's backstory but will likely get a lot more of it with the stage production. She is tied to the supernatural plot in some way. We don't know the whole story here or why her and Hopper interact with each other the way that they do.

El is another character that tends get misinterpreted. I have written about this several times, but people tend to have a worshipful attitude towards her. Mike and El's relationship in particular is either reduced to people who want them to get get married and have babies or people who think she needs to dump him because he's a bad boyfriend and she's a girlboss. Mike's character arch is complex and while he has made mistakes, so has El and their entire relationship didn't fall apart because of him. She treats him badly, but criticizing her seems to be off limits. Anytime I have, I have gotten a lot of hate.

This isn't helping anyone. She is a complex character who has flaws and it's a good thing. She has also never been reduced to her relationship with Mike and has an entire backstory involving the supernatural plot. But she isn't going to be the one to save the day in the end. This story was always about Will. And when this happens that doesn't mean the writers sidelined a female character in favor of a male one. It means a lot of the audience simply decided El was the main character because she has superpowers and misinterpreted the fact that this was about Will from the start.

And for the record this is not anti-feminist. The gay kid getting to save the day in the end isn't something we've seen before. It's good that this is happening and hardly means that El has no role at all. I'm sure she will still be there helping. But seriously, I have seen so many white women being superheroes and badasses who save everyone. There may not be as many of them as there are white men, but I have never once seen a gay kid get to play this role. It's ok if she takes a step back here. Especially since, again, I don't think the narrative has ever centered her. I think it's the audience that's done this.

The only time I have felt like the critique of female characters is valid is when looking at the characters of color. Erica often gets reduced to the stereotype of a sassy black girl. Not all the time - I do think she has great moments with Dustin and Lucas in particular that show she is a complex character and I hope we get to see more of this. But I really wish she would stop saying "just the facts" every few minutes and sometimes her attitude is flat out rude and not funny or cute. Not to mention the fact that her mother seems to only every say her name over and over again. I would like to see the Sinclair family interacting more next season. They have less parent-child interactions than the other kids and their parents.

There is a lot more to be said for the way the show writes characters of color in general and this isn't the place for it. But the fact that I haven't seen a lot of criticism over this tells me that the white female characters are held to a different standard than the black female characters (which is hardly surprising or new information. This usually happens).

The white female characters need to be flawless - desirable by the male characters but not reduced to a romance role, kick ass and never make a mistake, be the "strong female lead" (notice how we never use the term "strong male lead"), and basically be something that is completely unattainable. But the black female characters need to be what the white audience is comfortable seeing. And even though this show doesn't just have a white audience, the fact that most of the cast is white shows that they are being catered to however subconsciously.

My point is this - while it's totally fine to critique the show and the characters on it (and people should do this), I feel like a lot of the time this is done at the expense of women and not in any way that is actually helpful. I think if people took a step back and recognized their own biases (which everyone has for the record, we are taught them) they would realize sometimes those critiques don't add up. But overall, with regard to the white female characters anyway, I have felt like the show does a pretty good job making them well rounded and complex without making them unrealistic. It's the audience interpretations that I have found very problematic sometimes.

[warpfive]

SAVING THEIR LIFE (AND GETTING HURT)

protecting the enterprise crew, and getting injured in the process

CW: gn!reader, small depictions of violence and injuries

CREW: jonathan archer, t'pol, trip tucker, malcolm reed, hoshi sato, travis mayweather

JONATHAN - it’s difficult for jon not to immediately get angry when you take a phaser hit for him. he’s had some trouble separating his feelings from his work - you only make things much more complicated and jon has to tell himself that if any other member of the crew did that, he’d just just as pissed. but he knows that’s not completely true, and it shows in the way his hands shake as he scolds you while t’pol comms for the shuttlepod. jon takes his responsibility as captain very seriously, so coupled with the fact that it’s somebody he deeply cares for (loves?), it muddies the waters and that only frustrates him more. later on, once phlox has stabilized your wound and orders you on a few days of bedrest, jon makes damn well sure you follow it, short of posting guards outside your quarters. he doesn’t go quite so far, but he visits you late in the night. scolds you again for getting hurt to protect him, makes you promise not to do it again, tells you how he doesn’t want to lose such a good officer and friend and… he doesn’t go much further. he doesn’t have to. when you tell him you don't regret it, and would so it again to save his life, jon wants to argue back. instead, he takes your hand and promises himself it would never come to that.

T'POL - vulcans are naturally stronger and more resilient than humans - it’s a fact often forgotten, t’pol’s noticed. especially in the chaos and confusion of a cave-in, where all the members of the away team are running away and simultaneously trying to help their colleagues out. t’pol was in charge of the away mission - it was her responsibility to assure her team’s survival. that’s all she was focused on, and not the rock moments away from falling and crushing her into a thick green soup. to give you some credit, you were fast and focused. t’pol barely registered what had happened - only that she felt your arms around her, a shove, and shortly after, your cry in pain that elicited something close to fear in her chest. phlox told her that the rock had broken your leg, and that you were lucky the break wasn’t another couple inches higher, or you would’ve been a real trouble. t’pol takes easily to scolding you, calling you reckless, making sure you knew how much she disapproved of your decision to save her. and yeah, you were in and out of sleep from pain medication. still, you found her hand and squeezed it and told her to court martial you, because you’d do it again in a heartbeat. though, you noticed in the next couple weeks that t’pol has been bringing you tea and finishing your work for you - she’s not completely as vulcan as she hopes.

TRIP - it’s all his fault, of course. if trip had been more careful, more astute; if he had somehow known this would lead to that and that would cause his console to blow, he could’ve prevented the whole thing. he was just too damn focused on the problem with the engine. with the ship shaking and the captain yelling over the comm, it was difficult to focus on anything else until he heard your name and felt you push him. trip wasn’t a small guy - in the moment, he was shocked you managed to push him over. but the shock fell away to panic once he figured out what just happened. the air was smoking, someone called out your name (maybe it was him), and he saw the angry red marks over your face and neck. phlox insists the burns aren’t all that bad, but trip doesn’t really believe him. if they weren’t so bad, then why did the sight of them turn his stomach so much? he tries to keep a good attitude, but part of him was so angry that you got hurt. not angry at you, of course. trip could never truly be angry with you. he was mad at himself, and after forcing a smile and turning away, the tight grit of his jaw was somehow worse than any burns he might’ve gotten in your place.

MALCOLM - he knows, logically, that he taught you hand-to-hand combat for this exact scenario. malcolm wanted, above all else, for you to be able to protect yourself if he wasn’t able to do it personally. yet, none of that made malcolm feel even a little better when he crouched beside you, a hand ghosting over the side of your face that was quickly swelling and bleeding. yeah, you smirked up at him. asked him if he was okay, and if he saw that move you pulled to disarm the man who’d pointed a weapon at him. malcolm insisted this was no time for jokes, and he said it in a rather harsh tone. of course, he was mainly frustrated at himself. if he’d disabled the attacking aliens quicker, you wouldn’t have had to intervene. and he says as much while pulling you up to your feet. you don’t seem upset - of course you weren’t, malcolm thought. you were still trying to ask if he was alright and malcolm had to eventually assure you he was, but he was also more worried about you. though, it wasn’t until you cupped his cheek and told him you were fine did he really believe you. still, in the days to follow, he couldn’t look at your black eye or hear your pained grunts without feeling guilty.

HOSHI - she didn’t even see the man coming. that was a flaw when she got so utterly sucked into her task - nothing else even existed. not even a large man with an energy weapon aimed right for her head and would have fired if you hadn’t intervened. the fight was long and brutal - hoshi heard the chaos of it from behind, but her focus needed to be on the task at hand. too much was riding on its success. it wasn’t until much later, when the crew was safe and the enterprise at warp, did hoshi come by sick bay. and of course, your spirits were high - talk of good teamwork and making you proud hit hoshi’s ears, but she just couldn’t match your energy. not when you were this battered and bruised from defending her. yeah, you talk of duty, saying that it was your job to make sure hoshi did her job. she didn’t feel much better, so you went a step further - telling hoshi that you loved her, and even without their duties to the ship, you would’ve defended her anyway. that did elicit a little smile, but when hoshi tried to give you a kiss, you were still a little too battered. you both compromised by holding hands until phlox had to run some more scans.

TRAVIS - when he came to, travis didn’t expect to be laying on a soft bed of grass, and not the hard metal floor of the shuttlepod. the sun shined right in his eyes, and when he squints against it, the motion pulls on a nasty lump on his brow - right, the one that knocked him out. and it takes only a few seconds of consciousness to sit straight up and search for you in a panic. the mental image he had of you being sucked out into space during the crash landing was thankfully laid to rest when he found you leaned up against a tree, looking more worse for wear than travis would have liked. when you saw him awake, you didn’t move to greet him. in fact, it seemed like just sitting there was causing you a lot of pain, despite working diligently to get the homing device back online. it wasn’t until travis stumbled his way over did he discover you’d broken your leg and probably a few ribs - a small price to pay, you told him, for successfully landing the shuttle (though, successful was a gracious word to use.) logically, he knew you were right. yet, it doesn’t make travis feel any better knowing he’d been in charge of getting the two of you to the surface, and you’d broken a leg when he failed to do so. he apologizes, you don’t understand what for. it just made him feel a little better.

[willel]

The way people perceive Jonathan and his family is so frustrating sometimes though.

"Oh Jonathan is crumbling under the weight of responsibilities that have been placed on him and he's placed on himself? Maybe his mom can help him out of that rut?"

"Pfff, why would his MOM help him with anything? It's his own fault."

????

Of COURSE Joyce would help him if she knew! She's his mom! She loves him! It's not a blame game, it's literally a desire to see Joyce and Jonathan scenes again, to see Joyce setting him on the right track as moms tend to do???

What is the real problem here? Why are people so against this idea? Why are you so convinced in your mind that if a scene like this were to occur, it would make Joyce look bad???

I hope you all realize no one is saying she's a bad mom except you. Maybe you need to reevaluate why you keep jumping to that conclusion because that says a lot more about you than the people hoping for some sweet and caring moments between a mother and her son.

Like where is the desire for familial intimacy and complex relationships? Do you just want these characters to be one dimensional? Is Joyce only capable of caring about herself now and not her kids? You KNOW that's not true so can you stop implying that?

[castlebyersafterdark]

Wow, thanks so much for that beautiful take on Will’s attraction to Mike! I love the passion and personal experience you included. 

its definitely true about will being into unconventional beauty, I hadn’t seen that viewpoint articulated before. All the music in the show, and indeed the themes of the show itself - that Jonathan sets in motion through talking about music and outsiders - are reflected in will’s attraction to mike. I think the creators chose Finn as an actor partly for this reason, whether or not the mike and will romance was planned from the off. Mike was meant to be the leader, but he’s still an outcast, and needed outcast traits.

It’s also quite amusing that Finn has ended up being the kind of musician/band guy that Will would have really been into (which is also why I wouldn’t be unhappy if they tried to include these skills in Mike’s character/the s5 story somehow, especially considering music is such a huge part of the show narratively. So far the only hint we’ve seen is the guitar in his bedroom). His appearance is not American Conventional Hot, but he certainly fits the alt camp, which is far from niche (see basically any band musician from the 60s onwards and the legions of people who find them hot). Like you said - Will is into Bowie. He’s into alt. It makes so much sense that he would be into Mike physically. 

You spoke beautifully about how Mike’s height is a physicalisation of his protective instincts too, which I do think would have been a major catalyst in Will’s falling in love. We don’t get to see much of Will’s developing crush in s2, because of his possession, but arguably that is a sort of narrative metaphor for what’s happening (as well as a commentary on his homosexuality overall), and there are plenty of intense moments of Will looking at Mike in s2. It’s there, it’s just not presented as people might expect - but then again Will is quiet, so his attraction is expressed quietly, unless you know what to look for.

And then s4 - I think Will having painted so meticulously really does show that on some level he is very comfortable with his attraction to Mike, and it's just expressing that safely + risking their friendship that is the issue. To me, Will's internalised homophobia isn't a persistent distaste with the male body despite also being attracted to it; it's a frustration with how society views him, and therefore a wish to be 'normal' for an easier life. I think s5 will be feature him coming to revel in being gay - he is already on the way there by acknowledging that loving Mike feels so natural to him and he wouldn't give it up, not even when he's in pain.

Some of my fav moments in s4 are the way he looks at Mike in the van as he unfurls the painting - it’s all in the eyes and hesitance, and it’s just gorgeous and so real for someone like Will. Perhaps the real problem with people not picking up on byler is that realistic shy/introverted romance is so criminally under-portrayed in modern media. And of course what you said about Mike arriving in Lenora - it’s brilliant and hilarious because we have this mix of in love/pissed off + wtf is Mike wearing/Will still can’t take his eyes off him, and I think it speaks so well of how physical attraction often follows emotional. Will might not like Mike’s unconventional features out of context (though I think he does - as said above) but even if he didn’t, the fact that they are MIKE’s makes them desirable. 

A wonderful detail is when Mike comes into Will’s room and sits on his bed - it’s an apology scene, but underneath is this idea that Will would have fantasised for so long about Mike being in his room, on his bed - and now he is, and Will doesn’t quite know what to do with it. 

Thanks for such an insightful take, and for acknowledging the actors in such a mature way. The byler Tumblr police seem to think that isn’t possible, and it’s certainly not common! You express yourself so well. 

I don't have much to add here without repeating myself or parts of your lovely message but yesssssss to everything ❤️❤️❤️ thank you for the kind words and insightful thoughts

[withacapitalp]

Masterlist/About Me

Since there's almost 300 of you now....how tf did that happen....anyway! I'm Liam here's all the stranger things fics I've written. I'll add my headcanons when I'm not feeling minority lazy lol Under a read more because I appreciate y'all's time lmaooo anyways!! Feel free to send me prompts and thoughts and general things because I love hearing from the people who follow me!!! If you just want to look for a tag it's under "Liam writes"

A New Perspective- Series primarily told from Wayne's perspective with him watching Steve interact with the kids and deciding the kid is actually not as bad as he thought. Steddie endgame

A Father By Any Other Name- Wayne Munson didn't hate Steve Harrington. He just really, really, really, didn't like him. A conversation he witnesses between Steve and Dustin might just start to change that though.

Scrapes, Sprains, and Headaches- When Lucas gets hurt learning how to skateboard, Wayne Munson gets another glimpse into how wrong he might be about Steve Harrington. He also is starting to see the beginnings of what might be a big big problem.

Just a Little Bit of Truth- Wayne goes to Steve's house, gets a little closer to the truth, and definitely needs to have a chat with his nephew.

Awkward Conversations- After his conversation with Jim, there's nothing Wayne wants more than to go home and finally talk with Eddie about everything that had happened. He decides to stay to the end of the party, which turns out to be both a frustrating and illuminating option. Featuring Murray Bauman being Murray Bauman, Steve being an angel of epic proportions, and Wayne and Eddie finally talking everything out.

Who Can Understand?- While everyone else goes to one of Eddie's shows, Wayne and Steve have a little talk.

Well I've Been Afraid of Changin'- Eddie likes Steve. Steve likes Eddie. It should be so simple at this point. But it's really, really, not. (CURRENTLY A WIP)

Days, Weeks, Months- Takes place immediately following S1 Steve's perspective on falling in love and dealing with the aftermath of whatever the fuck just happened. Stoncy Endgame

The Day After- The morning after Steve helps to destroy a demon who had been trying to kill Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler, he goes to school. He didn't want to go. He didn't know why he did it. He just went. It was startling to see how the rest of the world didn't change.

The Weeks After- Steve loves Nancy. It's safe and it's good. It's normal. Steve knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He knows he wants to buy her a house, wants to watch her age gracefully into the gorgeous woman he can see her becoming. Steve knows that he has an overwhelming urge to protect her, to keep Nancy safe from the very real danger they all know exists out in the world, even if she's usually the one protecting him. Steve just also wants all of that with Jonathan too. But that’s not inherently wrong. It doesn’t have to be. He wished he could believe that.

Stranger Things Daily Drabble- A daily prompt fill of just about anything Multiship like literally pretty much everything.

House and Home- Three weeks after getting kicked out of his parent's house, Eddie brings Steve to a decrepit house on the edge of Hawkins to show him how much he loves him Expanded from STDD prompt!

Empty/Full- Chrissy Cunningham is a Good Girl. She gets perfect grades, has the perfect boyfriend, and does exactly as she's told. She's doing everything she should, and she's utterly miserable. She just wants something to help her sleep. Just a little extra to get rid of all of the voices in her head and the pain in her stomach. Eddie Munson has a better plan. HELLCHEER

[nerdymariamania]

omg sandra headcanons…

i feel like people headcanon her as being a “popular girl” in high school but i feel like this ignores the fact that she’s a theatre kid who’s very serious about it and thinks too much of herself… like realistically people would have HATED her. idk if you’ve watched glee but i think high school sandra is very rachel berry coded. i don’t think she really had that many friends because she spent all of her time dedicating herself to being an actress.

AWFUL driver. getting a lift with her is like getting in a death trap. she has road rage and tests god any time she is behind the wheel.

she loves the idea of baking but she consistently burns everything she tries to make. this frustrates her because she tries to follow the instructions perfectly and it still never comes out right. it’s a curse.

you know that i’ve got some thoughts about her family. personally i think she’s the youngest of 3-4 girls. i know you have the same headcanon as me of her mother being a failed actress and so pushing sandra to succeed where she couldn’t, but my addition to this is that she tried this with sandra’s sisters too but they went into more academic fields (eg medicine, law) and so that pressure kind of fell on sandra as like a “last resort” if you know what i mean. and then because of that sandra kinda became her mother’s favourite which caused a bit of tension with her sisters.

has glasses but hates wearing them. usually wears contacts instead but as she gets more comfortable with the drama society she starts to wear them more often.

firmly believe her bi/pan awakening was the movie charlie’s angels. i think teenage her loved that movie. like it just fits in my head.

i think she knows a little bit of guitar and piano. not heaps, just kind of your basic chords and melodies, but enough that she can play and sing at the same time y’know.

that’s all i have for the moment but if i think of more i will send them your way

1. She was that theatre bitch and her only friends were also people in theatre who took it as seriously as her (cough cough, nothing’s changed!)

2. Her road rage is so bad literally anyone else with Cornley wants to drive but won't let her know it's because she's so bad. Even pre-drivers license Lucy broke the law (at Robert's behest) to drive instead of Sandra.

3. I agree!! After she and Max get together, he bakes everything, and she reads the recipe. 5 outta 10 times it doesn't turn out not the best, because Max misheard her. But it's still better than when she bakes.

4. I fully agree about Sandra and her mother pushing her dreams on her, with her sisters. Even though I do headcanon she only has one sister, but still in STEM, much to their mother's chagrin.

5. The glasses thing is so real!!! And it adds to a goes wrong of her glasses breaking and not having contacts and having to do shows kinda blind (so me coded) and running into people and props and sets.

6. I love the idea of her bi/pan awakening being Charlie's Angels, not only on brand but because of the meta pun/joke. Also so real of her, honestly.

7. OML, I just had the thought of her playing a duet with Jonathan when they were dating, but always falling behind/hitting the wrong note. And him politely correcting her (but it still getting on her nerves because it's Sandra and she has to be the best and he shouldn't be correcting her!) And then after she gets with Max, or just with any of her other friends (Annie or Vanessa), they'd play bad together and laugh at their mistakes, and she wouldn't get angry at herself because she'd be so focused on the other person.

[jennathearcher]

I was tagged by the always wonderful @gellavonhamster to post four characters that make me go "my man, my man, my man!!"

(I've done an images-only version of this post previously, but I'm thrilled to elaborate on WHY I adore said characters here :P)

Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)

(fanart credit here)

How do I begin to explain Jonathan Archivist? He's flawless :P In all seriousness, Jon is legit one of the best, most complex characters I've ever seen in media, and perhaps one of the first characters to ever make me go "THAT ONE. MINE." XD

The best part is when I first started listening to the podcast, and didn't really know WHERE it was going to go or how big the story was going to become, I had s1 Jon who is kind of an asshole and I was SO frustrated by his skepticism CONSTANTLY XD then the end of s1 rolls around, s2 illustrates a character arc that encapsulates the immediate aftermath of a severe trauma SO well, and by the end of s2, I had my ".....oh. Oh no" moment :P

Jon spends pretty much the rest of the series just GOING THROUGH IT in one way or another, and pretty consistently going "This is fine" about all of it even though he is Very Not Fine :P I want to just wrap this man in a big cozy blanket and TAKE CARE OF HIM. Because Jon goes through so much of his whole storyline.....essentially ALONE and it DRIVES ME BONKERS XD There's a point in this series where Jon has pretty much lost every friend he's ever had and it is HEARTBREAKING.

But also, his transformation throughout the series :P I don't want to go into TOO much detail here for spoiler reasons, but god. Jon has moments especially in the latter half of the series where he is SCARY. HE IS POWERFUL. AND HE IS GODDAMN SEXY :P (my bestie likes to listen to s5 episodes with me and laugh maniacally over me Losing My Shit from sheer simp-itude XD)

Also, bonus points for being a Canon Asexual 8D like me!! <3

Johnny Silverhand (Cyberpunk 2077)

Oh, Johnny, Johnny <3 I pretty much went into this game knowing he was gonna steal my heart, but even then, I was utterly unprepared for just how attached I would become :3

A lot of that is due to playing as a POV character that you essentially craft yourself from the ground up -- prime real estate for a self insert lover like myself XD And despite there being a myriad of colorful characters in the world of Cyberpunk, four of which you can romance, everyone can pretty much agree that Johnny is by far the most important character to the PC, who has the placeholder moniker of V.

The basics of the game's story are that your character, V, is a mercenary in the postapocalyptic world of 2077, and they are betrayed and nearly killed by one of their clients -- their life only being saved due to the presence of a chip they installed in their head during a job, without realizing said chip contained, essentially, the soul of Johnny Silverhand; a rock star turned terrorist who died in 2023.

The main plot of the game focuses on V's attempts to stabilize Johnny's presence in their brain, before the chip eventually overwrites their consciousness and kills them. A lot of that depends on the player's interactions with Johnny throughout the game, but as you can imagine, literally sharing a brain and body with someone can be quite the bonding experience :P

Especially because Johnny is a MESS. He's an alcoholic and drug addict who hides his supreme self-loathing behind a seemingly massive ego -- who talks a big game about his hatred of capitalism but in reality blew up the biggest conglomerate in the city because his girlfriend died (and it was his fault) and he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings.

The moments in the game when Johnny actually opens up to V are CAPTIVATING, certainly in part due to a masterful performance from Keanu Reeves :P This is one of those games that just grabs you with its immersion, and got me genuinely emotional several times during my first playthrough. (One day, I'll get the chance to play it again :P one day XD)

Plus there's also the aspect of building my own personal canon for my V and her relationship with Johnny, and all that adds up to holding a very special place in my heart :3

Gale Dekarios (Baldur's Gate 3)

I. LOVE. THIS. STUPID. WIZARD. SO. DAMN. MUCH.

Of course I jumped onto the BG3 train for Astarion and ended up falling head-over for the character I most commonly heard referred to as annoying :P

A dorky wizard you say? Who's highly autistic coded? Loves books and his cat? Strongly implied to be an abuse survivor at the hands of an older female partner? AND HE'S SUICIDAL??? I didn't stand a fucking chance :P

I just love listening to him talk so much XD and thank god because he never shuts up :P Nothing like a guy who thinks he's the smartest man in the room who is, IN FACT, very very dumb <3

And lest we forget if you keep him around until the third act of the game, he decides his new coping mechanism is SEEKING GODLY POWER like babe please calm down XD

I've done pretty much all of his possible endings so far outside of doing his origin run (aka playing through the whole game as him), and I just. LOVE HIM SO MUCH <3 I'm excited to romance him again, especially since I missed out on stuff the first time XD Every time I start a new playthrough I end up half-romancing him anyway because I CAN'T HELP MYSELF :P ultimately breaking my own heart when I have to commit to the character I originally set out to romance in the first place XD and he's always the first companion I get to the Exceptional approval level :3

that's my emotional support wizard :P and I WILL make him useful by juicing him up with all the good spells, thank you VERY MUCH XD

Black Leg Sanji (One Piece)

You all knew this was coming :P

Hey, you ever casually look at a fun pirate manga here and there as a teenager without ever really getting into it, but you know EXACTLY which character would be your fave and just kinda tuck that away in the back of your mind?

And then some odd years later, that manga gets adapted into an extremely successful and astonishingly well made live action Netflix series that is much more accessible to you than the source material?

And THEN that gets you engaging with more and more of the source material's fan content until you still haven't even watched the anime proper yet and somehow THIS has happened to you??

Anyway moral of the story is that your first instinct as to what character is going to be your favorite it always right no matter what :P OH MY GOD WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME

I just. Love him SO MUCH.

He cooks. He fights by KICKING PEOPLE REALLY HARD. Like SO hard. Hard enough that he can SHATTER CONCRETE WALLS??? WITH HIS HANDS IN HIS POCKETS LIKE HE'S ORANGE CASSIDY.

He smokes CONSTANTLY. He's ALWAYS associated with fire. He LIGHTS HIMSELF ON FIRE FOR COMBAT PURPOSES. And yet he has the most water elemental oriented soul I've EVER SEEN. (and CHRIST HOW IS HE SO FUCKING SHREDDED--)

He's 80% Leg. His EYEBROWS do the fucking THING. He's FRENCH. The extent of his post-timeskip transformation is PARTING HIS HAIR DIFFERENTLY. His name is a PUN. He is AN IDIOT and also SO SMART. He has to have 17 karmic punishments from the narrative before we ever get to his tragic backstory. His adoptive dad ate his own foot.

He's a Hopeless Romantic. He COMPLETELY FORGETS HOW TO ACT every time he so much as Sees A Woman at thirty paces. He gets so many comedic anime nosebleeds that it becomes A PLOT POINT. He has a CODE OF CHIVALRY that actually makes sense kind of (especially once you know his tragic backstory).

Lest we forget to mention that he's part of a FOUND FAMILY!!!! He has SO much love to give and his love language is all of them :P A different one for each person on the crew, as far as I can tell. With Zoro it's "the only person who's allowed to kill you is me, dammit" XD

ALSO!!!!! COME TO FIND OUT HE'S AN ACTUAL FUCKING PRINCE THAT'S JUST CASUALLY THROWN OUT THERE I JUST FLDKJAFLKDAFJLDSAF

I just. Husband Material. HUSBAND. I wanna lock that shit down SO BAD. I'm AS OBSESSED WITH HIM as he is with EVERYONE ELSE and by god I am making it the problem of all of my followers :P

~

tagging (with no pressure) @pink-cenobite @talesfromthecrypts @piratespencil @thebarefootking @damngoodbabysiitter @lady-phasma and anyone else who wants to do the thing!! <3