#what if the reason the van's so cheap is because he had to back out early because he was beginning to upset the wrong people?

[pianokantzart]

Okay, we know that Mario and Luigi spent their life savings on the commercial, but how did they get the money for the van and its custom paint job? Hear me out: what if... let's say... Luigi raked together some extra cash by putting his poker skills to work? Maaaybe behind his brother's back to try and surprise him?

[sp0o0kylights]

Still working on the BB fic but have another snippet of that Stobin Timeloop AU. This can be read as stand-alone.

Steve Harrington snaps on a completely random Friday.

Well--not completely random. It's both the day of the Big Sportsball Game as well as Hellfire’s grand finale--but neither of those things should matter to Harrington.

Not that he needs a reason to lose his shit--Eddie’s long used to being threatened, insulted or outright attacked out of the blue. 

It’s the whole reason he built up the persona he had--because the scarier he was, the more people left him alone. 

Unfortunately it would appear that Hawkins fallen king hadn’t gotten the memo, given he seemed hellbent on kicking Eddie’s ass. 

"Come on Harrington, we can talk about this." Eddie says, as he’s shoved back, scrambling for a way out, as the former jock gets up in his face. 

The guy had called out his name the second he pulled into the parking lot (sans Buckley or any of the freshman they shared, which has Eddie's back up instantly) but Eddie had simply ignored him.

It was too early to deal with whatever had Harrington sounding like his ass was on fire.

Pity Steve had charged over instead, a look in his eyes that said whatever happened next was going to hurt.

Eddie carries a switchblade, but hes never had to use it before. 

Had instead made an entire production about having it, including cleaning his nails with the blade or stabbing it into the cheap wood desks when a teacher stepped out of the room. 

Had shouted that he’d pull it even when Harrington had charged him, but the guy didn't even blink.

Thus forcing Eddie to confront the fact that he really doesn’t want to stab someone.

Particularly not someone whose family has the police in their pockets (or did with Chief Hopper, though Eddie doesn’t doubt that the Harrington Hoard won’t immediately grab onto the next pig to get promoted.) 

His panic leaves him flailing but somehow, (and unfairly Eddie may add) Steve seems to expect this. 

Knows how to navigate it.

Eddie's back hits the metal of the van and he winces, expecting the hit, the pain. 

If he can duck, if he can make it so the first punch only grazes him, he can grab his fucking knife and wave it around, see if that gets the asshole off him, except--

Instead of hitting him, Steve reaches past, to yank one of the van’s passenger doors open. 

Herds Eddie inside, slamming the door behind him before snatching a fistful of Eddie's shirt and hauling him forward. 

"What--" Eddie asked, confused, right before Steve smashes their lips together. 

It's a hard kiss, practically a claim. 

Steve kisses him like a drowning man gasps for air and Eddie can only fall into it, stunned. 

(The stunned portion only lasts long enough for Eddie to blink before he's kissing back, hot and heavy.

He's been horny for Harrington since the asshole did a trick shot that showed off his ass and involved flipping Hagan off at the same time, sue him.) 

Thinks as he does, that this is probably a trap.

That even if it isn't, then whatever it is Steve will make him regret it--even if he started it. 

(Not like Eddie can claim he wasn’t enjoying it, either. He’s giving as good as he gets, dick quickly overwhelming any rational thought in his brain. 

He clings to Steve like a lifeline, gasping when the jocks takes his bottom lip between his teeth and lightly drags it out, begging to be let into Eddie's mouth. 

This isn't reality.

 Cannot be reality, must be the start of a wet dream or some…vivid hallucinations because when Eddie grinds himself upwards into Steve, cock chasing friction, Steve presses back.) 

"Fuck." Eddie moans when Steve finally releases him, panting up at the ceiling. 

"Do I have your attention now?" Steve asks, voice raspy and Eddie finds himself able to die happy, because that tone is downright possessive. 

"Yeah big boy, you have me--it." Eddie corrects himself fast, the words practically blending together. 

Steve gives a strangled sort of laugh at that, and instead of getting up, presses his face down onto Munsons shoulder. 

Eddie expects him to spring up at any moment. Declare insanity maybe, or far more likely threaten him about telling anybody.

If past bar hookups were an indicator, he'd  throw a few slurs in for good measure. 

(And those men had been at a gay bar, not Hawkins high school parking lot.) 

It's nothing Eddie can't handle, but Steve…isn't doing any of them.

Instead his breathings gone weird, body trembling--and Eddie can see how Steve is holding himself up.

Like he's worried about Eddie taking his weight.

Slowly, carefully, he raises a hand to the back of Steve's hair.

He presses in slow, waiting to be yelled at, waiting to be rejected but never is. 

"You can lay on me, Harrington, I won't break." Eddie tells him and knows his voice is too sweet when he says it.

Too lovey dovey, too awed. 

Too late, for him to recover into a normal voice but fuck it. Not like Eddie was known for making smart decisions. 

Nothing could have prepared him from the wounded noise Steve makes in return. 

"Hey--hey." Eddie says, in rising panic. "I've got you." 

"I know." Steve raises, and head coming up at last, cheeks red and tear stained but his eyes are clear.

Clear and fucking haunted.

 "I know you do, Eds, but we don't have time. Which is why I need you to listen to me, because I'm not the Steve Harrington you know."  

Utterly reeling from being called "Eds" it takes Eddie a moment to digest what was just said. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Steve sighs, a blast of frustration, and Eddie finds himself automatically scritching at Steve's head. 

For some reason that seems to help. 

"Your D&D finale’s tonight, right?" 

"Yes." Eddie says slowly, his mind spinning uselessly, every coherent thought derailed by something new. The moles on Steve's neck. The way he shifts, how his leg is tangling with Eddie's, awkwardly because it's cramped as shit back here. 

"I'm way past this. I've lived this. More than once." 

Aha. 

So it's a mental breakdown Steve's having. 

"I'm still waiting for you to make sense, Harrington." Eddie says to buy himself time to think. 

"Steve." The younger man corrects and he's holding Eddie's gaze. "And I'm not making sense because saying it sounds stupid." 

Eddie can't help the little derisive laugh that breaks out of him. "I hear a lot of stupid things, one more won't kill me." 

"I know, you're famous for your rants about them." Steve snarks back, but it's teasing. 

Friendly and familiar, like he's used to bantering. 

Not just that, but bantering with Eddie, specifically.

He doesn't know what to do with that, so he tugs a little on Harrington's too perfect hair. 

Demands an explanation with that little jolt--and somehow, Steve doesn't haul off and punch him for it. Instead a shudder rollers through him, eyes closing just a touch and--Oh.

Oh, Harri-Steve, likes it.

"I'm from the future." Steve says, which does indeed sound stupid. 

Eddie blinks. "What?" 

"Robin and I are stuck in a time loop-- we keep living this week over and over." He continues, only now he's leaning his head against Eddie's arm. 

"Every single time, you take the longest to get on board and buy in, and every single time I fail to get everyone out alive so fuck it. Fuck all of it--I'm speedrunning this part." 

Oh this is beyond breakdown. 

This is 'took something he shouldn't have and then some' and Eddie knows how to trip sit. 

He just…doesn't want to get punched for being the first person Steve released his repressed homosexual urges out on, drugged or not. 

(The fact Steve's still letting Eddie pet him like a cat absolutely does not have anything to do with it, no sir.)

because his mouth bypasses his rational mind most days and today is no exception. 

"Okay." Eddie says. "Let's say you are from the future and not shot up with what I'm assuming you were told was steroids and was very much not."

 Steve rolls his eyes. 

He never bothered to dry his cheeks and Eddie does it now for him, with the hand that's not in Steve's hair.

Steve leans into it, which somehow feels like the craziest part of it all.

"Prove to me that you're from the future." Eddie challenges.

"Oh the kissing wasn't enough? Fine." Steve bitches, before rattling off facts like he's blowing through answers on Jeopardy. 

"You call your guitar sweetheart and apologize for cheating on it anytime you use your other guitar, who is named Arwin. Your favorite mug in Wayne's collection is the Garfield one and you can play Master of Puppets by heart even though the album came out last month."

"And this is coming from the future and not one of the freshmen we somehow share custody over…?"  Eddie says, even while alarm shoots down his spine.

Had he told the kids about his Garfield mug? 

That his acoustic was named Arwin…?

He suddenly couldn't recall but that made the most sense. Had to make sense.

Steve huffs, annoyed.

Its very cute, and Eddie bites his own lip hard to keep himself focused. 

A finger dips under Eddie's collar, wrapping gently around the chain that sits there before he can react.

 "This," Steve emphasizes with a gentle tug, "was your mom's. She gave it to you the morning of the accident." 

Eddie's world stops.

Not the same way it stopped when Steve kissed him, it stopped in a way they felt like ice had been dumped over his head. A flash freeze that squeezed his chest, claws digging into his exposed heart.

The only person who knew about the pick was Wayne. 

No one else, not even his band, his closest friends, knew the origin of it. 

To tell someone that, to say it was not only his mothers but that shed given it to him the morning before some drunk asshole t boned her shitty, shitty car and killed her-- was akin to handing over step by step instructions on how to hurt him. 

Eddie would go to the ends of the earth for that pick, and he had never let anyone know just how important it was to him.

Except Steve Harrington, apparently. 

"Okay." Eddie says, "Okay, you're from the future. You said--" He pauses, swallows. 

Fights down his disbelief even as the dots connect, because why else would he tell anyone about his pick? 

The only reason he can possibly conjure is if he needed someone to give it back to Wayne, because he, for whatever reason, couldn't.

 "You said you're reliving this because you can't get everyone out alive?" Eddie managed to get out, grappling with the knowledge that "everyone" included him. 

"Yeah." 

 "Are you also my boyfriend or something?" 

"If we can make it there, then yes." Steve says, slightly hysterical. "And really? You're finally gonna believe me?" 

"Are you arguing here for me to believe you or not, Steve, you're giving conflicting signals--" 

"No it's--you've fought me on this man. I've tried every method of getting you with us and every time you argue until the bats show up but one kiss and you're all for it?" 

"Give yourself some credit, it was a grand slam of a kiss.” Eddie replies, because it was by far and large the best kiss of his life. 

He’d follow Steve to hell and back if more kisses like that were on the table, mental breakdown or no. 

Steve snorts at him, a half-hysterical sound. “Noted.” He says. 

Then; “You believe me though?”

“Not at all!” Eddie chirps with a wobbly grin that betrays him.  “But on the off chance you’re right the uh…the thing about my pick…” He trails off self consciously. 

“I should have guessed that was what it. You only ever tell me that when you’re dying.” Steve fills in for him, and it’s weird, to know that for two seconds Steve Harrington apparently read his face and correctly guessed what he was thinking about. 

Abruptly decides he doesn’t want to think of his impending doom any longer. 

“So how about we skip the dying part and focus on the boyfriend part?” He says, poking at Steve’s cheek. 

Steve makes a face at him, before grabbing a his hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“We gotta fix this mess first, Munson.” He tells him gently, looking up at him through his lashes and oh, that is a look Eddie will keep for the rest of his life. 

“Lead on, lassie.” Eddie tells him to hide how dazed he feels. “Let’s go save the world and shit.” 

With one final kiss to the palm of Eddie’s hand, Steve does. 

[lesbojournals]

Stockholm Syndrome (Vampire!Stucky x Reader)

It wasn’t abnormal for you to be walking around the city at night. You worked 12 hour shifts at your local hospital in the city, and your shift ran from 2PM-2AM. Sure, it wasn’t the best hours, but the pay was nice, and rent in the city for sure wasn’t cheap.

You were mulling over your day as you rode the subway in your blue scrubs. You were a phlebotomist, and today you helped run the blood drive during the day part of your shift for good karma. The thing that struck you as odd was the man who came to pick up the blood later that night–it wasn’t the typical guy, nor was it the typical “Blood Donation” van. You even asked him for proper identification, but it all lined up and there was no reason for you to hold anything against him. So you and your coworkers let him drive off with the blood bags. 

The man himself was hard to identify, he wore a baseball cap and sunglasses (at night?? you had thought). He was covered head to toe in clothing, even wearing gloves on his hands. The only thing identifiable was his hair–it was long for a man, coming down in a brown wave. He also had stubble across his cheeks, you’d be able to tell more if he wasn’t wearing a medical mask. 

He was also large, not just in height but in mass as well. You’d never seen anyone in your life as jacked as this guy, and that was with his clothes on! (You blushed at the thought of him without clothes on).

And so you continued to ponder this man over your subway ride. You hugged your bag in comfort and perked your head up at the announcement of your stop. 

Thank god, You thought. Only a 10 minute walk to home.

You climbed up the subway steps and were met with a warm, summer night’s air, yet still goosebumps rose up your arms.

Huh. Weird.

You started your walk to the subway and couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the lack of people on the street.

This is normal as always, You told yourself. Just get yourself home.

As you walked you continued to shoot looks behind yourself, convinced there was someone following you. There never was. 

It wasn’t until you turned a corner that you bumped into a large frame, dropping your bag.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry–I didn’t see you there.” You profusely apologized.

The man shot you a toothy grin (Wow did he have sharp canines) and bent down to pick up your bag, offering it up to you. 

“Don’t worry about it sweetheart.” He smiled, making you both blush and feel uneasy.

You took in his appearance, feeling antsy about the interaction. He had blonde hair that was combed nicely, he wore a hoodie (with a jacket over it) and had red eyes.

Wait.

“Your eyes-” You stuttered out.

He chuckled, looking down at the ground then back up at you. “It’s a birth defect.”

You nodded slowly. This was getting weird–you had a fair amount of medical knowledge, hell, you’ve had hundreds of patients in your career, and you’d never seen or heard of red eyes before.

“Well, I have to get going, so sorry again-”

You went to move forward and he moved to the side to block you.

“What’s goin’ on over here?” A new voice interjected from behind, and you could’ve melted in relief at the sound of getting saved from whatever was going on.

You turned gratefully to see who it was, only to immediately freeze up at the sight of another pair of red eyes.

You gasped in recognition. He had everything, everything but the sunglasses, mask, and gloves.

“You’re the man!! You took that blood from the blood drive, I knew something wasn’t right. You stole that blood!!” You announced, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m him. You were right.”

“And because you so valiantly pointed this out–” the first man interjected. “We’re gonna have to do this.”

The man from the blood drive gave you a hard stare, causing your body to freeze up in all of its motion. The only thing you could feel was the hard beating of your own heart. 

He sheepishly smiled at you (though it was unapologetic). “Sorry doll.”

And with that your vision went black.

a/n: if u want a part two let me know ;)

[ancha-aus]

Ghosts & Medium AU Drabble - Sleepover

I am back with this little AU of mine :3 Becuase I had an idea and I of course have no self control.

What is the focus? Killer and Cross getting to see Dust's and Ash's apartment.

*-----------------*

Dust continues to stare through the front window. He is tired. And Not just physically.

"Come on Dusty! I want to explore my new body and I could use an extra set of hands~"

"It ISN'T your body!! Don't you fucking dare!"

Dust is way beyond his social quota. He has been for the last three weeks. With the last week being especially tiring.

Having Killer tag along as a ghost had been bad.

Killer now having a body?

Dust is used to waking up with a ghost hovering near. Ash does that all the time to wake him up. Seeing Killer instead had been a shock to his system and Dust had tried to hit the ghost. Not very effective because well, ghost. Even if a poltergeist is more physical than most ghosts he was still a ghost.

Well! Having an actual person near and hovering over him?! Yeah. Much more nerve wrecking and is ruining his already fragile and destroyed sleeping cycle.

It doesn't help that Cross is around. Pouting and grumbling all the time. Reminding Killer of what to do with his bdoy and what not to. Pestering Dust to solve it.

Dust doesn't even know what ritual Cross used! Dust had gone to Cross because he hadn't been able to get Killer to leave him. Yet now his problem is doubled.

Ash had offered that maybe they can go home. Get some rest and read some of his books for answers. Dust had figured it was fine. He still had some money from the last job. He would ahve to make every penny count and maybe just eat cheap rice for a while but he can make the money stretch a little longer.

So they got into his van and started going to his apartment.

Dust had considered leaving Killer in Cross's body behind somewhere. He got so close to just doing that. With Killer being stuck in Cross's body it would mean he would be free of him.

But well. Cross and him are still kinda friends. Cross is pretty much Dust's only kinda friend... even if Cross just treats him as any other customer.

Also it feels like a waiting disaster to leave a mobile Killer unsupervised.

So there are going back to his place. Even if Dust much prefers no one knowing where he lives but what can you do.

Ash floats by his shoulder "You sure you don't want to stop for coffee? You have been driving for seven hours now." Ash shoots him a disapproving look.

Dust shrugs "too expensive." he can get soo much rich for the price of one overpriced coffee.

God he misses coffee. Sadly it was one of the first things he stops buying once he gets into the lower amounts of money, same for cigarrettes. Which, with business being slow. He had been low on cash for the last seven months.

There is a reason he tried so hard with Killer's whole haunting thing. It had been the first job after anohter four months of no work or jobs. He needed the cash.

Not that it matters now. He got so many more problems now. At least Cross still has his own savings to keep his body alive while Killer inhibits it.

Dust remembers he should answer Ash "I am almost there." just two more hours. Maybe one and a half if he speeds a bit. That is one of the nice parts about having a ghost with you the whole time. Ash being near causes some electrics to shortcut.

Speedcameras count within those for some reason.

Works great for him.

Killer whines loudly "Dusty! Pay attention to me!"

"Don't distract him from driving Killer! YOu are going to get us killed!"

Killer gasps "OMG!"

Ash looks unimpressed "Did you just seriously say omg out loud? as just letters? as an actual reaction? In an actual conversation? seriously?"

Killer wiggles excited from side to side "We could be ghosts together! Haunt stuff together and-"

Ash rushes Killer and Killer yelps as Ash no doubt uses his own limited ghost ability power stuff to harm him now he is physical "If you ever even entertain the idea of my brother dying ever again I am killing you in this new host body myself. Am. I. understood?"

Cross looks panicked "Wait no! that is my body!"

Ash huffs "I am aware. But I am not risking Dust. Not for anything or anyone."

Killer pouts "Geez calm down. it was just an idea." he mutters unhappily "we wouldn't even be sure if it would work."

Dust just ignores the ghosts arguing. It is still a long drive.

Fuck he would kill for either a coffee or a cigarrette right about now. He would commit a war crime if he could get both.

--

It is late. Very late. But they are finally here!

Dust parks the van in an empty spot and grabs his bag as he walks towards the front door. He opens it with his key and has to hit it a few times before the door into the building opens.

Dust just nods to the door as he looks at Killer "Inside."

Killer has a hand on his, well cross's chest as he looks down at him. Damn Cross for being tall. "Oh? inviting me back home already? After just one date? I am scandalised and very interested." and he walks inside.

Ash makes a gaging sound and Dust rolls his eye lights before following after Killer. Once inside he pulls the door until it gets back stuck again and he locks it again. The doorhandle it broken so you need to force it in and out of place before keeping it shut with the lock itself.

Dust walks past the elevator that Killer is waiting by "don't use the elevator. it gets stuck and has the habit of dropping a few floors." and he walks towards the stairs. Fuck he hates the stairs.

Still he climbs the floors and eventually finally gets to floor eight and walks down the hallway. Door after door after door. There is his spot. 808.

He pulls out his key and tries it. Ugh. It is stuck again. He bonks his skull against the door "Ash?"

Ash floats through the door "on it."

a moment later he feels the key turn and he steps back as Ash forces the door open. He removes the key "Thanks." and he leads the other two inside as Ash closes the door and locks it again.

Dust stands in his room and ignores the very damning silence "Home sweet home." he throws the bag on the couch as he walks over to the window and opens it. Having to put the small wood board between some parts to keep it open.

Killer looks around the place as Cross looks a lot more alarmed "You live here?!"

Dust shrugs as he walks to his couch where he leavs a blanket and pillow "Euh. I live in my van. I only come here once in a while." Thinking that. He will probably need to get food. He never leaves food behind in his place. Makes the rats visit.

Cross looks so worried as he floats nearby "You enver said this was your place!"

Dust shrugs "It is fine."

Sure the enterance and living room and kitchen is one room... with the door hitting the couch... and the kitchen being one small fridge a counter and a electric little stove thing. and the place he eats is just one table with one chair. But it is a place! It has electricity kinda reliable and the water is mostly clean.

Dust blinks and shrugs "Rent is cheap." also the landlord does not pay attention to who pays and who doens't. Which is the only reason Dust still has this place and why he doesn't complain about everything being broken.

Dust looks at Killer and points at the couch "You can sleep here. That was Cross's body gets some rest. I will be in my room." and he turns and goes towards his own bedroom, after picking up his bag of course.

His room may have been an exaggeration. It is just his mattress on the floor with two different blankets and an old pillow. the room just barely fits the mattress and the small set of drawers for his clothes. He searches through it and finds a shirt some sweats and a beanie. This will have to do to sleep in.

He undressed and redresses. He will do all the stuff to clean up and stuff tomorrow. First sleep. It is like 4 am and he had been driving since they left Cross's chapel. at like 6ish... Dust thinks... maybe earlier?

It doesn't matter. Dust lets himself fall on his mattress and rolls up. Muttering a good night to Ash and getting one in return.

--

Someone is muttering stuff near him. Ugh. Can't he just sleep for a bit longer? He is tired.

He grumbles as he tries to curl more into his blanket but he is stuck. weird. did he get tangled with his blanket again? Would explain why it is so warm and... why... something... is moving...

Dust manages to open his sockets and freezes.

Cross, well Killer, is in bed with him. Killer pouts "You woke him-"

Dust just punched him in the face nad Killer rolls off the bed. Releasing him in the process. Dust glares at him "Why the fuck are you in my room." he rubs his sockets. no longer sleepy at all. what the actual fuck?!

Killer rubs his, well Cross's face "I wanted to get up close and comfortable. but then i realised that sleeping with you as very comfy. so i slept in your bed wiht you instead of the couch."

Dust looks around and spots Ash looking pissed. and Cross hiding his face nad looking beyond embarrassed "I am so sorry! I didn't know what to do and i thought he was asleep so i went to explore the building and when i came back he was well here and I couldn't convince him to leave as he was aslready asleep himself and well..."

Dust looks at Ash and Cross "wake me?!"

Ash grumbles unhappily "You need your sleep."

Cross sighs "also nothing we did could wake killer and it isn't like he listens."

...

What even is his life?

Okay. Fine.

Dust gets up and kicks Killer and he yelps. Dust just kicks him again "Out. I need to get dressed."

Killer grins and winks "I can assist-" Dust kicks him again. Killer pouts "okay fine fine fine!" and he leaves.

Dust gets dressed quickly and goes towards the living room. Time to look into some new options to get this situation wiht Killer and Cross sorted out.

First he needs to switch their places to get Cross his body back. And then a ritual to get Killer to leave him alone.

That is easy. That is just two rituals.

Dust grabs the first book and starts looking through the rituals.

There has to be something that can work... He could also try and summon something that can make the changes if he really needs to.

[wheels-of-despair]

@oneforthemunny's one-derful year The Title: The Big Three The Eddie: Dom!Eddie The Prompt: Revisit The Greatest Horny Hours Ever The Summary: A certain bratty reader finds herself reliving a familiar situation with Dom!Eddie... or three. The Words: 3k Youths and ageless blogs, Do Not Interact. I will block your ass.

It had been a pleasant evening.

After a few hours of shopping at the mall in the next town over, you and Eddie had stopped for dinner at a nice little restaurant nearby. Your waitress was sweet - a grandmotherly type - and the food was great. Eddie didn't even complain when you ordered a salad and proceeded to pick at his "real food".

Until he got up to pay the check, and you saw her.

That bitch Sandy.

The reason you never went to that cute little Woodstock-themed restaurant in Hawkins ever again. She'd practically drooled over Eddie, flirted with him right in front of you, shoved her tits in his face. And he didn't even fucking stop her.

You'd fought about it on the way home, and he'd pulled the van over and pulled off his belt in an embarrassing event that you mentally refer to as The Mel's Parking Lot Incident. Both your face and your ass burned at the memory of it.

And here she is again. Still dressed like a cheap hooker. Tying on an apron that was longer than her slutty little skirt.

"Oh, hey, baby! It's so nice to see you again! Still got that beautiful hair!" She reaches out and runs her glittery talons through Eddie's hair. YOUR Eddie's hair. The asshole smiles and mumbles something that makes her giggle. You rise out of your seat and stomp toward them with your fists and your jaw clenched. You're going to fucking kill her this time.

He hears you coming.

"No."

You keep walking, and he places himself in your path.

"No."

You growl and try to step around him. In any other situation, he might laugh, but in front of his whore, he grabs your arms to hold you still.

"Van. Now." He puts his keys in your hand and marches you to the door and pushes you out of it. He stands there, inside the door, guarding it for a second, until you stamp your foot in defeat and march toward the van, parked just a few steps away.

You unlock the passenger door and climb in and watch through the windshield as he drops a few bills on the table for your waitress and picks up the purse you'd forgotten about. He smiles and says something to that bitch behind the counter on his way out.

You're LIVID.

He steps outside, and his smile drops when his eyes settle on you. He tries to open his door, but you haven't unlocked it yet. He taps on the window. You fix him with a glare and cross your arms.

"Unlock the fucking door."

You roll your eyes and reach across to pull up on the lock. Not because he told you to. Because you're ready to give him a piece of your mind. He hops in and slams the door, dropping your purse on your lap.

"Keys."

You throw them at him.

They hit his arm and drop into the floorboard with a jingle. Instead of reaching for them, he slowly turns to you.

"You remember what happened last time you pitched a fit over her?"

You want to reply with a real zinger, something that'll make his jaw drop. But the memory of The Mel's Parking Lot Incident silences you.

"Pick 'em up."

You seethe.

"Pick 'em up, or I'm gonna come over there and give all these fine people a show."

You look through the diner's windows at all the people eating… and see HER. Staring at you. Bet seeing Eddie punish you because of HER would make that bitch's fucking year. You reach for the keys and drop them in his lap, then face your window with your arms crossed.

Eddie starts the van and backs out of the spot. A few minutes of driving passes in tense silence.

"What's your fucking problem?" he asks after a while.

"You're my fucking problem."

"I'm gonna be if you don't quit acting like a little bitch."

You're the bitch? Your rage bubbles.

"So did you know she was working there? Is that why we went there? Did she blow you when you went to the bathroom? Or did you slip out back and fuck her against the dumpster?"

"What the fuck?!"

"Fuck you! " you yell. "And your ugly whore, too!"

Eddie laughs. LAUGHS.

You pick up your purse and throw it at him. It's the closest thing in reach. He swerves and slams on the brakes. Your seatbelt keeps you from hitting the dash. The things you'd bought at the mall and stashed in the back go flying. A pack of brightly colored bath beads flies by you and spills into the floorboard by your feet. The van comes to a shuddering stop in the middle of the quiet road. Shit.

You look from the mess to Eddie's red face. You can see the vein pulsating in his neck.

"Alright."

Shit.

Eddie changes gears and keeps driving, scanning the side of the road for a place to pull off. You've done it. You're not going to be able to sit for a fucking week. And it's all that fucking whore's fault.

Eddie finds a forgotten driveway that looks like it leads to nowhere and pulls the van into it. How far does this go? Has he been here before? If you run, how long will it take for him to catch you? How much worse will it be? Your thighs clench. Your nails dig into the seat. Finally, the van comes to a stop. You look around, wondering if people can still see you from the road.

Eddie turns off the ignition, gets out, and stomps around the front of the van. His face is red. His jaw is clenched. You're going to get it.

So you lock your door before he can yank it open.

He looks from the handle up to you with fury on his face.

"Unlock. The. Door."

You shake your head.

Eddie glares for a second, then walks back around the front to his side. You reach over and lock that too. The keys are still in the ignition. You'll let him in when he calms down.

"You're playing a dangerous game, little girl," he growls through the glass. His tone makes the heat pool between your legs.

"Are you gonna say the word, or are you just being a fucking brat?"

You know the word he means. But you don't feel like it's the right time to use it. You stick your tongue out at him. What's he gonna do, break his own window?

He disappears. The back? Can he get in the back? No, the back is always locked, because he keeps his band equipment in there.

You frantically look from mirror to mirror, wondering where he'd gone to. Is there a secret Flintstones hole in the bottom he can climb though? What's he doing? You're leaning over to look out the back window when you hear a click coming from your door.

Fuck. The spare key he hides by the back tire.

He's got your door open before you can flee out the driver's side. You slip on one of the bath beads and fall over the seat.

"No you don't," he grunts, grabbing your ankle.

"Eddie, I'm sorry!"

"You're gonna be," he growls, pulling you to him.

Your feet hit the ground, but they're not there for long. He sticks his boot on the edge of the doorframe and props a leg up and tosses you over it, holding you in place with a strong arm around your waist. You dangle helplessly as he flips your dress up and starts smacking.

"Ow!" Slap! "Eddie!" Smack! "I'm sorry!" You kick out in protest, and he responds by shifting you further over his thigh and smacking harder. You try to brace yourself on the side of the van, to get at least some kind of leverage so you're not flopping around helplessly, but it's useless. You can't do anything but flail and cry.

And then, before you know it, you're standing upright again. You bounce back against the door as you get your bearings.

You look at him bashfully. You bat your teary eyes, hoping he'll just tell you to get back in the van.

"Go pick me a switch."

"Eddieeee," you whine.

"Plenty to choose from. Make it a good one."

"It's not my fault!" You stamp your foot again. "It's HERS!"

Eddie starts to roll his eyes, but they land on something in the van.

The new wooden bath brush he'd picked out at Bed Bath & Beyond had fallen out of its bag. Eddie had spotted it on a clearance shelf, picked it up, and smacked it on his hand to test it. The crack echoed through the store and made your thighs clench. He'd smirked and placed it in your basket. You'd had to carry it around for the rest of your shopping trip, wondering if everyone else knew what it was really going to be used for.

It had seemed fun and sexy at the time.

When he reaches for the bath brush with one hand and you with the other, like he knew you would try to run, you quickly change your mind.

He tosses you back over his thigh and starts bringing that big wooden brush down on your ass. You squirm and whine as the burn sets in. Eddie stops for a second, and you think it's over... until he yanks your panties down to your knees. You whine, but he just keeps going. The wood cracks so loudly against your bare skin, you're sure all the wildlife has fled the vicinity in terror. You cry in protest and humiliation at being bared out here in the open, but he doesn't stop spanking until you give in and quiet down.

"You gonna be good now?"

"Yeah," you sniffle, wishing there was more of a cool breeze on your ass right now. Your panties had slid down your legs at some point and landed in a crumple on the ground. You hadn't noticed until just now.

"Yeah?" he asks with another hard smack.

"Yes, sir," you correct yourself.

"Good girl." He puts you back on your feet. "Now go pick me a switch."

"Eddie, I said I'd be good," you whine.

"Then go pick me a fucking switch."

You huff and stomp away and pick a fucking switch, strip it of its leaves, and bring it back to him.

"Hands on the side of the van."

You glare at his stupid van and flatten your hands against it.

"Spread your legs."

You spread your legs.

He steps closer and pulls your short dress up, bunching it up and tucking it in so it won't be in his way.

"Stick that ass out."

You bend over further and give him his target.

SWISH.

The first strike isn't so--

SWISH!

BAD!

The switch swishes through the air so quickly, you're glad you weren't asked to count. You cry and shift your weight and try to avoid the stinging lashes setting your ass on fire until he steps closer and grabs you around the waist.

"Stay still," he orders over his shoulder. He keeps his arm wrapped around your waist, pinning you to his side as the switch keeps flying.

You try to obey, but it's so hard. By the time Eddie's done switching you, he's got his jean-covered leg between yours to keep you from lurching forward to escape the sting, and you're pretty sure there will be a wet spot when he releases you.

He drops the switch and gives your burning rear a rub, and you sigh, thinking it's over.

"Alright, hands back on the van," he orders with a light smack to your right cheek.

"What?" you ask, eyeliner streaming down your face. He reaches for his belt buckle, and you sob. "Eddie, I'm sorryyy."

Eddie unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops, never breaking eye contact with you. He folds the leather in half and holds it up and jerks it with a loud SNAP. You flinch at the sound. He lifts his hand and makes a twirling motion that means "turn around."

You do what he wants. Hands on the van, legs spread, ass out.

"Count."

You take a deep breath and brace for--CRACK.

"One!"

CRACK!

"Two," you cry as the belt lays another stripe.

"Three, four," on your already-tender sit-spots.

"Five!" on the left.

"Six!" on the right.

"Seven, eight!" stripes the tops of your thighs.

"NINE!" and "TEN!" set your whole ass on fire.

You lean your weight on your hands against the van, praying that he won't go to twenty. But through your sobs, you hear him shushing you as he rubs his hand across your sore ass.

"You got somethin' to say to me?" he rumbles in your ear, his breath hot on your neck.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being a brat."

"And?"

You want to stomp on his foot, but you know better.

"And being jealous of that whore."

He smacks your exposed rear with his hand.

"Of that GIRL."

"Better. Anything else?"

"I'm sorry for locking you out of the van and not listening and for being a bad girl," you say quickly, hoping that'll cover it all.

Eddie laughs and dips a finger between your still-spread legs.

"Well shit, if I didn't know better, I'd say you enjoyed that. You like being punished? Like it when I have to spank the brat out of you?"

He slides a finger inside of you, and you have no reply but a moan. You arch your back and spread yourself more for him, hoping he'll add another finger or two. He pumps in and out a few times and starts to circle your clit. You're so close, you can almost--

"Shame there's no dumpster out here to fuck you against," he says, pulling his hand away. You whine. He gives your ass another slap with his sticky hand. "Guess you'll just have to blow me. On your knees."

You salivate at the command and turn quickly to drop to your knees on the grass, reaching for his zipper eagerly. He lets you do all the work, not making a move until he's in your mouth. His hand comes to rest on the back of your head, and you respond with a moan around his shaft.

It doesn't take him long to finish.

"Alright, back in the van," he smirks as he zips up.

"Eddieee," you whine, rubbing your thighs together from your position on the ground.

"Oh, did you want to get off too?"

You wrap yourself around his leg and look up at him with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You must be quite a sight; you know your eyes are red and your eyeliner's running. But you want him in you so fucking bad you don't care about anything else. You'll ride his boot if you have to. If you just shift a little--

"Too bad," he says simply, wrapping his fingers around your upper arm and helping you stand. Before you can protest, he guides you back to the passenger door and helps you into your seat. You hiss when your ass makes contact, and he smirks as he leans over to buckle your seatbelt. You glare down at the bath brush in the floorboard instead of at him.

"Is that how bad girls ride home?"

You look down at yourself, wondering what you've done wrong.

Eddie reaches in and tugs your dress out from under you so that your ass makes direct contact with the cracked leather seat. You'd forgotten about this part of The Mel's Parking Lot Incident. How the hard surface adds heat, and the cracks dig into your tender flesh.

When the van rumbles to life and backs out of the bumpy road, it's like being punished all over again. The paved highway is a smoother ride, but still extremely unpleasant.

You know better than to lift up. Last time, you got caned for it. But maybe if you put your hands on the seat and put your weight on them, it would help take the pressure off…

"Get those hands on your head."

"Won't that look weird when people pass us?" you ask hopefully, mad at him for seeing what you were doing immediately, and mad at yourself for even trying.

"Don't care. Do it."

You pout and put your hands up, the full weight of your burning ass pressing down on that cracked seat from hell.

You were so relieved when Eddie pulled into the driveway. You were nearly free. You'd behaved on the way home, so he wouldn't cane you this time; he'd probably take you inside and cool you off with some lotion and bend you over something so he could admire his work as he plowed into you. You unbuckle your seatbelt and carefully climb out, where he's waiting for you.

"Pick up all those bath beads."

You turn around to start picking up those colorful little beads from the floor, quickly and without protest because you want to get inside and get fucked right now. You feel a breeze. He's lifted up your dress and tucked it in again. Your striped, burning ass is on display for the whole neighborhood.

"Eddie!"

"What?"

"People will see!"

"Better hurry up then," he says, unbothered. He stands behind you, partially blocking the view, but making you feel so exposed… and dirty… and so wet, you're seconds away from dripping.

You stuff the bath beads back into the flimsy plastic box they fell out of as quickly as you can. Eddie opens the side door and stands guard as you re-bag all the things that had scattered after he slammed on the brakes.

When everything is finally back in a bag, Eddie reaches out and lets your dress back down. You both grab an armful of shopping bags, he slams the van's doors closed, and he follows you into the house.

Now it's time for the fun part.

[allthesmutl0vers]

Entirely Forbidden and Completely Fucked. Wincest fanfic- Chapter Two

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Pairing: Sam x Dean, Sam x Reader x Dean, Reader x John

Trigger Warnings: Graphic Wincest sex scene, implied feelings for John by the reader (no sex...yet)

Thank you so much for every like🫶 Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Chapter Two

Y/n

“Come on guys, up at ‘em,” John says, ripping open the curtains. I cover my eyes with my arm to block out the sudden intrusion of light. 

Was this guy raised in a fucking barn? Who wakes people up like that?

Sam groans in the next bed but gets up, and Dean gets up without a word. I sigh, rub the sleep from my eyes, and stretch my arms out in front of me. “I’m going to get coffee, and I expect everyone to be ready to go when I get back,” John says, grabbing his keys. “Don’t be a dick,” he says to Dean, pointing a finger at him before walking out the door. 

I stand up, pull my hair back into a messy ponytail, and put on my black, square-lens glasses. My eye contacts dried out, and I don’t have another pair, which reminds me that I need to get my prescription transferred to wherever John and them live. 

I grab the backpack that I grabbed from the car last night and pull out another pair of shorts, a T-shirt, socks and underwear. 

“Going somewhere?” Dean asks, finally acknowledging my existence. 

“Considering I’m holding clothes, I’m going to say ‘to shower,’” I quip. I’m not a morning person, and Dean doesn’t get to be a fucking asshole and expect me to be nice before I’ve had caffeine. 

Dean rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Sorry, princess. You’re going to have to wait. I always go first.” He says, walking past me to the bathroom. 

I clench my jaw and take a deep breath. I’m too tired for this shit right now.  “Whatever, go,” I wave my hand and set my clothes on the bed. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Dean says with a mocking laugh and closes the door. 

I exhale deeply and rub my eyes under my glasses. I try to imagine what it must be like for him, going from not having or maybe even not knowing you have a half-sister to having her thrown at you. But at the same time, my Mom just fucking died. I don’t want to be here anymore than they don’t want me here. The only reason I am here is because I don’t turn eighteen for two months. But after that, I’m out of here.

“He’ll warm up. He just needs some time.” Sam says, putting a hand on my shoulder. 

I shrug. “It’s whatever. I’m going to smoke,” I respond, pulling my vape and dab pens from my bag and slipping on my Vans.

“Smoke like cigarettes?” Sam asks curiously. 

I stand up and face him, holding up my vape and dab pen. “No, smoke like a vape and some weed,” I flick them around in my finger and walk by him, opening the door. I turn around and look at him. “Wanna join?” I ask. 

Sam shakes his head, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. “I’m good, maybe next time,” 

“Suit yourself,” I shrug and walk out of the hotel room and into the morning sun, closing the door behind me. I sit down on the steps and let out a sigh. 

Maybe I should just leave. I could say I’m going to the corner store for a vape and just take my shit with me. I have enough cash for a bus ticket wherever I want, and my inheritance will be mine once I turn eighteen. 

I think it over as I hit my vape and take a couple of hits off my dab pen. I have around two grand saved up from the job I had since mom never wanted me to spend my own money but to save it instead. I could definitely make it for two months if I stay in a cheap hotel and don’t go book or clothes shopping. I scoff to myself. 

Maybe just buy a couple of books to kill the time.

I sigh and decide that just leaving is my best option. Maybe I can’t go home, but I can stay in Washington, and that’s all I really want right now. I go to hit my vape again, and it’s dead. “Shit,” I mutter to myself and stand up. I groan in frustration.

I really don’t want to go back in there.

I weigh my options: either go to buy a new one or go back in to grab my backup. I don’t have my bags yet, so backup it is. I walk back to the hotel room and open the door, only to be staring right at an ass-naked Dean and a shirtless Sam. 

“Fuck!” Dean exclaims, covering himself up. “Would it kill you to fucking knock?” He asks me angrily. 

I look over at Sam, who is beet fucking red and throwing on a shirt. “Uh, I didn’t know I needed to,” I respond. 

“Well, get the fuck out,” Dean says as he marches over to me. He towers over me, not as much as Sam, but pretty damn close. 

“Last time I checked, I’m staying here too, asshole,” I push past him and grab my clothes and walk to the bathroom. I close the door and lean against it, the steam in the air warming up my skin. 

I thought Dean was showering. So why is Sam’s hair wet, too? What the actual fuck did I just walk into? Or, almost walk into? Were they…no. No, no fucking way. I’m just tired, that’s all. 

I’m not thinking straight. 

No fucking kidding. 

I hurry up and take my shower, being as quick as I can. Just as I turn the water off and step out I hear John’s voice. “Where’s y/n?” He asks. 

“Shower,” that’s Sam’s voice. 

I quickly get dressed so I don’t keep them waiting. I need enough time to give them my excuse and grab my bags before they realize I’m gone. I curse myself for spending precious seconds wondering why Dean and Sam’s hair was wet at the same time, which was fucking stupid. Men shower faster than women, and I was outside for at least fifteen minutes. They probably showered one after the other. They must have. 

A knock sounds on the door. “Chop, chop, kid. Time to get a move on,” John says from the other side. 

“Coming,” I respond, opening the door and putting my glasses back on. “I need to run to the corner store. What time were you planning on heading out?” I ask John as I grab my bag.

“Right now. We can stop on the way out of town,” he says, handing me a coffee and pulling his keys back out of his pocket. 

Goddamnit. There goes my shot to do it now.

“Oh, so you’ll stop for her but not us?” Dean remarks, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

“Shut up and load the damn car, Dean,” John says, tossing Dean his keys. “We have a long drive back to Kansas, and there will be other opportunities to stop. So quit your bitching.”

Hold up, did he just say Kansas?

“Need me to carry your bag?” Sam asks me, pulling me from my thoughts on improvising another way away from them. 

“Huh? Oh, no, I’m good. Thank though,” I smile softly and walk past him and John and out the door. 

I throw my backpack in the back seat, pull out my dab pen, take another big hit, and bend over, coughing hard. I don’t know when we’ll be stopping next and I don’t think John would want me smoking in the car, so I want to make it count. 

“You good?” Dean asks, standing next to me by the passenger front door. 

“I,” I cough again. “I’m fine. What do you care?” I ask, blinking away the tears from coughing so hard. 

“I don’t,” Dean shrugs. “Just don’t feel like burying a body today.” He says cooly.

What the fuck?

“Very funny, Dean,” I roll my eyes and take another hit, my head already feeling lighter. 

“I wasn’t joking. I’m not in the mood for it today. What are you even smoking anyway?” He asks, pointing to my dab pen in my hand.

I blow the smoke in his face. “You tell me,” I quip with a smirk before coughing again, this time not as bad. 

“Smells like weed, but not?” Dean guesses. 

“Wow, really perspective,” I say sarcastically. “It’s a dab pen.”

“Dab pen?” Dean asks curiously, sipping his coffee. “What is that? Some kind of new weed or something?”

“It’s weed; it's just processed into an oil, which is what’s in here,” I explain, pointing to the oil in the tank. “It makes it more discrete, the smell isn’t as strong, and I don’t have to whip out a bong and spend twenty minutes finding a lighter. Plus, it’s more potent.” I explain. 

Dean pokes out his bottom lip and nods in interest. “Hm, alright then.”I nod, pull out my backup vape, and take a hit off of that as well. “And what’s that?” he asks.

“It’s a nicotine vape. I hate the smell and taste of cigarettes.” 

Dean actually laughs. “Same here,” he says, looking over his shoulder back at the hotel room. “Look,” he says, facing me again. “I’m sorry about yesterday, I shouldn’t have been such a dick.”

“I get it,” I shrug. “John said you’re a little standoffish.”

“You say John a lot,” he says curiously. “He’s your dad too, isn’t he?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘dad,’” I tell him as I lean against the Impala. “Biologically, yeah, he is. But other than that, he’s just a guy who randomly came around once or twice a year when he had ‘business in town,’” I air quote with my fingers. 

Dean nods, and his jaw ticks again. “Do you know what that business was?” he asks. 

I shake my head. “Didn’t bother to ask, and he didn’t bother to explain.” 

Dean nods again. “Well, look,” he sighs and scratches his head. “I’ve never had a sister before. It’s only ever been me and Sammy, so…” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t be around that long,” I look over the car into the distance. 

“Oh, um, okay,” Dean says with a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Alright, let's roll,” John says as he and Sam approach the car.

We all climb in, me and Sam in the back and Dean up front with John. 

I wonder if I can get a map of bus routes along the way.

Sam

This morning was too close a call. Me and Dean know how long Dad takes to get coffee, but I got so caught up in the heat of the moment, that I completely forgot she was there when I went to shower with Dean. It was worth every second of it, though, and I can’t bring myself to regret it. 

Having her here has brought up feelings that I wasn’t prepared for. When she walked through the door with Dad… Fuck, I haven’t looked at anyone like that besides Dean in so long. My dick was entirely confused. And I can’t help then whenever Dad mentions that she’s our sister, half or full, it doesn’t matter. My dick swells in my jeans. 

I shouldn’t want her this way. 

To be fair, I shouldn’t want Dean this way, either, but I do. I can still remember the day the dam finally broke between us. We were at Bobby’s two years ago, and Dad had dropped us up for a week. 

“Hey,” I greet Dean, opening the door to the garage. He’s pissed that Dad left us here. He said he had business to take of in Washington and that we had to stay here.

Dean looks up from the car he’s taking apart. “Hey, Sammy,” he says, leaning back over the open hood. His shirt is tucked into his back pocket, and sweat drips down his chiseled chest. I’ve never been so nervous in my life, but this is Dean. If I can tell anyone anything, it’s Dean.

It’s always been Dean.

I clear my throat and step closer, tucking my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. “So, um, I want to talk to you about something,” I start to say, but when he looks up at me with that smoldering gaze, the words escape my mind. 

Dean looks me up and down, wiping his hands on the shirt in his back pocket, and stands up straight. “What?” he asks.

It shouldn’t be this hard, but my hands shake, and the cut on my abdomen stings. I bite the corner of my lower lip. Should I just come out and say it? 

Dean walks closer, noticing my nervousness. “How’s your cut?” he asks, reaching for the end of my shirt. 

“It’s,” I clear my throat. “It’s okay,” I lie. It hurts like a bitch, but I won’t admit it.

Dean lifts my shirt, revealing the cut that he mended last night. “I thought we agreed to never lie to each other Sammy,” he says without looking at me. His fingers graze the gauze taped over the wound.

My skin heats at his touch, taking my mind off of the sting. “We did,” I agree, watching as his gaze moves from my wound and up to my eyes and his eyebrows furrow. I take a deep breath, and Dean watches as my jaw ticks. “But we’ve both been lying for a long time,” I tell him, hoping he’ll know what I mean. 

Dean sucks in a breath, and I know he gets what I mean. Of course he does, he always knows what I’m thinking, as do I for him. Dean backs up and shakes his head slightly. “We can’t go there, Sammy. Once we do, there’s no going back.” He says with a disappointed sigh. 

“Who said anything about going back?” I ask. My heart races in my chest, and my hands shake when I pull them out of my pockets. 

“Sammy,” Dean says like a warning. I watch his chest rise and fall heavily. I know he wants this too, if only he’d just admit it. 

“I’m tired of denying it, Dean. I want you. Only you, all the time,” I admit. “In bed, in the shower, any and everywhere. Stop being so stubborn it’s-”

Dean cuts me off, grabbing my face with his hands and pressing his lips to mine. My lips melt into his, and everything we’ve never said aloud is poured into the kiss. My hands grip the waistband of Dean’s pants and pull him closer. 

Dean’s tongue dips out, licking between my lips and begging for access. I open my mouth and allow him inside, and his tongue licks the roof of my mouth and my tongue making my cock strain against the inside of my jeans. I suck on his tongue and bite it softly, dragging it between my teeth and making Dean groan. 

 Dean pulls back, and we each suck in a desperately needed breath. Our foreheads are pressed together as we share breaths back and forth. “We should stop,” Dean says softly. 

“We definitely should,” I respond, but neither of us steps back. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean mutters, his hands slide from my face to my neck, slide up the back and into my hair, gripping it in his fingers. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Show me,” I lean down and kiss his neck right behind the shell of his ear. 

Dean groans and tilts his head to give me more access. I bite the sensitive skin behind his ear before sucking. Dean’s fingers grip my hair, making me hiss in pleasure. “Fuck it,” he groans and pulls back out of my grasp. 

Dean rips down his pants and boxers, and my mouth waters at the sight, just like it always has. We’ve showered and slept in the bed together. I’ve seen his cock before, but knowing I get it this time makes pre-cum drip from my tip as I pull my pants down. 

Dean kicks his pants to the side and stalks toward me. He grabs my cock in his hand and kisses me in one fluid motion. I moan into the kiss and pump his cock in time as he pumps mine, rubbing his thumb over my tip, coating my cock with my pre-cum. 

Dean pulls back and spins me around, pushing my chest against the side of the car he was working on. “Pass me that jar, Sammy,” he demands gruffly. 

I pass him the jar of coconut oil and rub my cock as I feel Dean’s lubed fingers rub my ass, pushing in and scissoring his fingers to open me up. “Fuck, Dean,” I groan, my balls tightening and threatening to burst. 

“You like that?” He asks, biting my shoulder harshly and making me hiss as his teeth pierce the skin.

“Fuck, yes,” I moan, my eyes hooding. His fingers leave my ass, and I feel the head of his cock  press up against my tight ass. My fingers grasp for hold on the top of the car, and my head falls back as Dean pushes himself inside deeper. “God,” I moan.

Dean grips my hips and thrusts in fully. “Don’t pray to him, little brother. He’s nowhere near here,” Dean groans, pulling back and thrusting in hard with a moan. “Pray to me, I’m the one fucking you.”

I moan as Dean pulls back and thrusts in again faster. Dean grips my hair and pulls, making my eyes roll into the back of my head. “Fuck, yes, Dean,” I moan between heavy breaths. 

Dean continues to fuck me like a man possessed, his cock hitting a g-spot I didn’t know I had inside of my ass. “Damn, Sammy, Fuck… I’m gonna cum.” Dean moans as I feel his cock swell inside of my ass. 

“Fuck, me too, Dean,” I moan, my balls tightening impossibly tight. I wrap my hand around my cock and pump it with my hand, matching Dean’s harsh thrusts. After a few more thrusts, I feel Dean’s cum fill me as mine paints my hand and the side of the car, our breathing heavy and staggered as he pulls out and spins me around, kissing me again. This kiss isn’t heated. It’s soft and gentle. 

“No going back,” Dean says like a promise, holding my gaze with hooded eyes. 

“No going back,” I agree with a smile. 

I adjust myself and clear my throat. The memory makes my cock swell in my jeans. Y/n looks over at me, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. I smile at her with pursed lips, and she rolls her eyes and looks back out of the window. 

I take a moment to take her in. Her bare legs under her short ripped denim shorts, the black band T-shirt with ‘A Day To Remember’ written across the front. Fuck, she looks so good with glasses too. The black-rimmed ‘nerd glasses’ really do something to me, along with her long, almost black hair that reaches her waist. The perfect length to grab and hold tight as you plow into her. 

God, now I’m hard again. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out and see a text from Dean.

Dean: What are you looking at?

Me: Nothing.

Dean: Bullshit. Why are you staring at her?

Jealous much?

I chuckle silently and text back.

Me: Who do you think?

Dean: Not me, and that pisses me off. Stop it.

Me: Jealous?

Dean: Hardly. 

Me: Don’t act like she’s not hot. She’s exactly your type.

Dean: She’s our sister.

Me: Half-sister. And you’re my brother. That didn’t stop you this morning. 

Dean lets out an annoyed sigh in the seat in front of me. 

Dean: Point made. So, what? Do you wanna bring her into this? That’ll go over well. 

Me: I’m just saying it’s an option. 

Dean: She’s leaving soon anyway. Don’t bother.

I stare at my phone, confused. What does he mean? She’s ours now, that’s why Dad went to get her.

Me: What are you talking about? She just got here.

Dean: And she doesn’t want to stay. She told me this morning, so leave her out of it. 

Me: She can’t. She’s not even eighteen yet.

Dean: She will be in 2 months, that’s when she’s leaving. 

Me: That’ll go over well with Dad. 

Dean: What does? Stop texting me. Dad keeps looking at us. We’ll talk about it later.

I look up and see Dad looking at me in the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t know about me and Dean, obviously, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t suspect anything. Especially when Dean fought going with him to pick up y/n because he ‘needed to stay and protect me.’ I look away from the rearview mirror and look out the window. I don’t want y/n to leave, but I don’t know if I can trust her yet, either. 

What a fucking mess.

Y/n

We finally pull into another hotel somewhere on the boarder of Wyoming and Colorado. I get out and stretch while John goes to get a room. I grab my backpack from the backseat and close the door. 

“So,” Sam clears his throat, talking to me. “Long car ride,” he says awkwardly. 

I purse my lips into a smile and nod. “Yeah, he doesn’t like to stop, does he?” I ask jokingly. 

Sam laughs as Dean gets out of the car, too. “No, not really.”

“He would’ve just kept going if you weren’t here,” Dean says, stretching his arms over his head. 

“Oh,” I respond, trying to ignore the dig at my presence. “Sorry.”

Dean shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just trying to make sure you’re comfortable. I don’t mind stopping,” Dean smirks. 

I nod and pull out my vape, taking a drag off of it and blowing the vapor into the air above me. “Think he’ll be able to get one with three beds this time?” I ask Sam and Dean. 

They both laugh and shake their heads. “Not likely. But he’ll probably take the couch again,” Sam responds. 

John comes back with the key, and we all carry our bags to the room. I put my bags by the bed furthest from the door and sit down on the edge. Sam and Dean put their bags on either side of the other bed in the room. 

“I’m going to get burgers,” John announces as he sets his bag on the other side of my bed. “Do you want to come with me?” he asks me as he hands Sam and Dean a second copy of the hotel key. 

I’m not sure if I want to leave or not, and I don’t know how to tell him. 

“She can stay here,” Dean says flatly. “We should probably have the talk with her anyway,” Dean says to John with a serious and mysterious tone of voice. 

John narrows his eyes at Dean and nods before turning back to me. “Stay in the room unless one of them goes with you. I’ll be back,” is all he says before walking out of the hotel room and closing the door behind him. 

“What talk?” I ask, looking over at Sam and Dean. 

They look at each other and then back to me. “You said you don’t know what business Dad is in, right?” Sam asks. 

“Yeah, no clue. Is he in like the mob or something?” I ask jokingly. 

“No, he’s a hunter,” Dean responds, clearing his throat. “All of those things you read about in fairy tales growing up are real,” Dean explains. 

I blink a few times, wondering if he’s fucking with me. He has to be. “Right,” I drawl out. “Next, you’re going to tell me you just live in a dragon-guarded castle,” I joke back with a small laugh.

“Not a castle, a bunker,” Sam corrects.

“And it’s not guarded by a dragon, but it is warded,” Dean adds. 

I can’t help but laugh at their serious faces. The first I’ve laughed since I lost Mom. Sam and Dean look at me like I’m crazy, and Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s just,” I chuckle, my laugh dying down. “You can’t be serious.”

Dean stands up and grabs something from John’s bag and sits down next to me. “See for yourself,” he says, handing me a leather-back journal. I look at him with a raised eyebrow, and he nods to the journal in my hands. “Open it, it’s dad’s, you can look at it,” he says seriously. 

I open the journal, and I can’t believe my eyes as I turn the pages. There are what look like entries with names, dates, places, and all different kinds of creatures. “All of this is real?” I ask as I skim the pages.

Sam sits down on my other side. “Yeah. This is what we do. We travel around the country and hunt these things,” Sam explains. 

I look up at Sam, the journal resting open on my lap. “How do you know where they are or what they are?” I ask curiously.

Dean takes the journal from my hands and flips through it before finding the page he wants and shows me. “This is the newspaper article,” he says, pointing to a clipping that’s paperclipped to the side of the page. “It talks about people going on a killing spree, in this case, killing their entire family. Only to disappear and never be seen again,” Dean explains the article to me. 

“But that happens sometimes, doesn’t it? I mean, there’s serial killers and family annihilators in prison for the same thing,” I mention as he flips the article to show the entry underneath.

Dean nods. “Yes, there are. But in this town, it happened to three separate families. That’s what makes it our kind of case,” Dean explains. 

“So, what kind of monster is that then? A vampire?” I ask.

“Shape-shifter,” Sam corrects on my other side. “Vampires can’t come out in the daytime; they’ll burn.”

I nod and look back at the journal. “And that’s a shape-shifter?” I ask, pointing to a still photo of a man, his eyes glowing. 

“Yes,” Dean answers. “See how his eyes glow in the picture? That’s how you can tell.”

“So, what does it look like? Like, not in a human?” I ask.

“Nobody knows. Nobody has seen one in its own skin and lived to talk about it,” Dean responds.

“This is freaky,” I murmur, shaking my head. “So you guys kill these things?” I ask them both.

“Sometimes, but they’re pretty rare, actually. Our biggest problems are usually vampires, werewolves, and demons. And a few ghosts,” Sam explains calmly. 

“Did you say…demons?” I ask, confused. “Like wings and shit like that?” 

Sam and Dean chuckle and shake their heads. “No, they look like regular people because they possess their bodies,” Sam explains. 

“I’m sorry, did you just say they possess people?” I ask, shocked. “Like, they just walk around and act like regular people?” 

“Not exactly. There are different kinds. Some are relatively harmless, just happy to be out of Hell. Some make deals with people, and those are called crossroads demons. Stay away from them,” Dean explains. 

I shake my head as I try to wrap my mind around what they’re telling me. “So you mean to tell me that vampires, werewolves, shape-shifters, demons, all of those are real?” I ask, looking down at the floor. 

“There’s more-”

I cut Dean off. “There’s MORE?!” I practically scream. 

“Calm down, you’re safe with us. Yes, there are more things out there, and you’ll learn about all of them and how to keep yourself safe. We’ll teach you, and Dad will too,” Sam assures me, placing a hand gently on my back and rubbing small circles. 

“This is crazy,” I shake my head. The room suddenly feels too small, and I need to get out. I stand up and grab my vape.

“Where are you going?” Dean asks, standing up too. 

“I need some air,” I shake my head. As I walk toward the door, it opens, and I jump nearly out of my skin. 

“Looks like someone took it well,” John says, walking in and placing the food down on the table. “Knew that  I should’ve done it myself,” he shakes his head and walks over to me. “You alright?” he asks, placing his hands on my shoulders. 

I nod once. “I’m fine. I just need some air,” I mutter. 

“I’ll come with you. It’s dark out,” John says, looking over my shoulder at Sam and Dean. “Food’s on the table; we’ll be back,” he says to them. He puts an arm over my shoulders and walks outside with me. We take a seat on the steps, looking out over the empty parking lot. “It’s a lot to take in when you first learn about it,” John says softly as I hit my vape. 

“How did you find out about it?” I ask, not looking at him. I can tell I struck a cord asking when he sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a huff. 

“After my wife died,” he says softly. I turn to look up at him, feeling sorry for him. I can’t imagine what that’s like. “She died when Sammy was just a baby, and Dean was about four. A demon killed her,” John explains sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing I hadn’t asked. 

John takes a breath and sighs. “Thank you, y/n. I loved your mom, too. Sheila was…” he looks out over the parking lot. “Special.”

“Yeah, she was,” I agree, fighting back the tears at the fact I’ll never get to talk to her again. I sniffle, and John wraps an arm around me and hugs me to his side. 

“Cry if you need to, honey, it’s okay,” he assures me, and that itself breaks the dam. The tears fall down my cheeks, and I lean into him for support. John hugs me and shushes me gently. He doesn’t tell me it’s going to be okay, and he doesn’t tell me it’s going to get better or easier; he’s just there. And for the first time in my life, I’m thankful he is. 

After I’m finished crying, John stands up and gives me a big bear hug. We go inside and eat dinner, and for the first time everyone is civil and even joking around. When it comes time to go to bed, I change into my pajamas and climb into the hotel bed. John offers to sleep on the couch, but I tell him that he can share the bed with me. He’s my dad, after all and I feel bad that he slept on a too-small couch last night. John gets under the covers with me, and as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out. Who knew crying could make a person so tired?

Chapter Three

[elliewritessncries]

Invisible string | pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x (mostly)gn!reader

After many months of constant fighting Joel’s wife, Evelyn, has had enough, she runs away and leaves him and baby Sarah alone when they most need her. Sarah is barely 4 months old and even though Joel is an excellent father, he still needs help with his daughter while he works. Luckily his neighbor is more than happy to help out the now single father.

Part 2

Pre-outbreak, perhaps even no outbreak at all. Joel just turned/is about to turn 20. Young reader too. Kind of slow burn. No use of y/n. Clichés all over.

Warnings: swearing, parental abandonment. Brief mention of miscarriage. English is not my first language.

Note: I’ve been meaning to write more but I’m honestly too busy or afraid of criticism so I end up posting a chapter or two on ao3 and never coming back. But I’m on vacation and I miss tumblr so here I am.

Dividers by: firefly graphics

Sometimes, life takes turns leading you to places you never thought you'd find yourself in, but it doesn't have to be bad. That you had learned.

The first turn life took (and you were actually aware of it) was mid-college, and that one, well… It was actually a bad thing.

Two years earlier, you decided to travel across the country to study. It wasn't the most convenient thing geographically. It was a 24-hour drive without stops, but you made 32 in your parents' old van the first time they took you to see the campus, then it took you 4 days to get there with your best friend at the start of the first semester. It was a long way, which meant no Christmas vacation at home, no traveling for spring break, and an expensive plane ticket every summer that you had to pay yourself because, oh, surprise! It wasn't also the most convenient thing because money was tight at home, and Penn State wasn't cheap. Still, you wanted to go there, so your parents made an incredible effort to get you where you wanted. And a year and a half later, it wasn't viable anymore, so you dropped out and returned home to work.

The second life's turn happened when you were 20, and it came to you completely by surprise, without any involvement on your part, but still, you had to deal with the consequences.

You had been out of college for about seven months. It was mid-January, and you were walking home from work, watching the Christmas lights attached to rooftops fight the wind that threatened to rip them off and have them flying around. It was windier than usual, a chill wind that cut to the bone, perhaps foreshadowing the day's events.

When you reached home, you expected to be greeted by the warmth of home but, instead, you found it colder than the outside as your mom shouted like crazy in Spanish (a common thing in your household) at your dad, who just sat at the dining table with his head hung low (also a common thing). What wasn't expected was you and your siblings taking your mom's side as you found out the reason behind the yelling: your 52-year-old dad, the "most devoted father and husband of the community," was behind your family’s financial struggle, him and his mistress. That day, your mom sloppily packed your dad's things and threw him on the street. He didn't deserve more than that.

Life kept on going after that, kind of.

Many turns came after that day, more than you could ever count, and life was getting dizzier by the minute until a chilly day in late October that reminded you of the fateful day your dad ran out. Once again, you found yourself walking home from work, like in January, almost 8 months ago. You stopped half a block away from your house, fighting in vain with your beaten-down walkman, trying to play your tape until you heard muffled screams in a nearby house, something reminiscent of that day, too.

You didn't want to pry, but curiosity got the best of you, so you stayed there pretending to fix your things.

You knew the house belonged to the Keereys, but they hadn't lived there for a while. At the moment, a young couple rented it. You knew them too, not only because they were your neighbors but because both went to school with you, all the way from kindergarten to High School.

Evelyn and Joel Miller were high school sweethearts, together since their Freshman year, maybe before. They were a grade below you, but even going to the same school, you had never cared too much about their life and relationship, too busy with your own teenage drama and organizing prom and whatnot. Still, throughout the years, your mom and Diana Miller, Joel's mom, remained good friends, keeping you in all the gossip.

Evelyn's parents never liked Joel that much, and Joel never liked her parents, either. When she got pregnant at 17, they hated each other even more. Joel dropped out of High School and started to work to support a family that didn't come. The baby was never born, but they stayed together, even got married after turning 18, and when he thought of getting a GED to continue his education, they got pregnant again. Their baby was born mid-summer, and you and your family were invited to the baby shower but sent a present instead, too occupied with your family drama to go.

After the baby shower, Diana Miller didn't need to call your mom to update her on all of her son's problems because the young couple moved out of the Millers' house into their own (rented) home four houses down the block from yours, to receive their baby in peace. But peace was the last thing they had, with their baby crying more times than not, Evelyn wanting to opt-out, Joel trying to keep things together for the sake of their daughter, and you and your neighbors were the first ones to know about all their discussions.

Now, even with your headphones on, you could make up some of the phrases that Evelyn screamed, things about her wanting more, him not being enough, wishing for a better life, and wanting to leave once and for all. And before you could decide whether it was better to keep listening to bring fresh gossip home or leave the couple alone to their issues, the decision was made for you by an angry Evelyn getting out of the house in a hurry.

"-and I'm tired of you, and your house, and your stupid daughter that never shuts up!"

"Don't talk about her like that, Evelyn! Like it or not, she's your daughter. You can run away from her!"

"I'm not running away from her. I'm running away from you and this miserable life, you big, fucking, worthless idiot!"

"Evelyn, don't go! Evelyn! If you go now, don't even think about coming back! I mean it!"

"Oh honey, count on it!"

And she meant it too because while they were screaming at each other, she threw into their shared pick-up truck a bunch of clothes, a suitcase, and many plastic bags with, one could only assume, the rest of her things.

All the screaming had attracted the attention of passersby and neighbors alike. Yet, if they weren't paying attention before, the loud tire squeal of the truck as Evelyn backed out of the driveway did the trick, making everyone who was paying attention turn to the couple's house, scared by the sudden noise.

The truck drove loudly into the distance, leaving behind a deafening silence. Not even the birds dared to make any noise for a moment, afraid to upset the young man even more, but life had to keep going, even if it seemed to have stopped for him. People kept on walking, neighbors pretended to have been doing anything else rather than listening to the conversation and went on with their day, but you kept looking at the door, where an angry Joel Miller stood, not knowing what to do with life now, only distracted by the cries of his daughter, so he turned around and shut his door angrily leaving you standing in the middle of the street thinking how his life had taken a turn now too and wishing him the best of luck.

[mxtantrights]

the ballerina, the freak, and the king (modern!au)

this is a re-work of the original tbtftk series which you can read here. you don't have to read that to read this since what's below is more a standalone, but there will be things that nod back to the original work, so if you do that's up to you! thanks for reading, hope you enjoy <33

Steve hates his job. He hates the smile he puts on to sell cars to rich men and families of four and college students. He hates how he knows exactly how 77 degrees feels like on his skin. He hates how good he is at selling cars because it reminds him that he wanted to be more than this. He was never sure what that entailed but he knew it wasn't selling cars.

Steve hates his job except when you walk pass the windows. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday you breeze by with your chin up and a duffle bag strapped to your shoulder. Your hair is always done perfectly, a tight bun and two coils to frame your face.

He's thought about going into the studio once or twice. He could come up with an excuse. He was recommended lessons for his back. His mom suggested he try something new. He's helping Lucas with basketball and wants to teach him some fundamentals from ballet.

But none of those excuses were wise enough for him to even think of stepping foot in the studio. No he would keep his distance. Out of sheer embarrassment and something else.

He had talked to you once before. Really it was more of a small greeting. It was in passing and because of Robin. She had directed you to the store because you were looking to buy a car. Something small and bit on the cheap side, but enough to get you to and from places. She showed you around the used car lot.

It hadn't worked out though. Steve never found out the reason why but he also holds onto hope because of it. Maybe when you did need a car again he would be on the clock. A perfectly reasonable excuse to talk to you.

The front door opens and in comes the new hire. He refers to himself as "001" for some odd reason.

Steve hates his job.

-

Eddie loves his job. Yes it did come with the occasional weird looks. He was the only rock fan working in a record store in Indiana. He was bound to get looks. But he doesn't really care about the eyes that linger on his tattoos and his rings.

How could he when one pair of those eyes belongs to you? You with your upright posture and your tutu. He barely sees you since the studio is in the middle of the main block and the record store is on the corner.

He was enthralled by you once you walked into Vecna Vinyl, dressed in head to toe ballerina equipment, and demanded an Eagles record for the class you teach. It was like some sort of cosmic event- Dustin would use that other word, Kismet.

Eddie isn't sure you remember him from high school. Not that the two of you hung out at all. Neither were you in the same circles. You weren't rubbing elbows with the cheerleaders and jocks but they respected you and your craft. Him? Not so much.

But there was this one time. When Eddie was done picking up groceries for him and Wayne. He walked out the store and saw you eyeing his van. Part of him was in panic mode- did you want to slash his tires or something? Prank the freak?

When you caught him looking at you you bolted out of sight. He never got to ask you why you were interested in his van in the first place. And too much time has passed now for him to ask you.

But you could just as easily walk into his store and ask him for another Eagles record.

Eddie loves his job.

-

You think if you you have to spin around one more time today something will come out of you. Whether it be bodily fluids or a high pitched scream.

You like your job, in theory. You get paid to be the assistant to the instructor of the baby ballerinas. Which means you basically take care of the said baby ballerinas while the instructor teaches to children who would rather be digging up worms or throwing slime onto the ceiling.

But it could be worse, you think to yourself. You could be working at the mall and wearing one of those godawful outfits with the hat to match. So this is fine. This is doable.

All of a sudden your ears pick up on the sound of someone about to upchuck. It's a gross and dry sound that you hate to hear. Because it usually means that you'll have to get the mop, you know, as the assistant to the instructor that keeps class flowing.

One of the children is standing with her hands on her head. Breathing a bit shallow.

"Annabelle?" you ask her

She looks over your way. And the face she makes doesn't mean anything good coming either of yours way. Her chubby little hand slaps over her mouth.

"Bathroom! Bathroom right now! Bathroom!" you shout.

She starts running. You start running after her. The class stops at the volume of your voice. But you don't care. You can't handle mopping up vomit today. It would break you.

Annabelle, bless her heart, runs as fast as she can. Her tiny feet travel quickly and to the bathroom. You rush in after her as she dives for a toilet and sticks her head in.

You hear the vile sounds and reach to keep her head from going too far into the toilet. Pinching your nose you keep your position until she finally backs away from the bowl.

She looks at you.

Before you can even think about talking to her you reach for the toilet handle and push down. Then you bring her over to the sink where the paper towels are. And water. Water would help her right now. You'll have to call her guardian after this.

She grabs the paper towels first. Then she hands one to you. You turn the sink on, cold water, and run the towel under the water for a few seconds. Then you pass the towel back to her.

"I hate ballet." she says sadly.

You watch as she lays the towel over her forehead.

"sometimes I hate ballet too. But I think what you mean is different." you speak.

She nods her head. You nod along with her. Not every child wants to do ballet. But the parents and the adults hear how it can help with posture and other things and they sign their kids up faster than lightening. Not even giving time to think what their kids might actually want to try and enjoy.

Annabelle is one of those kids.

"Do I have to go back out there?" she asks.

Then an idea comes to your mind. Like a serious light bulb moment from a cartoon you used to watch as a kid.

You turn the sink off.

"I think not. Stick with me and follow my lead." you answer.

She follows you as you walk back out of the bathroom and into class, which has started up again. When your instructor sees you and Annabelle returning she stops the class again.

"Everything okay?" she asks.

"Yeah we're just going to take a walk. Fresh air might help." you say.

She nods her head at your request. You walk past her with Annabelle and head over to the coat rack. You pass Annabelle her's first. It goes right over her ballet gear, tutu included, and then you put yours on. Thankfully you don't have to wear a tutu to assist.

The two of you are out the door without a second thought. Annabelle grabs your hand as you walk down Main Street. You're headed to the only place where you get some semblance of relief these days.

it's short walk but the walk wasn't the idea. Getting Annabelle out a place that stresses her out to the point where she feels like she has to over perform and ignore her body is the idea.

Reefer's Records. The place wasn't the best to bring a child to after dark but theres plenty of sunlight out which means no weed is being sold in the store.

You push open the door and lead her inside. That's when you see Annabelle's eyes widen in wonder. Of course the place was highly decorated by someone who partakes in recreational use of a hallucinogen.

"Woah!" she shouts.

And then she's running off. Touching things and looking up at the wall which is painted all different colors.

The sound of beads clinging together is what you hear first, then you see him. Eddie Munson. I mean you would be remise to not think he was cute. The big brown eyes? The hair? You've only spoken to him once and you were sure it wasn't memorable to him.

Maybe you could change that?

You smile his way as he approaches.

"Hi I was wondering if you have rubberband man by the spinners?" you ask.

At first he doesn't say anything. The silence throws you off kilter for a second. But then he smiles and you can't help to smile and feel like things are not off kilter.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I got a couple of copies in the back-" he answers.

"I mean I want to listen to it." you cut him off.

He spares you a look.

"I'll buy the record but I, well I want you to play it in here." you explain.

Eddie looks past you and a curt laugh comes out of him. You turn to get a look at what he's laughing at. It's Annabelle. She's standing right in the middle of the store with her head craned up to the ceiling.

"Is she with you?" Eddie asks.

You nod your head. Then you turn back to him.

"She's having a hard time in class and I just want to show her that dancing can be fun." you answer.

"I can play it for you. Free of charge." he says.

"I don't want you to get in trouble or anything." you offer up.

"It's okay ballerina, I kinda run this place on weekdays." he gloats.

You laugh, "So you're the big boss around here on school days?"

"Yeah well when you put it like that it sounds egregious. Should I rescind my offer?" he jokes.

You know he's joking. But part of you feels bad and part of you is a bit hazy from being this close and talking to him for this long. You play it up and your hands land on his shoulders.

"I'll be forever in your debt if you do." you plead playfully.

His eyes are wider than before. You think you might have misstepped and crossed a line or a boundary. You don't know him well enough to be touching on him! You retract your hands like they were never there.

Eddie schools his face into a more normal expression. He points behind him with his thumb. You feel like an idiot.

"I'm gonna-spin the record for you. So your student can dance. I'm gonna do that now. Right now." he speaks.

"Thank you." you smile.

He then walks backwards the way he came. And in doing so almost knocks over a pile of records and a stack of papers on the counter. You don't think of him as ungraceful though, you think of him as cute.

When he's out of sight you walk over to Annabelle. She finally fixes her head down from the ceiling.

"I like it here." she comments.

"I knew you would. There's a song I think you'll like too." you say.

The speakers currently playing a rock song that you recognize as Metallica stops playing. There's a scratch and then the beat to rubberband man starts up.

You watch as Annabelle moves her shoulders to the bass line. The smile on her face starts slow but it's there. And it means that you made the right decision to bring her here and take her mind off class for a while.

"Can we dance?" she asks.

"Of course, but theres on rule:" you start and reach your hand out to her, "no ballet!"

"Yes!" she exclaims.

She takes your hand. The two of you being dancing wildly to the song. There is no right to dance to the spinners. As long as you move your feet and your heart is pounding to the tune of the beat. Nothing compares to being in sync with a great song.

That's how the two of you dance to the whole song. Back and forth, shuffling your feet, moving your arms and not caring that you didn't extend your leg or your fingers. No toes pointed. No plies. No turns.

Somehow at the end of the song you two end up doing the chicken dance. Her tutu making her play the role effortlessly. You stop yourself to watch her enjoy.

You don't hear the front door open. How could you? The song was still playing loudly in the store. Until it wasn't. Both of you and Annabelle out of breath and trying to catch oxygen in between fits of laughter.

"Hey ballerinas, how was-" Eddie shouts from the front of the store then stops.

You two look at him first. Then you two look to where he is looking, which was not at you, and at the front door. A group of people are standing there. Mostly teens but there are two older ones, around your age. You knew them instantly.

In an instant you recognize two of the younger girls in the group. how could you not? Max Mayfield is the only girl in town with hair as red as fire and Jane has an unforgettable face.

"Max? Jane?" you say out loud.

Like no time has passed at all, they come barreling over to you. They engulf both sides of you with a hug. You reciprocate and wrap your arms around both of them.

Max and Jane were two of about five girls you first taught as the unofficial assistant to the instructor. It was an unpaid role seeing as you were still in school and only clocking in two hours every other day. But it was fun, partly because of these two girls hugging you right now.

"I missed you guys! How have you been?" you ask them.

Jane looks up at you, "Good. We're doing skateboarding now."

"Ballet helped my form a lot. I can land a 180 now." Max says.

You smile at the admission. While you wished to still see the girls more you knew they were happy not doing ballet anymore. You're glad they found each other in class and never let go of that friendship.

"You know red?" a voice asks.

You look over at Eddie. He has a smile on his face. Max unwraps herself from you and casually walks over to him. You didn't know they knew each other. But then again Max has great music taste so it makes sense that they would get along.

"Yeah I used to teach her and Jane when I was a senior." you answer.

Jane unwraps her arms from around you. Then he walks over to one of the boys she came in with. The one with jet black hair. He looks over at you for a second, then turns his full attention to her.

"That's cool." another voice sounds.

You look back at the door. The other younger kids have dispersed around the music store. You finally can place the two older kids who are now walking over to you. Steve and Robin.

Robin was in the band during high school. You remember her specifically because you went to one basketball game and noticed how much her face screamed 'I don't want to be here' amongst the green and white uniforms. She was also the one to direct you when you wanted to buy a car, though it didn't end up working out.

Then there was Steve. Of course everyone knows Steve. But you remember Steve as being the first boy you kissed. It had been after someone's birthday party, Tina maybe, and you two had walked the same way home. Not that you two were located near each other but you had no one to walk with and he offered. All you can remember from that night is Steve, and how blue your tongues were from the slushy-drinks at the party.

You saw him at the dealership too since he and Robin work together. But you didn't talk to him that much when you went in there.

You realize it was Robin that made the comment.

"I use the term teaching loosely. But I do teach this one, sometimes." you say and reach your hand out for Annabelle.

She comes running to you, tiny hand grabbing yours. She smiles at you and then pushes her tutu down with both of her hands.

"Are there any classes for adults? I know I could use it for my back." Steve says.

You begin to wonder what happened to his back. But that was surely personal and not meant to be talked about in a music store. You hope he's okay.

"There are but I work with kiddies. I can ask if there are any slots open if you'd like." you offer.

Steve shakes his head, "Nah I'll probably ask one of the kids to walk over my back."

"I mean Argyle probably has something for that." Eddie sounds.

He joins the four of you. There's a look about him now. He's smirking at Steve and Steve is smirking back at him. Robin is also smiling but you and Annabelle are in the dark as to why.

"Car man!" Annabelle says randomly.

You look at her confused.

Steve laughs, "Yeah I work at the car place. Would you be interested in a Volvo?"

Annabelle giggles.

"I can't drive yet silly." she says.

"You sure? I think you're smart enough." Steve jokes.

Annabelle begins to laugh uncontrollably at this. Steve smiles and his teeth are all out on display and his eyes are hidden behind lines and lines of skin. You like the sight of it, of him.

"What're two ballerina's doing rocking out in the music store?" Robin asks.

You look down at Annabelle who's already looking at you. You shrug your shoulders and she does the same. Both of you look at the group.

"We wanted to do something fun." you answer.

Annabelle gasps and runs over to Eddie. As if the two had been friends before. The action surprises him and he almost buckles at the momentum of the tiny girl. But he laughs anyways.

He bends down and Annabelle is whispering something in his ear. He smiles and nods.

"I've got a request from the tiny dancer." he says.

Then he is walking with Annabelle, hand in hand, to the front of the store. You watch as the two of them sift through some records.

"Are you two-um..." you ask but you know it what it comes off as. You feel a little bit embarrassed at your forwardness.

All of a sudden both their faces morph into disgust. Robin starts talking at a hundred miles per hour. Something about 'not going to happen' and 'bathroom confession' and 'he's a good one but not her type'. Steve is more like a gaping fish.

Robin pats him on the shoulder and walks off. Which leaves just you and Steve. You decide to be brave and take a step forward. You're surprised when he does the same.

"I think we kissed once at a party." he says.

You can't help the chuckle that rolls out from your belly. You're glad he remembered because it would honestly hurt your ego a bit if he didn't.

"Yeah I remember that. I think I had red slushy tongue." you answer.

He nods, "I had blue. Good times."

You hum approvingly. Now you're hitting yourself over the head for not going back into the car place. While you didn't have enough money to buy anything with an engine you could've pretended to look, and possibly talked with Steve.

You want to say more. But out of no where music starts playing. You recognize the song instantly. That one song by the talking heads-the name is on the tip of your tongue!

"Naive Melody!" Steve says.

Annabelle comes running over to you two. And she comes and steals Steve away. You can't even be mad about it because it's so cute. She holds her out for him and he takes it. Annabelle was a very enchanting child, it's why she's your current favorite.

Steve and Annabelle start dancing together. You can't help how your heart warms. Maybe it's the light that reflects off the chipped disco ball and onto Steve's arm. Or how his hair bounces with every movement he makes.

You don't notice how Eddie strolls up and holds out his hand. When you do you have to pull your mind to focus. He's taken off his jacket and now his arms with tattoos are on display.

"Care to dance ballerina?" he asks.

You take his hand as an answer. The two of you start off slow, somehow Eddie starts doing the robot. You don't think he's danced in front of people before. He doesn't have that blanket of shame or guilt most people do when they have.

He's just free.

You join him. There is laughter all around the store. Sure enough you feel it. Like this must be the place where you can be happy. Not the physical space of Vecna Vinyl, but around people like Steve and Eddie.

Steve and Eddie.

Oh.

[petersbaby]

Cold- Eddie Munson x reader

Part five ♡

Part four / Part six

Warnings: oral (m receiving) and that should be it

A/N: so turns out reader is a switch so the dynamic will change. She’s kinda dominant here. I am, in fact, a switch irl so I might be referencing myself a little >:) also I need to add these to my masterlist but I’m putting it off because linking all the different parts together is gonna be a pain in the ass. I shall do it though, soon. Whenever I get back on desktop hehe

-

“Hi Eddie.” Your voice comes through the phone and into his ear, causing a smile to spread across his face.

“Hi. What are you doing?”

“Welllll I’m thinking. Thinking about how nice it is outside and how it would be good to maybe go back to that spot near the lake. We could get food, have a little picnic in the back. What do you think?”

“I think that sounds perfect. I’ll come get you in about an hour, okay?”

“Okay. Bye.”

He had barely gotten out of the bed yet, he was just lazily lounging around since it was a Sunday. He likes to call them “lazy Sundays” when in reality he’s pretty lazy every other day too. When he got your call, he got butterflies in his stomach, and he was immediately praying you’d say you wanted to see him too.

He hopped up and into the shower, washing his hair and putting on a clean outfit with his beat-up old Reeboks. Admittedly, he doesn’t always care so much about his appearance or presentation. You were making him think and act totally different, because all he could think of was you no matter what he was doing.

He sprays on his cheap cologne as a final touch and heads out the door. After a couple of minutes into the drive to your house, he got nervous and habitually reached for a smoke. He really loved that the smell of tobacco didn’t bother you. In fact, you’d told him it was a comforting smell to you. Something that relaxed your senses for some reason you couldn’t quite place.

He finally arrives at your door, and you’re conveniently waiting by it so you answer it right away. This surprised him, but he thought it was really sweet. All the voices racing in his head seemed to all cease the second he laid eyes on you. His eyes scanned your body, not so much in a sexual way but rather to see what inevitably is gonna be a super cute outfit you chose for the day.

“You look cute.”

“No, you do.” You smile, giving him the same look up and down. You step outside with him, closing the door behind you and following him to the van where he opens your door like he always does, even though you’ve told him he doesn’t have to. He also had a solid habit of asking to make sure you’re buckled up, citing that you’re “precious cargo”.

You guys stop by the convenience store, the only place he could think of to spontaneously get food for a picnic. He was worried a bit that this wasn’t what you had in mind, but it was also admittedly just he could afford. He looks over at you once you park in front of the store, looking a bit like a confused puppy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, uh, nothing.”

He was just overthinking. You were more than happy with this. Once inside, you both grabbed a premade sandwich, some candy, chips, and a couple of drinks. You got pink lemonade and he got root beer, after which you set it all down on the counter up front. The cashier bags it all up, and you happily take the bag from their hand. You waited as Eddie paid, then followed him yet again back to the car.

He plays music on the way, tapping his fingers on the wheel to the beat which was really cute and had you smiling when you saw it in your peripheral vision.

When you get to your spot, you both go to the back again to spread everything out on the blanket and sit down.

“You know, I’m not gonna lie. I thought it was weird that you had a van, maybe even a little creepy. But now I see the appeal.” You laugh, gesturing to the space where the two of you had hung out on several occasions. It was cozy. That was one thing you remember from that night, how you just felt so comfortable and safe in there.

“Ouch. Well at least you don’t think I’m creepy anymore.”

You ate, you laughed, you talked, but ended up making out once again. Bound to happen. It was admittedly something you probably did more than you should, but it was addicting. His lips were a LOT softer than they looked, and had a mint/cigarette taste on them.

You were far past just his lips, now, though. You were practically swallowing each other whole, tongues not fighting so much as moving together in harmony until he pulls back to breathe.

“God, I don’t want to make you feel pressured but I need you so bad.”

“Hmm.” You start, an indicator that you’re thinking of something mischievous. You remember one thing you said on the phone that one time, about how you’d like to hear him beg.

“How bad?”

“Really bad.” You exchange whispers between deep kisses.

“What do you want?”

“I’ll take anything. I’ll take anything you’ll give me.” He sounded so desperate he was falling apart with every word.

You start to move, to hover above him and sit on top of him.

“Okay. Gonna take it?”

“Y-yes.” He breathes.

Your lips leave his, moving over to his ear where you nipped his earlobe and started kissing from his jawline and then lower, taking your sweet time until he’s whimpering and then you finally reach that perfect spot at the bend of his shoulder and neck, where they connect.

You kiss this spot harshly, sucking the skin between your teeth and running your tongue over the spot to soothe it and then repeat this over and over.

“Get this off.” You tug at the bottom of his t shirt, which he pulls off right away. Now you have more expanse to cover, kissing and licking his collarbones and slightly bearing down, clothed heat rubbing up against his erection.

“Oh, god.” He murmurs. “Can I?” He holds his hands up, eyeing your waist.

“Mhm.” You take his hands and help guide them to your body. He runs his hands up and down the curve of your waist and all the way back down to your hips. His big, calloused hands find their way to your ass, where he uses a little bit of pressure to push your crotch down against his once more. You weren’t prepared for this, moaning when he does it.

“Oh, shit.” He murmurs.

That was the first time he’s ever heard that sound from you and he decided he needed more right away. He grew even harder, if that was at all possible, and you could feel it. You allowed him to continue guiding your hips up and down and you tried to hold back the moans that threatened to follow that first one while you kissed the tattoos on his chest.

You pull back off of him to just sit for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall with the intensity. He was so, so beautiful, especially like this. But, eventually, you remember that you’re in the view of anyone who may come near. “Fuck, close the doors.” You order him, a little more urgently than you meant to. You had all day, after all, but that fact slipped your mind in the moment.

He scrambles to pull them shut, leaving you alone in the back with him and still an ample amount of sunlight coming through the windows. You shuffle close to him again to push him back, and he does fall back but doesn’t seem to mind at all.

You start to take control once again, having allowed your guise to slip when he caught you off guard. He looked completely submissive and entranced right in front of you, big brown eyes blown out. You start to desperately undo his belt buckle, and he grabs both your hands.

“We don’t have to go that far, you don’t have to do that.” He reminds you, almost in a warning tone.

“I want to. I mean, only if you do too, of course.”

“You have no idea how much I want it.”

“Okay then.” You say, with the slightest bit of smartass-ness.

You make quick work of it, then just having to unbutton and unzip his black jeans. You tug on them slightly knowing you’ll need his help in getting them off, and he assists you. Once it’s free and you see it for the first time, you can practically feel the drool pooling in your mouth. “Jesus.” You comment, a little stunned.

“You okay?” He half laughs at your reaction.

“Mhm. I’m more than okay.” You fake confidence that you’re gonna be able to fit that in your mouth with the hopes it’ll just happen magically. You procrastinated a little, licking up and down the bottom of his shaft at which he groaned repeatedly, and then kissing the tip.

The kisses turned sloppy, the sloppy kisses turned into kitten licks. All over the head of his cock, over and over again until you finally feel like you can take it. You do it slowly, sinking your mouth down onto it with your tongue flattened against the underside.

He makes sure to keep his hands beside him, makes sure not to touch you and not to make you feel like you have to go faster. Not to rush you, not to make you feel the slightest bit pressured. He let you take your time, and it pays off, because now you have his entire length filling up your mouth and throat.

“Good god, Jesus Christ.”

“Hmm.” You hum around his cock.

“No gag reflex? Holy shit.”

You pull off only to take it all back down again, nose touching against his happy trail and slightly into the dark hair at the base. You hollow out your cheeks, sucking even harder, and he’s gripping his fists into the throw blanket below the both of you.

His head tips back and leans against the wall as his eyes shut involuntarily and he has to make an effort to keep them open, keep them on you and your pretty little face down there. He couldn’t last long at all, and he couldn’t even begin to try and stop it. He just hoped you didn’t mind, and don’t think he busts that quick every time. There had just been so much sexual tension.

“I’m gonna cum, pretty, ‘m gonna cum.” He warns you, and you continue without a second thought until his load is going into your mouth. He thinks that, anyway, when it’s actually going straight down your throat.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.” He’s said that probably a million times already, but it was just the default thing to say when his mind couldn’t find any actual words. He looks fucked out, a little dumb, and he sounds like it too.

When you pull off of him, he looks up at you, dazed and almost as if he’s expecting something. You just looked back at him and blinked through your dark lashes.

“Did you swallow that??”

“Mhm. Was I not supposed to?”

He laughs in amazement.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky, sometimes I’m convinced you’ll vanish right from my sight, like you were a dream.” He says, pulling his pants back on but remaining shirtless for now.

“A good dream, I hope?”

“A really fucking good dream. Too good to be true. C’mere, don’t disappear. Don’t just be a dream.”

He holds his arms open for you and you crawl into them, into his lap as you wrap your arms around each other. Just to stay like that, for a while. Just stay.

[jiminrings]

backburner aka namjoon exes 2 lovers au sneak peek :)

Somewhere between now and then, living in your bubble with Namjoon had turned into sharing him with the world. The boyfriend you’ve grew up with has perhaps grown far too much, more than you ever could, you suppose.

Namjoon’s hand has always fit snugly with yours, palm laid open on his knee for you to play with when you were bored. It always has and always had been — if that’s what you remember correctly. Now, Namjoon’s hands are no longer the rough diamonds you’ve been used to holding for the better part of the past ten years. They’re far too smooth and steady; heavy for even you to hold.

There’s no longer the slight slouch to his back that you grew up correcting with a hum and a warm hand on his shoulders. Namjoon walks these days with his chest out and his back straight, standing upright even without your reminder. Maybe even without you.

Your boyfriend who you couldn’t bully back then to book a taxi to go into the city instead of taking a bus (he argues that being cramped with a cheaper fare is better than having free arm and leg space with a more expensive one) refuses to walk anywhere with you, his reasoning revolving around why you would tire yourselves if he has a personal driver at his disposal. You don’t tire yourself from walking with Namjoon because you don’t go on them; instead, you exhaust yourself waiting if he’ll ever return the conversation in his airconditioned, fully-customized van.

Somewhere between now and then, Namjoon needing you for everything whether the universe had been cruel to him or not that day, had turned into you wishing even for the slightest inconvenience to happen just so he seeks you once more.

Fate, as Namjoon haves it, turns out to be at his favor.

Fate, as you have it, turns out to be against your own because it keeps you away from Namjoon little by little.

Ten years is a long time to spend with someone, much less be happy together almost the whole entirety of it. The both of you aren’t strangers to the frequent comments from friends and family of when the two of you would settle down, and even at your initial annoyance (it started at your fourth year of dating), you come to miss it now. 

Now when you’re nearing a decade of your relationship and yet you can’t prove it — not with the absence of a ring on your finger and the very apparent, too intruding presence of the non-disclosure agreement he made you sign just yesterday.

You miss the wedding jokes that always put a pregnant pause on the ride back home with Namjoon, yearning for the warm feeling of how he’d sneak a glare at you in between stoplights and have his eyes linger just for a second on your hand, and when you look back at him, he would playfully roll his eyes to the back of his skull.

You miss the impromptu camping trips and sharing food with Namjoon in those cheap yellow aluminum pots (he keeps swearing that he’ll throw them out but you know he wouldn’t because they need to be split in half before he considers), just thinking of how great it would be if the two of you make it big.

You miss Namjoon. You miss him more now than your combined yearning for him over the past decade. You no longer have to think how great it would be if the two of you make it big because Namjoon already has.

You convince yourself that it’s not the bitterness because you know it never will be. Namjoon is destined for greatness and you’re destined for Namjoon; the latter you’re unsure of now.

Being in the sidelines as a producer, somehow making it big yet barely at Namjoon’s level, used to be perfectly okay to you. It was until you realize that Namjoon’s passion, maybe even greed, is rubbing off on you.

Somewhere between now and then, Namjoon growing with you had turned into him outgrowing you.

“Going out tonight?” you ask, peeking your head out of your studio when you hear Namjoon walk past it. He stops in his tracks to bend his head and look at you, but he doesn’t go any nearer.

“Yeah. I’d want you to come with me-…” Namjoon cuts himself off, the guilt in his eyes unreflecting because come to think of it, there’s barely any. “You know how it is, baby.”

You nod. The decade had been long. The past year had been. Today was and this conversation too.

Somewhere between now and later, you’ll come to accept your fate that you’re no longer in Namjoon’s orbit when its the rest of the world that he seeks.

“Yeah. I know how it is.”

.

.

.

wanna read the whole fic now n more of it in the future? this piece (and more) will only be exclusively posted on my patreon :D

[harrison-abbott]

That Snowy Crime in the Woods

Three boys called Mick, James and Harper beat up this smaller kid one day when it had been snowing intensely. School was called off. And the trio of boys set off into the city to glamorise in the snow. Thickest fall they’d ever seen. There was sledging and snowmen in the earlier part of the day … and the afternoon wavered on. Mick knew where he could buy some alcohol; from his big cousin. If they chipped in they could get one of those fat plastic bottles of cider. Cheap, shit alcohol. And their cousin shamelessly bought it for them and they took the chubby orange bottle into the woods and drank from it. Tasted awful, but that didn’t matter.

And then when it got to the latter part of the afternoon, this new boy walked into the woods. Unannounced; they’d never seen him before.

They called him over. He tried to escape, looking afraid. But James chased after him and grabbed him and offered him a drink. The trio were all taller and brawnier than him; with him maybe two years younger. They toyed with him. Harper kept forcing the cider on the boy. Who said he didn’t want it. He pushed the bottle in the boy’s face. The boy pushed the bottle back. That small surge of force made Harper slap him in the face. The boy started crying so they attacked him to shut him up; because the neighbourhood houses weren’t far off from the woods. It just sort of happened: the assault. The way that children tear up grass for no reason, or they kill insects, or a larger animal if the chance be there. They do it to see what it would feel like. From base curiosity, with no parents around. Adults, rather; as parental influence had little to do with this event in the snowy woods. They kicked him, punched him up. He stopped crying because one smack to the head was pretty bad.

And then they ran away laughing.

This was the first time the boy had ever been attacked. His baptism in violence. He vowed, sitting there in the snow with his blotchy face, to find out who those three boys were. He already recognised one of them and knew where he lived: he lived four streets down on the corner of the house, and he knew because that boy was often playing keepy-uppies with his football in the front garden. And, so that was a start. He would get all three of them back. He just needed to figure out a way to do it without being caught.

The trio were all 13 when they assaulted him, who was 10.

Mick disappeared when he was 15. One day he didn’t return from school and an alert for a missing person was sent off after a day and night. The entire district went looking for him and his mugshot appeared in the news. Such sad stories about this “lively, bubbly lad” whose family longed to have him back safe soon. They didn’t get him home soon, or ever; and the whereabouts of Michael Birrell’s skeleton are only known to one person nowadays.

James died in a motorbike accident at the age of 21. Hit and run, they said. James had recently gotten the new bike, that he’d wanted for years and years, for his 21st birthday. And he would take it out into the country fields for glorious spins. Another car found him unresponsive on a lane, a mile from the nearest farm. The carnage was complicit with being struck by a vehicle, with the vehicle having left him at the scene. And the police put out requests for information about any cars or vans they’d seen in the area on that sunny Sunday morning. Nothing turned up.

Mick and James had stopped being friends when they were in their mid teens. When they were 13, they weren’t really friends either, not really: were simply in the same class at school and they hung out for soccer or because it was known that Mick could purchase alcohol from his cousin.

And neither of them hung out with Harper after they’d gotten older either. It’s just what people do. When they’re young, they are with you; when they age, they lose interest and bound off somewhere else. And that’s what Haper did too.

And so, when the police detectives were looking at Mick’s case, they knew zilch about James of Harper. And even when Harper was killed, it was so long after that snowy crime in the woods that they couldn’t possible have made the connection.

Harper was hit by a train, one night. After a night out with his friends he was waiting on the night train. He had made this journey many a time. And though Harper was known to enjoy the nights out way too exuberantly, his friends were surprised that he had lost his footing on the icy platform and fallen onto the tracks – where he must have hit his head. And the train driver didn’t see him until it was too late. There was another explosion of love for this wildly funny young man. 25, at the time of his death. Harper had been handsome, kind, an upstanding friend. People didn’t know how such bad luck could strike a fellow who had never hurt anybody. A tragedy indeed.

The police still investigated what happened that date, on the train platform. Out of routine. They observed the CCTV footage to see if anybody else was on the platform at the same time as Harper was. This was long after the people in the ticket booths had gone home, and so they couldn’t be witnesses. But, no: there was no other individual present for around forty minutes during the time that Harper staggered into the main atrium, bought his ticket, and then went through the gates, whereafter he disappeared from camera view.

There was one thing that cropped up. It was from some of the imagery on the CCTV footage: from that initial part when Harper walked in to the station and bought his ticket. As Harper went up to the ticket machine – his body changed when he heard something behind him. He was tapping at the screen, and was about to pay for a ticket, when his head snapped back, obviously having been distracted by a noise. And then he gazed at whatever the source of noise was for a long time. He then hesitated, as if about to say something, or call out. But never did, and then paid for his ticket – and then left through the gates, at a quick pace. There was nothing to suggest what might have made the noise on the CCTV. And it didn’t have audio anyway, so there was no possibility to decipher.

Was there somebody with him that night after all? Perhaps. Maybe. Certainly a possibility.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.iii // Red

Previous / AO3 / Masterlist / Next

There’s a strange kind of comfort to find in the mindless lethargy that comes when the mind slides from sleep and into consciousness.

A soreness between Conrad’s eyes shoots inwards, morphing seamlessly into a dull headache, but it doesn’t particularly bother him at first. Neither does the fact that he went to sleep still wearing a full set of clothes, or that his surroundings seem so foreign. And he doesn’t know why he is propped up against the headrest with his back to the wall, but when the reason doesn’t immediately come to mind, he drowsily decides that these are all things that’ll make sense once the fog of sleep has cleared.

It’s not until he tries to rub at his face with both hands, only to feel a cold band halt the movement of one of them, as steel scrapes along a baluster, that concern begins to creep forward. Brows furrowed, he blinks down, first at the handcuffs, and then then at the thin, faint rashes that circle his wrist beneath it. Rashes from the zip ties, he realizes.

And suddenly, he’s wide awake.

His eyes scour the room, from the closed door to the wardrobe, to the desk across from the bed, all four corners of the room, any nook large enough to fit a person. A large window with the curtains drawn shut still reveal a sliver of daylight shining in from outside, but as for the time, he has no inkling.

He’s alone, just like Davin promised.

Conrad hadn’t believed him, not really. After Davin locked him up and left, he spent several hours watching the door like a hawk until well into the morning, when the weight of the night’s events finally settled like a heavy blanket over him, and his exhaustion won out. Once he reluctantly nodded off, though, he slept deeply. But something about that is chilling, too.

Sure, he’s alone now, but if either of them did come in while he slept, how would he know? What’s to say they didn’t? He’s not sure about Davin, but Renee, at least, seems to have a propensity for hurting him that goes much further than mindless lashing out. The look he’d had in his eyes as he’d stood there, cigarette in hand, a kind of desire Conrad can’t quite put words to - it had come from a very deliberate choice. What’s to say he never came in at some point during the night to admire his catch? It wouldn’t come as too much of a surprise. What isn’t he capable of?

Whether Davin has that same side to him, Conrad can’t say, and in any case, placing any kind of trust in him feels like nothing short of grasping at straws. But clearly, between those two, he has some kind of authority, and he doesn’t seem quite as impulsive. So maybe if Conrad does what he can to stick close to him, he’ll avoid seeing the worst of Renee. Maybe Davin even has a conscience that can be reasoned with. Maybe if Conrad finds the right words, he can convince Davin to... to…

To what?

Stupid, stupid thought.

Conrad feels lost. Every fiber of his being knows he’s in way over his head, a relentless This is bad, this is bad, this is bad drumming in his head, as he sits huddled into the corner of a strange bed.

His windbreaker jacket and the sweatshirt he’d worn over his t-shirt, both stained with select drops of blood, have slid off the back of the chair Davin told him to hang it over under, and instead lay crumpled in a heap on the nice herringbone oak floor. He’d never considered his clothes cheap, but here, in this setting, it looks so out of place, it’s unsettling.

He doesn’t understand any of it. Of all the places he imagined ending up during the car ride – an abandoned farmhouse, a dingy underground bunker, a secluded cabin in the woods – a fancy vacation home with floor-to-ceiling windows, marble countertops, integrated lights and minimalist paintings on the walls, that was the last of his guesses. He had not expected wealth.

Renee had a key. Okay, so, did he steal that? The van, that must’ve been stolen, because they seem to have had no issue discarding it. But if they can steal a van, and steal access into luxury houses, why not just make do with the money they can earn from theft? Why resort to kidnapping, of all things?

Because this is just about money, right?

Davin hadn’t confirmed that they’d taken him for some kind of ransom, but he hadn’t denied it, either. Yet Conrad can’t fathom why they picked him. He isn’t rich, and doesn’t look it, either. Most of his clothes are bought in dollar stores, or occasionally online when low-cost stores hold flash sales or seasonal outlets. He doesn’t own a single object worth more than a thousand dollars, and can’t remember if he ever has. Same thing goes for his dad, and Howard, too. Why hold him for ransom, if nobody close to him will be able to pay up? Are ransoms ever paid with public funds? Wouldn’t that be a form of negotiating? Aren’t the cops opposed to do that, if they can avoid it?

If it’s not a ransom, what else could this be?

…human trafficking?

Conrad swallows down the bile that rises in his throat, letting the back of his head bump into the wall. Maybe it’s better not to speculate, even if it’s hard to clear his mind of these nagging kinds of thoughts. He tucks the duvet closer around his feet.

The rashes aren’t bad enough to bleed, really, and he can’t feel them unless he brushes his thumb over them. Doing so isn’t uncomfortable exactly, it doesn’t ache in the same way his face does, but it’s a feeling he can concretize and take relation to, not just some great unknown. After a while, he realizes it’s kind of soothing.

He’s still lost in rubbing his wrists like that when a knock at the door makes him jump. There’s a hint of an echo in the hallway outside when Davin calls.

“You awake in there?”

“Uh, yeah,” Conrad squeaks, clearing his throat as the door opens.

Davin is carrying a plate in one hand, and two bottles in the other, one water, one soda. He’s got his hair up in a bun on the back of his head, revealing rings in both his ears Conrad hadn’t noticed the night before. A white shirt peeks over the collar of a thin black sweater, leaf green khakis. He smiles and nods when he sees Conrad, who smiles back on instinct. He doesn’t exactly give off the impression of being a dangerous person, but Conrad spots a belt clip looped in his pocket, and has to swallow his unease.

“I brought you some stuff,” Davin says. “If you’re hungry, I mean.”

Conrad nods stiffly, warily eyeing the man as he sets the meal on a nightstand beside the bed. Scrambled eggs, sliced cheese on toast, two strips of bacon. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, but Conrad doesn’t find it particularly appetizing, nor does the gesture give him much comfort. What’s to say the hospitality comes from a genuine place? He’s not here of his own free will, and Davin knows that just as well as he does.

Checking his wristwatch, Davin rolls out the desk chair and sits down across from him. “It’s about… four in the afternoon now,” he sighs. “So… yeah, all our sleep schedules are a bit messed up. Sorry about that. The cover of night...” He gives a half-hearted snort and clears his throat, gesturing at the plate. “You’re not allergic to anything there, are you?”

Conrad shakes his head.

“Good,” Davin says. “I was worried about that.”

A moment or two passes in silence. Absentmindedly, Conrad runs his thumbnail along the edge of the handcuff, feels the tiny inconsistencies in the metal. He doesn’t look up when he speaks. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Davin says.

Conrad nods. It’s not that he doesn’t know what to say, more that the specific words keep slipping out of his grasp, and he has to catch them again, repeat them in his head a few times, assure himself they’re alright, that they mean what they mean and can’t be interpreted as something they’re not. But when he opens his mouth, it feels all wrong, and he finds himself scrambling for an alternative. “C-could I have some water?” he blurts out.

Davin raises his brow and gestures at the bottles on the nightstand. “It’s all yours.”

Conrad feels graceless as he reaches out for the water bottle, settling back against the wall, holding it in his lap without making any move to open it. The seal of it hasn’t been broken. So that’s good.

“I have anxiety,” he mutters, “so sometimes it’s hard for me to…”

Davin shifts a little in his chair as Conrad trails off, but his expression never reveals judgement – only a kind of apprehension that’s difficult to interpret. But maybe it isn’t bad, because he offers Conrad a patient, “Take your time.”

Conrad meets his eyes long enough to give him a thankful nod, and then looks back at the bottle in his hands. He runs his thumb across the grooved bottle cap, trying to focus on that texture, trying to be mindless. “Uh, why,” he says, and then has to clear his throat again. Sniffs. Casts a glance at the door without looking directly at Davin, tries to take a deep breath but it turns into a sharp inhale, and before he can hesitate again, he closes his eyes and forces the words out. “Why am I here?”

The question hangs in a silence that drags on for a moment too long to be just a thoughtful pause. But when Conrad finally gathers up the courage to glance back up, Davin doesn’t look angry. Instead, he looks almost compassionate.

Until he speaks, and his tone is completely flat.

“I’d rather not tell you that,” he says.

Conrad blinks before his attention snaps back down to the bottlecap with something like frustration. All that effort just to get a non-answer. He can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice when he speaks again, even if it sounds distant in his own ears. “A-and why not?”

Davin smiles a little, but it seems forced. “Nice try, Socrates,” he says. “I’d rather not tell you that, either.”

“I, I’m just—”

“Is it something you take medication for?” Davin asks. “The anxiety, I mean.”

A few meaningless syllables tick off Conrad’s teeth. His nod is more impulse than thought, a scramble to adjust to a turn in the conversation he really didn’t want.

Meanwhile, Davin decisively spins in his chair and pulls out a drawer in the desk, rummaging through its contents. He finds a small notebook and tears a page from it, then a mechanical pencil, which he clicks a few times to make sure there’s a lead in it.

“Write down your prescription for me, yeah? I’ll see what I can do.”

Still addled, Conrad fumbles to lay the slip flat against his knees, and as he writes, the pen still slips through and pokes at his skin, but he manages to spell out the name of his meds. It isn’t until he has handed both pen and paper back to Davin that he fully starts to realize the meaning of what Davin just implied, and his heart skips a beat.

“H-how long are y…?”

Davin folds the scrap of paper in half and waves it between his fingers, as if he’s drying out nonexistent ink. “I appreciate you told me about it, Conrad,” he mutters, “I really do.”

And then he turns around as if to leave.

“No, wait,” Conrad hisses. “Wait – I just-…”

And it’s not that he can’t take a hint, that he doesn’t know Davin has no will or intent to answer his questions, but he can’t help it. What’s he supposed to do? When you’re marooned and lost at sea, you claw for whatever thread has some potential to act as a lifeline.

Davin turns around, a detached kind of courteousness to his expression.

“I, I mean it,” Conrad says earnestly. “I just want to know h-how long you’re going to, to keep me here, ‘cause otherwise I’m gonna think all these… these things.”

Nodding slowly, Davin looks down at his hands. “Yeah,” he says. “I know you will.” And with the slip of paper, he gestures vaguely at the plate on the nightstand. “Eat something, if you can.”

A knot in Conrad’s throat prevents him from calling out again, and by the time he has swallowed it down and is fairly sure his voice works again, Davin is already closing the door behind him.

Leaving Conrad to stew in his own silence.

💵

It’s been dark for some time when they begin shuffling in the hallway right outside the door. Footsteps back and forth. The occasional word, voices too low for him to make out who is speaking, much less what they’re saying. There’s something somber about the tone, though. Something that makes cold creep down his spine long before the door even opens.

Davin enters first, holding the door open for Renee, and then steps back to lean against the wall, arms crossed in front of him, silent, as if he’s resolved to fade into the background.

Renee isn’t quite so low-key. “It’s showtime, Connie boy!” he exclaims the moment he sees him, a crooked smile on his face. He’s wearing black from head to toe, an open hoodie over a t-shirt, skinny jeans littered with lazily sewn on patches, a trend Conrad has never understood. “We’ve known each other for a day or so now, right?” he grins. “If I tell you I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, scale of one to ten, how much would that reassure you?”

Pace some strange mix of determined and leisurely, he approaches the bed. Conrad feels himself tense up more and more the closer he gets.

“Give me your hand,” Renee says.

Per instinct, Conrad inches his free hand back until his elbow hits the wall. “What are y—”

“Or you can struggle,” Renee cuts him off, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “You can struggle, too, for sure.”

Conrad licks his lips, eyes warily darting from Renee to Davin silently watching from the wall, and back to Renee. “I don’t w—”

In a blink, Renee’s hand shoots out to coil around his throat, and the back of Conrad’s head thunks into mortar. He gasps and instinctively starts to claw at Renee’s sleeve – and with his other hand, Renee grabs hold of his wrist tight as a vice, and lets go of his neck. It all happens so out of the blue that when Renee unhooks the handcuffs from the baluster, Conrad is still too taken aback to make any real attempt to resist, and before he knows it, his hands are cuffed in front of him.

“See?” Renee grins. “Either option works, really.”

Panting to get his breathing back under control, Conrad’s eyes flicker to find Davin, because why hasn’t he said something? Why isn’t he reacting? But Davin hasn’t moved – he doesn’t even look particularly surprised.

Renee straightens back up with a satisfied sigh, sliding the key back into his pocket, only to search for something in another. “We’ve reached a bit of a compromise,” he says.

Conrad didn’t think his stomach could drop any further, but when Renee pulls out a handkerchief, it does. He recoils, holding his cuffed hands up in surrender. “I can’t—”

“Now, hear me out here,” Renee says. “It just goes in your mouth, but nothing goes over it. You’ll still be able to breathe, but you won’t be able to talk. At least not as confidently as you do now,” he adds with a snort. “Both sides get something they want, win-win, everybody’s happy, eh?”

“Why don’t you want me to talk?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Chuckling, Renee rolls the handkerchief up into a long strip. “What’s my name?”  he asks.

Conrad blinks. “R… Renee…?”

“Exactly. Open wide.”

Taking a few deep breaths and shutting his eyes, Conrad does as he’s told. Opens his mouth a little, feels the cloth being placed between his teeth. Bites down on it almost automatically. Tries not to notice his own nausea. Grimaces, when the knots Renee ties on the back of his head get entangled in his hair as they tighten.

He can’t look at Renee when the latter steps back to admire his work, and can’t bring himself to seek solace in Davin’s direction, either. Instead he lets his gaze drop to the floor. The cloth tastes like laundry detergent. At least it’s clean.

“This is just, you know, for dramatic purposes,” Conrad hears Renee say,

He looks up to see him shaking loose a black fabric bag, and immediately knows what it’s for.

If he follows along and lets them do whatever they intend to do, maybe this will all be over sooner, and they’ll let him go home, and he can bury his face in Howard’s shoulder and borrow their warmth and feel safe. Howard doesn’t have to know the extent of all of this, they’d lose their mind – but he knows they’d hold him close regardless.

Renee pulls the hood over his head and pulls the drawstrings just enough to prevent Conrad from peeking out the bottom. He clicks his tongue.

“Bingo, as they say. We’re all good to go.”

💵

They lead him out into the hallway, but instead of turning left toward the kitchen, Renee guides him right, further into the house. And he doesn’t have a choice, does he? Could he slip out of Renee’s grasp and rip the hood off, maneuver through the house and find a way out? Could he run faster than both of them with his hands chained together? It’s obvious he’s grasping at straws again, but the sheer wrongness of just following along feels almost unbearable.

It doesn’t take long before Conrad hits his shin on something that doesn’t give. He cries out as he begins toppling forward before a hard grasp on his arm steadies him.

“Watch the stairs,” Renee snickers, and jabs a finger into the back of his ribs.

Conrad yelps and staggers the first few steps up, fumbling for a guardrail. When he finds it, he clings to it with both hands, fighting to keep the fear in his gut under control. For every step, it writhes and tightens like an ugly parasite. He grits his teeth and tells himself he can’t allow himself to think about any of this. He can’t.

As the guard rail slips up, and Conrad is carefully sliding one foot forward to feel for a potential last step he can’t see, someone pushes past him to open a door on the platform, then comes back to grab him by the upper arm and haul him forward at a pace much quicker than he’s comfortable with. Instinctually, he reaches his hands out in front of him, in the hopes he can soften the blow if the hands guide him face first into a wall.

The first thing he notices is a change in temperature. From the stairway’s cool air he crosses a threshold and immediately feels as if he’s stepped into a patch of sunlight. Heat radiates from one or more sources to his right, warm and soft on the bare skin of his arms. There’s a low whooshing kind of hum somewhere in that direction as well, too subtle to be annoying, but it’s noticeable. A heater, maybe, or at least something that sounds similar.

Fifteen careful steps in, the hands on his arm halt his progress, then pulls him back a few steps, then turns him a little to one side.

“Bullseye, Connie,” Renee says. “Don’t move.”

When Renee lets him go, Conrad feels lost, again. Lost in the empty space around him, lost in the namelessness of it all. Is he in the middle of the room, or close to a wall? Is he facing them, or facing away from them? He can’t shake the thought that if they put a gun to his head and executed him right now, he would have no idea. But he still doesn’t dare touch the hood, much less lift it up to peek at his surroundings. Are they looking at him, or are they not? He can hear the rustling of fabric and a soft tapping, but he can barely guess direction, much less source. The dun-dun, dun-dun of his own heartbeat, and a creeping feeling rolling up his spine. Something is dropped on the hardwood floor with a slap, and the sound echoes a little.

Then metal rattles and clinks, and it’s pretty close to where he’s standing, and someone grabs his arm and pulls him forward, attaches something heavy to the cuffs, and then lets him go again. An involuntary, uncomfortable sound emits from his throat as he steps back, fingers tentatively searching for whatever is weighing his hands down, only to find loop after loop of a heavy steel chain linked as far as he can reach.

When the rattling begins again, this time somewhere above him, Conrad feels as though all the air is sucked out of his lungs.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening, as the weight of the chain shifts and becomes lighter and lighter, until it reaches equilibrium, and his hands begin to ascend with it. This can’t be happening, as he lets out a small, pleading whimper, shaking his head, palms held out flat in the direction he thinks his captors are – same direction as the heat and the soft hum – in some weak attempt to make them realize they should stop.

Wherever this is all leading, please don’t do it to me.

But instead of a response, his hands only go up and up, and soon he has to stumble along as it pulls him to the center point of wherever it’s anchored. Just when he’s sure his feet are about to leave the ground, the rattling ceases.

He’s shaking by now, breathing in short, shallow gasps, eyes shut tight, even if it makes no difference. All he wants is to curl up and hide, but now he can’t, anymore. He feels exposed and vulnerable like this, every hitch of his breath probably as visible to them as it is loud to himself. If he wants to keep the soles of his feet on the ground, he has to stretch his arms impossibly far, and even then, the weight of his own body makes the strain on his wrists and hands painful.

“Ready?” Davin’s voice, low and composed.

“You fucking bet,” comes Renee’s reply, a little muffled, as if he’s speaking with his hand covering his mouth.

The solitary click of a button.

Ready for what? Oh god, oh god…

Conrad stands as still as he possibly can. The heat reaches a sliver of skin on his stomach where his shirt has been drawn up. A faint tingling has started to form in the tips of his fingers. His teeth are gritted on the cloth in his mouth, his bid to control the terrified whine that threatens to rise in his throat. Eyes shut, a prayer that whatever happens next, it won’t be as bad as his gut feeling tells him it is.

There’s a moment in which the atmosphere in the room audibly shifts. It’s subtle – the creaking of a chair, the low squeaking of sneakers as they draw nearer. Something passes between his captors, unsaid, but it prompts Renee to clear his throat and speak, and despite the obvious attempt at formal nonchalance, a hint of excitement still seeps through his tone.

“And we’re live. Welcome on stream, ladies and gentlemen, everyone in between. And welcome, especially, to our newest… what should we call him? A community project?”

The icy knot in Conrad’s stomach comes apart and spreads throughout his veins, making him shudder.

Did he just say…?

The hood is yanked off his head, and a few hairs are ripped out in the same grasp. He releases the breath he has been holding as a sharp groan around the gag. Immediately, he has to flinch away from the inhumanly bright lights that envelop him. As Renee passes in front of them as a faceless shadow, Conrad blinks and blinks, desperate for a relief from blindness, as his eyes adjust slowly, little by little.

The room is deep and expansive, spanning the entire second floor, it seems. Grey walls follow the contour of the house, meeting several meters above him, where the wooden beams and rafters that hold the structure of the roof are exposed. The chain is entangled in those rafters, going back down to an anchor in the wall to his left. In the far end of the room, a series of large windows overlook the yard.

In the middle of the room is an L-shaped desk. Cords run to and from, a web that links two monitors to a stationary computer to a soundboard and even more electronics Conrad can’t put a name to. Underneath the desk is a server, and that seems to be where the humming sound is coming from. Davin sits behind it all, elbows on the desktop, mouth obscured by folded hands, and he’s got a look to him that reminds Conrad of a chess players deep in thought, calculating his next move – or his opponent’s response.

Conrad is about to rekindle his wordless pleas when something else catches his attention.

Just in front of the desk, perched on a tripod like a resting bird, a single blank eye is aimed directly at him.

It’s a camera.

And the light is blinking red.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[secretgamergirl]

Absolute Shameless Lying Edutainment Commercials from the ‘80s

I don’t know why it suddenly got into my head to talk about this, but I just randomly remembered these two commercials I saw when I was very young and what serious BS both of them are. First we’ve got The Sweet Pickles Bus.

So the actual product here is what I’m pretty sure was an honestly shamelessly overpriced plastic box containing like, half a dozen flash cards with letters of the alphabet. Pretty sure you didn’t even get the whole alphabet. Which is such a huge waste of money. No child wants a plastic box of flash cards, no parent wants to buy that. Wasn’t really a reasonable price either. But that is absolutely NOT what this commercial was selling. What we CLEARLY SEE here is a promise that your box of crappy flash cards is going to be HAND DELIVERED BY SOME KIND OF MUPPET DUCK DRIVING A GIANT PICKLE BUS WHO WILL PERSONALLY PLACE IT IN THE HANDS OF YOU, A SMALL CHILD, AND YOU WILL HAVE A LITTLE INTERACTION. That is something I could, and in fact did, beg my mother to pay for like the snot-nosed little toddler I was until she caved.

And guess what? There was no bus. There was no duck. They just shipped this box of garbage through the regular mail. I think my mother made the really bad call of trying to keep up kayfabe and insisted that the duck was in a hurry and I missed him because I was asleep which gave me a haunting regret for years. And the thing is, it honestly wasn’t that plausible that this was legit. It’s not like, a cartoon duck here. You can customize a van, you can get a mascot costume. This might have been a weird local thing because local ads were a thing back then. Kind of a birthday clown business model, you know? This is why a few years later commercials for toys and board games started really covering their asses with stuff like “game cards do not actually talk.”

Like yeah, free floating living cartoons are not going to burst out of this cheap game, even a small child should get that, but they absolutely could have had a guy in a duck suit drive a delivery van around. That’s straight up misleading.

The other one popping into my mind today though is freaking Muzzy. Does anyone remember Muzzy? This is Muzzy.

So like... that really is not, in fact, French those AMERICANS are speaking. That’s not even proper French Muzzy is speaking. This is butchered French gibberish I have to assume was the result of people looking up one word at a time in an English to French dictionary. Transcribing it, we’ve got:

“Je suis, le grand Muzzy.”

“Je suis la jeune fille!”

Literally, one word at a time, that’s:

“I am, the big Muzzy.”

“I am the young girl!”

Even in English that’s super weird and awkward but like... this is not at all how French is structured. This isn’t even something you need to be a native speaker to know, this is like, literal day one high school French knowledge.

First off, I would never, ever say, in French, “Je suis Violet.” I would say “Je m’appelle Violette.” Literally that’s “I call myself Violet,” with the explicitly femme version of the name. “I am” is reserved for like, a type of thing/person you are. Also, adjectives always come after the nouns they describe, and even in the right order, “la fille jeune” kinda suggests that she’s the ONLY young girl. In English you’d say “a young girl” here and that does translate across, so that should be “une fille jeune.” Which is also still just a weird thing to exclaim but at least it’s proper French and not gibberish. I’m not even totally sure what they were trying to have Muzzy convey. Was it a nickname? Was there some sort of small Muzzy he needed to distinguish himself from? Is this some kind of Bigger Luke thing? Regardless it seems pretty clear these tapes were thrown together by someone with just no actual qualifications at all, and they drilled it into a whole generation.

I don’t have any sort of larger point here, just, wow screw these hucksters who plastered ads all over like, Nickelodeon 40 years ago. This is awful.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Nemesis III: Time Lapse (1996)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

Also known as Nemesis 3: Prey Harder, Nemesis III: Time Lapse only does one thing right: it assumes you’ve forgotten all of Nemesis 2: Nebula. This why it reiterates its plot in great detail. If - for some reason - you’re jumping into the franchise at this point or it’s been a while since you’ve seen the second installment in the sci-fi franchise one would generously describe as “mediocre”, you won’t be lost. On the flip side, if you have seen Nebula not all that long ago, you will wonder if the flashbacks weren’t simply a way to cut costs. This isn’t the most egregious re-use of footage I’ve seen (I doubt any will ever match Silent Night, Deadly Night Part 2) but it easily earns the silver medal.

Alex (Sue Price) wakes up in the desert with amnesia. As she makes her way back to civilization, she encounters the mysterious Farnsworth 2 (Tim Thomerson, who we saw in Nemesis). As her memories return, she recalls that in the future, machines have enslaved mankind, that her mother was sent back in time to keep her safe and that her descendants are humanity’s only hope. In no time, robots from the future arrive to eliminate Alex before she can have children of her own.

Told largely in flashback, this plot is needlessly convolute and complicated. Once again, we’re just watching a knockoff of The Terminator. Alex will some day give birth to John Connor and robots disguised as humans are after her. Oh, but this movie wishes it had even a fraction of the budget of the T2-3D: Battle Across Time amusement ride. If the stock footage at the beginning doesn’t give away how cheap this movie is, the special effects will. Farnsworth 2’s true robotic form will have you howling. The robots from Van-pires would laugh it off the screen. Its introduction is confusing - apparently, it projects a hologram around itself to look like a regular person - but the Blu-ray's lack of subtitle options and the audience's howls of laughter will drown out all the dialogue that explains this. I wish I could say the picture gets better from there. Farnsworth 2 has a bunch of scenes where he’s scanning Alex and the visuals don’t line up at all. Later in the movie, vehicles with what are either forcefields or cloaking devices are introduced and the effects are embarrassing.

Nemesis 3 will make you appreciate Arnold Schwarzenegger more than ever before. Like Sue Price, he was selected for his role because of his physical presence but the man’s got on-screen presence and charisma. He injects personality into the T-800. From the previous chapter, it was clear that this movie’s star has no business being in front of the camera. This is a crystal-clear confirmation. She’s dreadful; an absolute bore. If this weren’t bad enough, every actor and actress around her is equally terrible. Watching them struggle through their uninspired dialogue drains all your energy. Many of Alex's opponents are given “personalities” in the form of annoying quirks. The worst of them all has to be a set of “twin” Terminators who only look vaguely alike and have the aggravating habit of turning to each other and cackling like fairytale witches. You can't wait for it to end. Unfortunately, you remember the film is told in flashback so until Alex gets to that desert with her head injury, the movie’s got to keep going.

At 85 minutes, this is a tedious bore, which makes the running time feel merciful. While there are points where you’ll laugh, this has got to be the worst Terminator knockoff out there. The writing is wretched in both obvious ways that Rebecca Charles and Albert Pyun (who also directs this movie) should’ve seen, and in more subtle ways that you will only notice if you are determined to stay wide awake and analyze the movie. Even though I tried my best, I know I’m not going to remember Nemesis III: Time Lapse down the line, which will either prove to be a gift to my sanity, or a curse. (On Blu-ray, September 6, 2019)

[chaletnz]

An Evening in Guatemala City

I was roped in for a taxi booking but he spoke English well and I wanted to be clear about where I was going so it was worth being ripped off. I asked to be driven to Zone 1 which would’ve been Q80 or $12 - the same price as if I’d gone to Antigua which is about an hour away! At least in local currency it was cheaper than using dollars. I asked if this area was safe and he told me not really, there are a lot of people on drugs. He said I would be a target because I'm very white and have a big backpack so he told me to avoid it. We agreed then that he’d just take me to Zone 4 from the get go and I’d not see the old city for this trip, being that it was too unsafe to walk there alone late in the afternoon with a big backpack. I didn’t want to be a statistic so I figured I’d just walk around in Zone 4 for a few hours, get some food and get my ride to Antigua later. When I was dropped off the rain had stopped and it all looked safe, the streets had lots of hip cafes and restaurants, and street art. It had vibes of Berlin, Tel Aviv or Porto and definitely not what I expected from this “hotspot of violent crime”. You could’ve told me this was a suburb of Tokyo and I would’ve believed it because the streets were so clean. Maybe it was because of the rain, or being a Monday but there were hardly any people around outside so I felt safe, although I gave people a wide berth just in case. A Japanese influenced place caught my eye and I saw a menu with Nutella taiyakis on it! Obviously I had to get one since they’re pretty hard to come by outside of Japan… I asked for one and paid Q30 but got a plate of three. Sickly sweet, and one would’ve been plenty but I had to eat the lot since I didn’t want to waste them! As I was eating I had a guy wheel up his trolley of phone accessories and try to sell me something, another came up and tried to have me buy a rose. Oldest trick in the book! I sat down for a really good flat white way past my coffee curfew of 2pm at Rojo Cerezo. It was worth it, to have such a good coffee for Q20 in Guatemala where the beans were probably grown within 30km of here. I decided to go with Mr Taco for dinner, it was Q30 for 3 tacos which I thought was reasonable. I managed to order properly in Spanish too, she told me they didn’t have any chicken so I went with beef instead. They came out on corn tortillas and the lady told me to try the toppings from the bar, I went with salsa verde, salsa roja and piña as my toppings. The pineapple was the best but all were good considering how cheap, quick, and filling it was. I’m going to be a big fan of tacos going forward! Phone supply guy came in and was flogging off cases left and right, some of the other patrons actually bought cases - unbelievable! It felt staged. Before I left to go to the fancy Conquistador Hotel for my shuttle to collect me I had to try the baño here. It seems like Guatemalans call them sanitorios instead and this one was a treat. With my bag on I could barely squeeze inside and when I did, the latch was just a chain like on a hotel room door to hold it closed. This bathroom had definitely been built by some average joes! I was waiting for my shuttle inside the hotel but there must’ve been some confusion because I was not a guest there and the driver didn’t come inside looking for me. I moved outside to draw attention to myself and lucky I had because a driver called me over and said he’d been waiting a long time for me, once I was on wifi again I also saw that they’d emailed me saying the driver will not wait. I sent them a bit of a heated email back since the guy hadn’t even bothered to come inside the hotel to look for me and would’ve just left me stranded in Guatemala City… but I arrived in Antigua after a crazy ride with the driver going way too fast and passing literally everyone else on the road. He sped through the cobblestones in Antigua and it was so bumpy I felt like we were off roading in the van but he dropped me off right at my door and I could check in with a very smiley man to rest before my early pick up the morning.

[asoulofatlantis]

Kai no Kiseki - Thoughts and Feelings towards the Opening and the game overall Part 2

Speaking of Shizuna... these scene kind of hit me hard. The town is partly burning and (seemingly) dead (or unconscious) members of her group are lying around her, while she is on her fucking knees. That is Shizuna we are talking about. If she is down like this, that can't be good. I mean... who could even do this? She bested my freaking Rean. A Diving Blade. So who on earth could attack her place and kill her people? I mean, that could very well just be a flashback to her past or something... but damn, I didn't expect that.

I almost missed the transition from Student-Elaine to adult Elaine in this scene. Not sure what to think about it tho. I mean... why are we crying and yet smiling?

Is it because... you know... her relationship with Van has been finally fixed?

Seriously, my two cents for this ship? I feel like they cling to a feeling of the past. They have known each other since childhood, and their romantic relationship ended without them really being able to get closure. I feel like they just want to go back to it, because they have never really ended it, if you get me. If she can make Van happy, so be it, but in my eyes, on the long run, it is not going to work. She can not fully trust him as a spriggan and he will get annoyed by her arrogant "Bracers always follow the rules" attitude eventually. BUT even if I am right, it is possible that they actually need to get together first, to finish what they never could probably end before. So...

I am not delusional. Elaine becoming canon is much more likely than Agnes. I get that. I give Agnes a 30% chance at best. But... I still feel that my ship would be the better choice in the end ^^'

But moving on from this for now...

Where are we and why are we looking so concerned? I am glad we finally get to see Renne, as people have grown worried about the fact that she has not been seen in any of the Trailer yet. But I am concerned that if Estelle and Joshua are really not in Calvard at all, that she has to go through whatever is going to happen (to Agnes, and Zemuria as a whole...) alone yet again. That just doesn't feel right.

Who the hell are they? And what do they want? There are so many theories out there but one is more unlikely than the other. I hope they are not some cheap "fake" Villiane, to distract us from the real culprit or something like that.

I have no idea what is going on with those Twins but it seems like being an Enforcers is pulling them apart. I honestly didn't expect them to have much of a big role in this game, but I guess that was stupid of me.

I do not know what to do with myself regarding this fight. I of course want my golden child to win and I think he deserves the win. But... this is not his arc... would it be okay for him to win in an arc that belongs more to Shizuna than to him? And would it be still epic and satisfying if this would end in either a draw or someone breaking up the fight for some reason?

This is the scene from the Trailer. The Night-Sly-Scene as you can see. I do not say anymore about this. This is either going immensely well... or very, very, very wrong...

Some people speculated that Van ended up rejecting both Agnes and Elaine and while Elaine moves on and decided to just stay friends, Agnes stays with her feelings and hopes he will change his mind someday. Honestly? Wouldn't it be fun if Van decides to stay single and both Girls move on with someone else? That would be an epic failure but be so fitting for this damn loveless Calvard-Arc XD

Kevin is fighting that long-haired guys from Ouroboros that is rumored to be the blind reporter that we met before and that had been speculated to be a member of Ourobors for quite some time now. And he wouldn't be the first one in some sort of disguise. (All that aside... why is constantly something burning in the background of this opening? XD)

Everyone else: Engaged in serious fights

Lapis and Rufus: Having fun XD

Possibly Agnes? Yes. Very likely.

Oh no! She is crying? My poor girl!

Now... here is the thing... this is likely all do to her bloodline, the fact that the first Genesis is reacting so strongly to her and god knows what else but... some people (me included) fear that the actual thing that causes her inner Grendel awakening is actually being rejected by Van. That was honestly a worry of mine as well. But on the other hand... its not like Agnes isn't prepared for this. So why should it cause her to have such a strong reaction that something like this happens?

Whatever ultimately causes it... Van better saves my little girl!

This scene screams "all is well" - ending. Especially with both girls waiting for Van next to each other. But don't count on it!

I am still very worried. If it is just me being anxious for no reason, will be seen in September when I will react to someone else's "Lets play" of this game.