#Then I'd be surprised lol

[masked-alien-lesbian]

Don't tell me! I want to be surprised! But the arsonist is Michael, isn't it? He's all pissed because he didn't pass the civil service exam and wanted to be a firefighter. Bet he didn't want to be a firefighter to help people but for the adrenaline and maybe the heroism aspect. So, mad at the whole world he decided to start fires since they wouldn't let him put them out. A "can't join them, beat them" twist to the old saying lol

[boredlime]

happy asexual awareness week! I made a drawing of the flag to celebrate!

it's not much, but I felt like doing something haha! feel free to use it for whatever!

[emmavakarian-theirin]

nvm i can't find it in a single post but THIS i was so proud of myself, i wish that nerf gun still existed i'd recreate this in a heartbeat

[sandushengshou]

barbie from my shows <3

[seiwas]

instagram dump with your selfship! (model/actor!au sel x satoru ver.)

seltoru behind-the-scenes dump — work days and winding down~

liked by sstoru and others

sellybelly last week's shenanigans ✨ 1: shoot day! 📸 2: nails sponsored by mr. gojo satoru 💅 3. loved our outfits for the awards 🥺 (thank you dior! 💫) 4. that feeling when you change into home clothes tho >> 5. maybe he's pretty sometimes 🙄 6. caught him in the act (texting me during a meeting 😭) 7. satoru in hair & makeup (some good sleep he's had there 🤧) 8. our lil treat to end the week 🍓😋 9. phone hijacked by mr. gojo satoru 🧿🧿 👁️👁️

sstoru knew you were obsessed with me 😌

thanks for the tag my love @tteokdoroki this was so so fun 🥺 tagging: anyone else who wants to do this!! it's so pretty and so fun 🥺

[littleoddwriter]

Special Little Lamb | Cooper Abbott x GenderNeutral!Reader | Dark Fic

Hey there! This fic is inspired by this textpost and @hibiskooks' tags, which led to further thoughts on my part and then the urge to turn them into a whole short story (hence why I linked my own reblog on my horror sideblog because it shows both our tags and the thought process). Understandably, it's a dark fic, albeit romantic this time, unlike my previous Cooper fic, hjdkhsjk! I hope you'll enjoy it! summary; You were once a captive of the Butcher, but as it so happened, you formed a deep connection with him and are now helping him with his victims. One of them tries to get through to you to help them out of the basement, but hadn't realised your status as the Butcher's favourite. You have a tattoo to prove it, though, and so does he. notes/warnings; Gender Neutral!Reader; Dark Fic; Reader used to be a Victim (still is, if you will); Reader most definitely has Stockholm Syndrome and is Morally Grey/Dark; Implied/Mentioned Murders; Active Captivity of a Female Victim; Abuser/Victim Relationship (if we're being realistic); Ableist Language (once); Partner Tattoos; Hints at Sexual Acitivity, but nothing Explicit whatsoever; Kissing.

With practised ease, you opened the several locks, and then the door they were a part of, down to the basement in the usually vacant house in a small neighbourhood on the outskirts of Philadelphia. The door opened with a loud squeak. You made a mental note to remind Cooper to oil the hinges, again. 

As if on cue, you could hear chains being dragged across the concrete floor and frantic rattling of metal against metal. 

Carefully, you went downstairs to the basement, where a woman in her thirties was held captive. She sat on the ground in the middle of the room, and the chains of her cuffs were attached to the far wall. 

“I’m a little late today, I know. Sorry,” you told her gently, shooting her an apologetic smile. 

For a long moment, she just looked at you, while you were walking over to her and then crouching across from her. And just like you did the previous times you visited her, you retrieved a protein bar and a small bottle of water from a bag, handing each item to her. 

The woman, Anna, ripped them out of your hands, scooting further away from you when she did, like a small, wild and scared animal. It was almost amusing to you. There was no reason for her to be scared of you, after all.

In silence, you watched her devour the protein bar and down the water in one go. You really had been late that day. 

Once she was done, you stood back up, picked up the trash and put it back into your bag. Cooper didn’t like to leave it there in the basement, and so you didn’t either. 

You were about to start your way upstairs again when the woman called out to you, “Wait!”

Turning around to face her, you made a small noise, indicating that you were listening.

“You don’t have to do any of this… please… just let me go. You could just unlock the cuffs and leave the door open. He doesn’t have to know! Please!” she pleaded with you, tears in her eyes and desperation clear in her voice, “I won’t tell anyone, okay? I promise. I won’t tell anyone that you’re involved.” 

This was the fifth time she begged you to let her go. She was more persistent than most of the others ever had been. Or maybe she’d just been there long enough to come up to five separate occasions of pleading for her life to be spared. 

Sighing softly, you shook your head, “No. I can’t do that, I’m sorry.” You crouched down across from Anna once more, making eye contact with her. Then, you pointed to the far edge of the ceiling above and behind you, looking back at her. “He has a camera here. He’d know if I helped you. And even if he wouldn’t… I’m not ruining this for him.”

Sometimes, Cooper liked to take his time with them. This having been one of them. Although, you knew that a lot of it had to do with his work. He had to do extra shifts and stay on call these past two weeks because they were short staffed at the firehouse, due to injuries that affected half of the regular team and rendered them unable to work for a while. 

It was only a matter of time until Cooper had the chance to commit several hours to this woman in front of you. But for the time being, you had to keep paying her visits to bring her snacks and drinks, and let her use the toilet in the back of the basement, just so she’d stay alive long enough. 

To keep them for more than a week was risky, though.

“Why are you doing this?” Anna asked you after a beat, changing tactics apparently, because this question was new. “I recognise you. I saw you on the news a few years ago. You went missing, too.”

Frowning, you let out a deep exhale, “I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not gonna work, so stop it.”

“What did he do to you? Is he forcing you?” she pressed anyway, unsurprisingly ignoring what you said.

Groaning softly in annoyance, you got up, stretching your back. You looked down at her, seeing nothing but a desperate woman, who was grasping at straws to ensure safety. Unfortunately for Anna, her pleas would only be ignored, since you had no interest in helping her.

“He’s not forcing me. I chose to stay and help,” you told her, then. 

For you, this was the end of this conversation, but Anna clearly wasn’t ready to let it stay that way, reaching out to you and gripping your wrists tightly, her chains clanking loudly. At the suddenness of all this, you flinched, trying to shake her off of you. 

“Let go of me!” you hissed at her.

“No! Listen to me,” she urged you, her grasp unexpectedly strong, “I don’t believe you. He must have convinced you that this is what you wanted, told you things, threatened you. Why would you ever willingly stay with a monster like him?”

“He’s not a monster!” you interrupted her, raising your voice at her.

Anna wasn’t deterred by it, though, “He kills people! Keeps them in this crappy basement until he’s done with them. He’s a monster. People don’t do that. And you know that he’ll get to you at some point, too.

“Do you really think that he’ll spare you forever? You might be useful to him now, but there’ll be a point where you make a mistake or he just gets bored of you. And I mean, why wouldn’t he? You’re nothing to him! He’ll find somebody else, somebody less damaged than you. And when he does, he’ll discard you, like you never meant anything. Because you don’t. Not to him.

“But if you help me out of here, we can go together. And we’ll get help, okay? He won’t hurt you anymore. You’ll be free, we both will,” she finished her little speech, breathing heavily, frantically, once she was done, and looking up at you with wild eyes, just hoping to get through to you.

There was no denying that she’d hit a nerve in you, but not in the way she had hoped.

Your brow twitched as you tried to keep your immediate rage at bay. 

Instead, you composed yourself with a couple of deep breaths, feeling Anna let go of your arms when she seemed to think that she was starting to achieve her goal with you. 

With a flourish, you pulled the long sleeve of your jacket up, exposing your inner left wrist to Anna’s questioning eyes, which widened almost instantly when she saw the tattoo on your skin. It was a black thin lined tattoo of a meat cleaver in front of a background that appeared almost ethereal, despite how minimalistic it was. But she quickly connected the dots. Cooper had a tattoo just like it, only that instead of a meat cleaver, it was a lamb at the centre. 

“I’m his favourite, you know? We got these tattoos about a year ago. He told me that he wanted something to represent me on his skin, as well, when I begged him to let me get a tattoo that would remind me of him. I didn’t ask him to get one, or make any sort of suggestion to wanting that. But he did it anyway. Because he wanted that reminder of me,” you explained the tattoos to Anna, who just looked at you in disbelief. 

With a pleased smile on your lips, you slid the sleeve back down to cover your arm again. 

“‘The Butcher’s little Lamb’ is what he told me when we got home after the tattoo appointment,” you told her softly with a wistful smile as you reminisced, “He let me go. But I stayed. I begged him to let me be useful to him. And he did, because I’m special to him.”

“You’re crazy,” Anna spat out in disgust at what she was hearing.

“And you’re nothing. To him, or me. Or anyone,” you retorted easily, “You see, in a few weeks, you’ll be nothing but a faint memory. And in a few months, you’ll be nothing but another number. And for me, you’ll be nothing but that beautiful bracelet you wore when he abducted you.”

This time, Anna had nothing more to say, it seemed, as she slumped back in defeat. You took the chance to finally pick your bag up again and go back upstairs, locking the door behind you to the sound of faint cries.

When you arrived at yours and Cooper’s house, you already saw his car in the driveway, making you feel excited to see him again. It was tough for you to be apart from him while he was working. 

Inside, you came to a sudden halt, though, seeing Cooper lean against the doorway to the foyer of your house, idly playing with his phone in his hands. You didn’t expect him to wait there for you, but instantly relaxed when you saw that he was smiling at you. It was one of his gentle smiles that always melted your heart, just like it did now.

“Hey, little Lamb,” he greeted you softly.

Feeling your heart flutter, your face brightened as you beamed at Cooper, walking over to him, as he pocketed his phone and loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, looking at you with a pleased expression.

“I heard what you were telling poor Anna there,” he whispered, “I thought I’d check on you two when I got home earlier, seeing as you weren’t here when you should have been.”

Averting your gaze in shame, you apologised, “I know, I’m sorry. I was cleaning the house and lost track of time, so I left later than usual. It won’t happen again.”

Cooper clicked his tongue quietly, using his left hand to gently take hold of your jaw and move your head to make you look back up at him. “Hey, it’s all right. I was just worried that something might’ve happened,” he told you soothingly.

There was nothing in the world that could compare to the feeling you got when Cooper showed that you were important to him. 

“You did a good job, you know?” Cooper continued, then, still speaking in a soft, gravelly tone, “She was out of line with all those cruel things she said to you. And trust me, I’ll make her pay for it very soon. I promise. I’m proud of you for handling it the way you did.”

Those words had such an instantaneous effect on you, causing you to feel hot all over, warm and fuzzy inside your chest as your heart seemed to swell with pride. 

“Thank you,” you giggled happily, unable to contain your giddiness. 

Praise such as this wasn’t something you were used to, and Cooper wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t meant every word. You felt like you were on top of the world.

Cooper’s fingers were still gently wrapped around your jaw, now moving upward, his fingertips grazed your lips and cheeks before his palm settled and cupped your face. His dark eyes met yours. His gaze was soft, yet piercing nonetheless, and it took your breath away, just like it always did. There was no escape from his all-consuming presence. It was dominating your every sense.

Leaning his head further down, Cooper’s lips hovered above yours. “I think you’ve earned yourself a reward,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours as he spoke.

You couldn’t do anything but make an excited sound in the back of your throat, while your hands were tightly gripping his shirt, where you held onto him on his chest, right below his shoulders. 

Amused, Cooper breathed out a small chuckle before pressing his mouth against yours in a lovingly heated kiss that conveyed just what kind of reward he had in mind for you. You instantly melted into the kiss, reciprocating it as best as you could while your entire body and mind felt like they were on fire. Even after a couple of years of this, it never ceased to amaze and overwhelm you. 

And when you later lay in bed, bodies intertwined and in their most natural states, your finger was lazily and gently tracing the lines of the tattoo on Cooper’s right wrist. The tattoo that was a reminder, a representation of you, for him. You couldn’t suppress the smile when the happiness you associated with that rushed over you.�� 

“My special little Lamb,” Cooper whispered, watching your dreamy face as you kept tracing along the tattoo, and pressed another kiss to your temple and then your cheek and your lips again. This time, it was a gentle show of affection, which you happily accepted, soaking up every moment of it.

Soon, Anna would realise just how wrong she had been about you and Cooper.

[hakuyukii]

FINALLY GOT THE BATHROOM EVENT WITH THE CLASSROOM HARASSER

[stories-in-the-wind]

Sharing the sketch for March

welp I didn't finish this before the end of the month but I made some good progress. I draw terraces so quickly when in the sketch stage, then I go into rendering and have to redraw the same terrace 10 times because the perspective looks wrong.

please enjoy my barely sketched in skydancer as well lol

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

I thought we were friends, Ryu

[bruhstation]

special thanks to these pez dispensers for accompanying me during my stay at the hospital. glory to canada

[kuzunoha-xiv]

much to think about........

[tenderlambkin]

Does anyone actually have the notorious Japanese subtitles (& attempted re-translation back to English) of Thiollier's dialogue towards St Trina that I've seen alluded to 5+ times now with no source? Apparently he's jerking off or being extra-super yandere?

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Sometimes I try to write down thoughts about this campaign but I admittedly have not been paying enough attention to feel confident in my character analysis so I write an incoherent text post and then delete it because I don't know if I'm actually making the correct judgments.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

Hi? Gosh how do I even start with this :'D

I know it's been ages since I've last popped up on here. I've been debating when to post this for a while, but I kept adding to my draft more and more and now it's the end of JULY omgg I felt so guilty disappearing with zero updates but then thought my birthday would be the best day to finally address this considering it'll feel less random? idk but Ive always celebrated my bday with you guys and I'd feel so bad answering your kind asks without me at least explaining why I was gone for months.

Truth be told, I was dealing with a lot of stuff irl. health issues and sudden declining grades that left me stumped and drained for months now- along with technical issues like having to replace some parts of my computer that took a while for me to find to even draw digitally, which I didn't have the time for anyway with how tired and weary I felt every day.

I'm frankly shaken up by a lot of shit rn and I don't know how to be active online with this burden on my chest- Especially as it's been a while since I've even looked at utmv related content and my motivation dwindled. I swear I'd hype myself up to post or reblog something- but I'd see just how much I've missed or the overwhelming amount of posts I'd need to go through and I'd feel so swamped with exhaustion and most importantly guilt, for not clearing the air up sooner to reassure you guys that I'm, y'know, alive, and not dead in a ditch somewhere. And I'd procrastinate cause typing it all out is hard and I'd give up halfway every time and it's just not fair to you all!

I thought I was handling it well when I started going out and socializing more, instead of staying cooped up at home on my computer all day. and in the first draft of this post I made months ago I was gonna detail some of the fun plans I had, for my life and for this blog :D but relaxing my strict study schedule and letting go a bit of my tight routine, thinking it was better than wringing myself dry to keep it up, backfired horribly, to say the least.

I know right?? so silly to be hung up on stupid shit like studies of all things! but this is a very important thing for me considering my career plans and the competitivity encouraged by everyone I'm surrounded by, the pressure of keeping up adding to my already stressful days. I had to fix myself up first and I couldn't handle the strain nor interact with people and thinking of jobs and exams sapped my energy so much it's frankly embarrassing. writing this feels so cheesy too and it frustrates me to know I could've come back a month earlier if it weren't for that, but I also know putting all of this into words then would just sound like incoherent venting (not that this is very different tbf) and I wasn't in the right headspace to address my absence, or anything really- I didn't want everyone to see me return when I couldn't muster up a genuinely positive message, let alone talk to anyone with a shadow of my usual cheer

I feel like a complete mess and It drives me up the wall how depressed I've gotten. I debated deleting this blog so many times 'cause the fear of disappointing my audience and my friends, for lack of a more fitting sentiment, made me feel even shittier. I'm constantly thinking if this wall of text is worth posting, or if it's better not to burden you all with all my sappy troubles as if it's the end of the world. Trust me, I'll be fine. I'm not trying to dramatize this situation, but I don't think I'm up to pretending I'm all sunshine and enthusiasm you're all accustomed to.

So sorry for worrying you all! I'll try to catch up, deliver some missed birthday gifts, and answer some asks while I'm at it! Again, I can't state how much I appreciate your support throughout the years. It's frankly a miracle I kept any of you around with how much I keep popping and leaving at random with no warning. I definitely can't promise for my stay to be without a hitch, and if you don't mind an inconsistent schedule you're free to stay of course, but I'm afraid I can't sustain the pace I had when I first started this blog. I'll keep posting art, but lower my activity in the fandom sphere to reduce the strain on my mental health. so fewer rants and walls of text, more art, and less stress overall. Love you all and thanks for waiting for this long <3

[hnnny]

If you're playing Inquisition and are also an artist, this is only the most natural course of action you could be expected to take.

I had a lot of fun with this project. Took me about a month or so to complete, and although I'm not completely satisfied with all of it, I rather like the end product anyway. And I learned a lot!!

One of these days I'll compile together all of the design work I did to get to this point cause it's pretty fun to see the progression of things and how doing studies and gathering references can be really beneficial to improving the concept and execution of the piece.

Oh also, I got this to work in-game which is super fun! Seeing my Inquisitor all bloodied up is a nice reward after having to struggle with this piece for a while lol. She deserves a light punch in the face 💕

[undead-supernova]

The Room Burned Down / Masterlist

Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

plot: maybe going to award shows together isn't as fun as you think it's gonna be...so, baby, can we dance through an avalanche?...I'd hold you as the water rushes in...

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: public shaming, some fluff, a hint of spice, arguments, smoking, mentions of addiction, mentions of abuse, mentions of fatphobia

wc: 5.8k

“Do I have to talk to the press?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” your manager, Clara, said, typing away on her phone.

“They’re going to rake me across the coals.”

It had been nearly a month since your first date with him. Despite his hope that the noise would die down, it was only exasperated by the fact that you two hadn’t been seen out in public, sparking breakup rumors. But it was only that he had his promo and you had yours, traveling round and round with no time to rest. You even had outfit fittings for this very event that kept you in two different cities. It hadn’t put any strain on your relationship. If anything, it did the opposite. You lived your own lives, calling when possible. Texting nonstop once you caught a break at the same time. It was all so new for you. 

Clara looked at you through the reflection of the mirror, her professional face on. “If they do, just smile and walk away. Thank them for their time. Just try to stay neutral like you always do. You’ll be perfect, I promise.”

            Knock.

You peered over at the wall, a smile forming on your lips.

You knew exactly who would pull that move.

Knock, knock, you sent back.

            Knock, knock, knock.

            Knock, knock, knock, knock.

“Stop it, oh my god.”

A giggle left your lips. “Sorry.”

It was merely a coincidence that Corroded Coffin was getting ready for the American Music Awards on the same floor as you…directly next to you, that is. All by happenstance and absolutely nothing else. There was no coordination whatsoever and if anyone accused you of such a thing, you’d deny it. 

But here you were, causing mischief within the first hour of being situated. To be fair, you hadn’t seen Eddie yet, rushed off before Corroded Coffin even showed up. It was whiplash, Clara already spouting off the plans for the night. The time you’d get into the car. When you’d get out. The red carpet. Reminding you how to pose, how to smile. All the while, people floated around you with makeup brushes and endless cups of coffee. Hushed whispers and sighs.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

When you didn’t respond, you watched your door open in the reflection with Eddie stepping in, dodging the assistants and the assistant’s assistant running around. You smiled as you took in his appearance. Loose t-shirt and sweatpants, all cozy and soft. Hair damp, bangs pulled back. You noticed he’d been sat down for makeup, only one of his eyelids dusted in navy eye shadow. 

God, you’d missed him.

“What’re you doing in here?” you asked, nearly jumping up to give him the biggest kiss he’d ever received. But when your knees jerked, Clara placed a hand on your shoulder to keep you down. The pout on your lips wouldn’t even sway her.

“You didn’t answer my knock,” Eddie said, trying to sound innocent, placing a hand over his chest. “I thought you were dead.”

You giggled, but Clara only sighed, shaking her head as she fought a smile. “I can’t believe you both. Like toddlers, I swear.” She turned to Eddie. “Get out of here. We leave in two hours, and I know that hair takes at least one. Don’t make me call Paige.”

Eddie sent you a wink from the shadowed eye. “See you later, babe.”

You chuckled. “Bye, Eddie.”

Today was big for the two of you. Big big. You were sitting at a reserved table with Corroded Coffin. Just you, Eddie, Grant, Gareth, Jeff, and Ronnie. All together. In public. On TV. 

Your boyfriend would be with you unlike the last few wanting nothing to do with the exposure, usually hiding across the room. But Eddie insisted, only wanting to be near you all night. There for you, rooting for you as you were there for him, rooting for him. Getting to spend time with his close friends and his girlfriend.

Everything was starting to fall into place. The noise was becoming more bearable the more they stayed out of earshot. The world was unable to penetrate the magnificent walls you’d built around your hearts. And if you could just get through tonight without a fuck up or a bout of controversy, everything would be okay.

When you emerged from your hotel room, nearly ten minutes late, you found Eddie waiting for you, dark eyes widened as he looked over your outfit. You were in a Sixties Go-go dancer fantasy with a sparkly pink romper, the straps wrapped around your neck. Tall block-heeled boots reaching your knees. A thick pink boa to drape over your elbows. Dripping in jewels. 

An absolute daydream.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Eddie exclaimed, picking you up and spinning you around, the boa floating to the floor. You took in his scent, that beautiful mixture of nicotine and bergamot from whatever cologne he’d started wearing lately. His breath was fresh against your neck, your ear, your jaw. His warmth bleeding through his double-breasted navy suit, textured from the polyester and cherry blossom pattern. 

When a nearly silent gasp left your lips, Eddie wasted no time with hiding himself with his hair and nipping at your neck. Your grasp on his shoulders tightened as his fingers dug into your sides. Feeling his tongue lightly flick over the mark made you feel, well, insane. Had it really been an entire month without his breath? Had you really spent an entire mouth with his voice over the phone, guiding you through your orgasms as you whined and begged for him? Had you really gone this long without him?

Despite wanting to pull him back into the room and rip off his ridiculously expensive clothes, you grabbed your boa and his hand before jogging towards the elevator.

Jeff, Grant, Gareth, and Ronnie were already down at the car, probably drinking complimentary champagne and getting ready to sit in the audience for four hours, waiting for their names to be called. You couldn’t blame them. It did get rather boring after a while of the cameras and commercial breaks and announcers and performances. You’d almost been asked to perform, but before you could say yes, they asked Olivia to do it instead. It wasn’t something you minded, but there was a little part of you had felt sad at the loss.

But you were here to have fun, not worrying about who was who or what people had to say about you. Just have fun with the people who knew what real fun was. Be able to survive the night. 

Survive. Endure. Have fun.

As you made your way through to the lobby, hand in hand, you glanced over at Eddie again. You couldn’t believe how beautiful he was, always seeming to take your breath away. It was an accurate cliché, but one that couldn’t fully encompass how you felt. Hell, the English language wasn’t even enough.

“You’re a vision in navy,” you complimented, taking him in once again.

“Apparently, it’s a deep Prussian,” he corrected before rolling his eyes.

“Oh, my bad,” you replied sarcastically. 

“Hey!”

Paige was storming towards you, scowling. 

When you looked at Eddie, he just smiled at her and waved. “Paige, how lovely to see you tonight.”

But Paige merely groaned. “Get your asses to the car.”

“Look how beautiful my girlfriend is.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, Eddie—”

“Cut it, Romeo,” Paige interrupted, shoving you through the door and into the limo with the rest of the band. Everyone cheered, handing you both champagne before clinking your glasses together.

You couldn’t help but look over at Eddie, his grin just as wide as yours.

I’m so in love with you, you thought, so close to letting it fall out. I’m so, so in love with you.

“Come on,” Paige shouted, making you flinch as you watched her signal to the driver. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

As soon as you were let out of the car, Clara led you away from the group, ushering you towards the photo ops and interviews. Men behind cameras called your name, begged for your attention. This was still something you found strange, like being held in a cage. You were to be spectated, gawked at by the public as nothing more than a show. A source of entertainment that extended far beyond your comprehension.

But Clara had trained you for this since the first time you ever stepped out on one of these carpets. You knew how to give them what they wanted. So, you put your hand on your hip. Pivoted every few seconds for different angles. Let the light hit your highlighter at just the right moment. A smirk. A laugh. Shiny smile. Shiny eyes.

It killed you the moment you heard your boyfriend’s name being called from behind you, harmonious with the sound of the rest of their names being shouted out. The photographers were going nuts as they found their way onto the carpet. You wanted to look back at him, wanted to admire how he shone. 

Because he did. He always did.

Eddie Munson knew how to shine without even breathing. Without talking. Without smiling. He could part a crowd like it was nothing, could bring everyone to their knees if he merely snapped his fingers. It was undeniable.

Everyone wanted him.

And, dangerously, he was all yours.

“You’ve been busy!”

You chuckled, trying to keep your eyes from flickering over at the camera being shoved in your face. This was the first interview of the night, the first of five. Five. It was something you’d agreed to months ago, but you didn’t realize just how taxing it would feel until the blonde woman in front of you stuck her microphone up to your lips.

“Oh, yeah!” you responded. “With writing the new album and thinking about the next tour and stuff, I’ve just been running around and trying to keep everything in check. Plus, Acacia My Dear means so much to me, I don’t want another album to overshadow that hard work.”

“And I’m sure you get a lot of support from your new boyfriend, Eddie Munson.”

You’d anticipated the mention, mulled it over and let yourself spiral late at night. But nothing prepared you for your dry mouth, for the lump in your throat as you began to scramble for an answer.

“Well, I’ve been really focused on my music,” you responded.

But she wasn’t letting up. “Will there be any songs about him on the new album?”

“I think art is always up for interpretation.” You smiled bigger despite your frustration, looking over her shoulder and pretending to notice someone. “I have to go, thank you.”

But you weren’t out of the woods yet.

            “Have you collaborated with your boyfriend on anything?”

            “I really like to write by myself. The songwriting and the music are so important to me. Obviously, it’s important to the people who are so talented in different ways. I’m just grateful that people seem to care about it as much as I do.”

            “You and Eddie are so different. How does that translate at shows like this?”

            “I think everyone is here because they’re successful and talented at what they do. I can only hope that I measure up tonight.”

            “Do you think Corroded Coffin has a chance tonight?”

            “Everyone here is so talented. I hope that everyone gets a chance to shine as much as they do. I know that winning isn’t everything, but I hope I have a good shot.”

            “Is your new album influenced by Eddie’s sound at all?”

            “I’m talented and successful because of the sound I’ve cultivated and what I do. I think that I will continue to evolve as an artist and as a songwriter and, for me, I believe that I have been doing just that.” 

Four more interviews and each one talked about Eddie and not your music. Not your success. You hissed to your publicist that no one was allowed to even mutter Eddie’s name in an interview again and she furiously nodded and apologized. Clara nearly told you to cool it, but you stormed off into the venue. You didn’t want to hear from her. You’d done your fucking job.

When you spotted Eddie inside talking to Grant, you immediately found yourself in his arms. Away from the cameras. Away from the vultures. 

“Eddie.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, rubbing your back. 

“I think I’m gonna cry,” you gasped, anxiety flooding your system. Your hands were shaking, mind frenzied by the noise and the people and the fucking embarrassment.

“No, hey. It’s alright. Tell me what happened.”

You pulled back, but Eddie kept his hands on your waistline. Kept you close.

“They just kept bringing you up. I tried to steer it all away back to my music, but they just kept going.”

“Hey, they asked me that shit, too.”

“What did you say?”

“I said that my relationship is private, but I’m proud of all your hard work right now. ‘Cause I am.”

Immediately, you felt like a shitty girlfriend. “I should’ve said that. I’m sor—"

“Look at me, baby,” he interrupted, searching your eyes. “Tell me your favorite Beatles song right now. Hm?”

Searching your mind, you were caught on the only lyrics that came to mind.

            “Life is very short and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend.”

“‘We Can Work It Out’.”

“And we can,” he replied with a small smile, tapping your chin. You nodded. “Let’s just go sit down with everyone and try to bring the energy back, alright? I’m right here with you, baby. Always.”

But there were other lyrics to that song, ones that echoed even louder.

            “Try to see it my way

            Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong

            While you see it your way

            There’s a chance that we may fall apart before too long.”

Everything was turned around, the smiles and the laughter returning you to your senses. Corroded Coffin won the only award they were up for tonight. Naturally. After that, Jeff had pulled out a hidden deck of cards. You, him, Eddie, and Gareth were in a mean game of Go Fish, giggling your way through Gareth trying to cheat.

You were hardly listening when someone said your name onstage. Looking up from your cards, you heard the tail end of it. 

“…is about to switch genres, sitting over there with her new boyfriend.” The crowd around you laughed. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You saw Eddie’s hand in your peripheral vision, saw the middle finger starting to lift, and pushed his hand down. No need to make a scene.

“Quick, Eddie. Don’t get too close!”

Without hesitation, Gareth, Grant, Jeff, and Ronnie all stood up and flipped him off. Ronnie even pointed hers directly at the camera filming your reaction.

The audience gasped while other celebs at tables cheered them on.

What the fuck was happening?

Eddie glanced at you before getting up and stepping onto his chair. Slowly, he raised his middle finger.

The crowds roared, the presenter starting to look embarrassed as the whole room turned into chaos. Dozens of pictures captured their defiance, their retaliation.

And you?

Well, you sat there with a neutral expression, already trained in the art of disguising your emotions. Your lips didn’t hold a smile or a frown, something set in the middle. You controlled your eyes to stay in position, refusing to widen or fall half-lidded. Refusing to look up at your boyfriend.

But inside, you were something else entirely.

Full of rage at the jokes, full of fear at the way Eddie’s whole band went to bat for you. Furious at yourself for being unable to find the will to stand up with them. Terrified at what the world was about to say about it. Humiliated that they felt the need to pull a stunt to a stupid joke you’d heard a million times.

“Woah, woah, guys! Calm down!” the presenter said with a shaky laugh. He was clearly not anticipating what was happening. “It’s all jokes, promise. All jokes. Nice organization, though, truly. Anyways, moving on to the next category. Here presenting the award—”

As everyone sat back down, Jeff and Gareth went back to their game like it was nothing. 

You turned to your boyfriend. “Eddie—”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes meeting yours. “I can’t just let them do that. People have to know that it’s not okay.”

“Eddie, they’re gonna talk about us,” you said, noticing your southern accent bleeding through. Fuck. “Y’all can’t just do that. Think of tomorrow, think of—”

“And the nominees are for Best Pop Album are…”

You had to look away, remember where you were. Because that was your name they were saying up there, yourface they were zoning in on. 

And it was you that everyone was looking at as you were declared the winner.

You began standing, Eddie helping to pull out your chair. Turning to him, you thought about kissing him, thought about hugging him. Thought about giving him any sliver of physical affection while the world was watching. 

His hand reached out for yours, but you gave him a small smile before dipping your head and walking toward that stage. Alone. Without anyone by your side to help you up the steps. The applause was nearly deafening, the support seemingly louder than before. 

But you had to focus, clearing your throat as you took the shiny award, resembling a shard of glass ready to pierce your skin at a moment’s notice. You reminded yourself of where you were, what you were doing. What you had to do. Face the world yet again. 

Leaning into the microphone, you began.

“I’d really like to thank my record label for giving me the opportunity to explore new sounds and trusting me with the writing and producing process. Acacia My Dear is obviously a play on the Beatles song and I was so inspired to create an album centered around a fictional version of myself that I created. To tell that story was so euphoric and beautiful.” A few cheers sounded. “My art is what keeps me going and I’ll never stop loving it. Never. Um,” you stumbled, looking back out at the crowd before back at your award. 

There were words on your togue.

I’d like to thank Eddie for being so supportive these last five months. 

But you only shook your head. 

“So, yeah, this is for the fans and the many, many young queer women out there who want to make music. Y’all—” you paused, careful to switch your accent back. “You all can do it and you can be successful.” You lifted the award high into the air. “If I can, you can, too. Thank you.”

You’d made it to the vacant bathroom, made it to the sink in time to feel yourself start to lose it. 

This wasn’t the time to lose it.

You couldn’t.

But you were.

Being an outcast in high school was something you had in common with Eddie. While your circumstances differed and you didn’t know much about his past, you knew that you were both given the same nickname. Freak. You weren’t too sure exactly how you were supposed to be much of a freak, but you’d been labeled as such since grade school. It was always something new, from your interests to your appearance to whatever you said or did in class. The punchline to bets made by boys in the name of sheer boredom.

But girls and boys are both cruel. And whoever said boys shouldn’t hit girls never went to your schools. You were pushed into walls. Punched. Called names. Cyberbullied once emailing became a thing. Humiliated on social media once that came around. You were ugly, fat. Freak. A wannabe musician who had no talent. Freak. A loner who sat by herself and wrote during recess because nobody liked you enough to let you to play with them. Freak. Booed when you sang at your talent shows, left uninvited to sleepovers and birthday parties.

Freak.

The only thing you held sacred was your music that you recorded on GarageBand and uploaded to YouTube and Soundcloud, back when all of that was way more popular. It gained traction somehow, your song “High Walls” getting thousands upon thousands of views and praise. A record label saw the spike and took a chance on you, thinking you were talented enough at eighteen to make it big.

And you did. 

But you still had nightmares about those days. Spent time in therapy talking about how ridiculous you felt that you were still haunted by teenage girls and boys, all surrounding you with hollering laughter and pointed fingers. How you still heard their words echo in your mind whenever you looked online and saw the vile things being said about you. Still felt the sting of salt in your wounds whenever friends you’d made would stab you in the back.

The sound of heels brought you back to your reality, brought you back to the faint hum of the performance on the other side of the theater. For a moment, you thought that maybe Ronnie or Clara decided to see if you were okay. 

But you were disappointed to find some actress you forgot the name of. You recognized her face and nothing more. Her dark hair curled down to her shoulders, showered in golden eyeshadow and body glitter. She recognized you immediately, eyebrows shooting up at the mere sight of you.  

But she kept moving to the other side, holding her words back. You knew they were coming, anticipated them as she got settled. Her lips wrapped around a vape, her back and one red pump pressed against the wall. 

Crossing her arms, she began her prodding. “Some show, huh?”

You only shrugged.

“Want a hit?”

You looked at her, seeing that the offer was coming from a place of understanding rather than passing judgment or niceties. Because her mouth was scrunched up to the side, like she felt bad for you. Like she was genuinely just trying to figure out how to help.

And though you never really smoked cigarettes all that often, you took it from her and pulled a long drag. Well, maybe too long. The rush of nicotine hit you hard, dizzying before you felt the release. Like you were flying, like you were escaping from whatever hell you were being trapped in. And it was fleeting, the moment ending as soon as the cloud of smoke left your lips.

You handed it back to her. “Thanks,” you said with a breathy laugh. The familiar taste of MAC lipstick lingered on your tongue. 

“Yeah, no problem.”

Thinking the interaction was over with, you went back to looking at yourself. Your mind was close to clearing, was so close to being brought back from the brink of madness. If you could just get through the night without another hiccup or mistake, maybe everything would be okay. Maybe if you stayed perfectly calm—  

“Eddie Munson, huh?”

You refrained from letting out a scoff, your impulse control not strong enough to keep you from throwing up your hand before it slapped against the counter.

“Yeah. Eddie Munson.”

She noticed your irritation but didn’t get upset. She only watched you, tilting her head as she took another drag.

“What’s he like?”

The question rang in your head, echoing around you like there were a million voices asking at once. Because he was the one that everyone wanted, the one everyone gravitated towards. He was yours but he was also everyone else’s. Even if you could separate the two, could extract him from their narratives and stories, they would still be there. All rallied behind him like an army following blindly in his honor. 

But it wasn’t like they would do the same for you, was it? No, you were an outsider to the genre, to the subculture that he was in. You were just some popstar who didn’t get it, didn’t get him. Chasing a momentary high like that drag you took. Here one second, gone the next. Lulling him into the haze before fading into the gray. And you realized that even if you were given the chance to be with him forever, a chance that now seemed extremely slim, you would never truly be the sole person who got to keep him. 

Loving him forever comes with a cost. 

Looking back at your reflection, you sighed.

“A dream.”

Before you gave her any time to respond, you left.

Your ride back to the hotel was quiet, Eddie’s breathing becoming ragged with every red light they endured. He was worrying you, not even looking you in the eye when you got back to your seat. For the rest of the night. When you got a car together. When you stepped into the lobby. The elevator.

But then Eddie was taking off his blazer, trudging down the hallway, the boom of his combat boots bouncing off the walls.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” you asked, trying to keep up.

“You barely even touched me the whole night.”

“Y’all stood up and made a scene!”

“Because he was being a goddamn prick.”

“I know, but that’s why you just don’t give them a reaction! It just causes more attention and then people think you do it because you want attention and then it just gets spun into something it’s not because people love drama—"

“No,” Eddie said harshly, turning around to face you. “I don’t care about that. I don’t care about the fucking internet. I wanted to congratulate you on your win and yet you just walked away. It hurt.”

“What you guys did hurt me. It was unprofessional.”

Eddie stopped then, pausing to really look at you for what felt like the first time since the band stood up. 

But he had no time to respond.

“Hey, what the fuck are you yelling at him for?!” Ronnie shouted down the hall, her boots just as loud as his.

She really did look a lot like Eddie, with the same curly hair and hardened stare. The same protective nature, the same wild heart. But her eyes were void of any compassion, any sympathy. She was fucking pissed, and it was only directed at you.

You narrowed your eyes. “Did y’all ever think about how I’d feel about it? It was tough enough to publicly sit—”

“I’m so sorry that sitting at a table with your boyfriend and his friends is such a chore for you.”

Behind her, Gareth, Grant, and Jeff approached, their laughter cut short at the intensity of her words. Eyes trained on the scene in front of them. All three men silent, all three men watching the showdown that you didn’t ask to be a part of.

“Ronnie,” Eddie said. It sounded more like a warning, but she was still looking at you, still ready to pounce.

And so, she did.

“You’re a coward,” Ronnie seethed. “You’re lucky to have someone like him and I know you’ll gladly throw it away just because it isn’t the fucking fairytale you imagined. This is real life, sweetie. I know you sit there in your fantasy world with your sugarcoated lyrics and your fake smile. Too afraid to let anyone know how you really feel. Too afraid to hold your boyfriend’s fucking hand. A goody two-shoes who does nothing but cry about how unfair her life is even though you have everything you could ever need.

“You think you’re risking everything for him? For us? No. You’re not risking a goddamn thing if you just sit there and take it. Avoid it. Act like it’s not happening. We stood up for you because we fucking care about Eddie and Eddie cares about you. We didn’t have to do that. We could’ve just let him make fun of you for three more hours and let you get humiliated. But we did that, and I don’t care if you didn’t like it. You needed help. And you’re an idiot for acting like this has anything to do with professionalism. 

“You’re nothing but a coward. I can only hope you’ll change your fucking attitude for Eddie’s sake. But if you’re going to keep acting like this, you need to leave him and us the hell alone. Don’t drag someone into your fucking mess if you can’t clean it up.”

You tried not to cry in front of her, tried not to give in to bending and breaking of your soul. Her speech was loud, deafening, ringing in your ears like waves crashing into each other. Instead of replying, you turned and ran into your hotel room and slammed the door behind you. Sobs escaped your lips as you did everything you could to take all that shit off. Threw the boa on the floor. Threw your shoes at the headboard. Let your jewelry land wherever the fuck it wanted. 

But your romper was harder, sticking to your skin with the sweat and nerves and— 

The door opened, Eddie rushing into the room like it was burning down. And in some ways, it really felt like it. The heat and the sweat and the nerves and the way Ronnie shot those flaming arrows, the way it set your brain afire. The way it was starting to spread.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry about Ronnie. She gets really protective of me; it’s been a thing since we were kids—"

“Maybe this is too much,” you interrupted, “Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone less messy. Less cowardly.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you suggesting we break up?”

“I just,” you started, watching his eyes start to widen. “I don’t know. I feel like your whole life is being thrown into chaos because of me and I don’t want you having to change your whole life or fuckin’ feel the need to defend me on national television. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to Grant and Gareth and Jeff and Ronnie.”

“Baby, I want you, okay? I’m willing to push through the bullshit if it means that I’ll get to fucking see you at the end of the day or week or even month. You’ve changed my life.”

You shook your head. He was lying, he had to be. Or he was living in delusion, riding on that fucking fairytale that Ronnie claimed you’d created. That wasn’t his reality, wasn’t yours.

“You just don’t understand, Eddie!”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “I know this is hard on you. I know. But you’re not the only one hurting, okay? I don’t like this any more than you do, and I don’t think it’s fair that you’re acting like I don’t get it. People call me a man whore or a player or whatever. And even though I recovered, people still think I’m a fucking cokehead. That shit is brutal. I’m not this crazy person who does what all the bands did in the Sixties or Seventies. Hell, even the Eighties and Nineties.”

Your eyebrows pulled in tight at his admittance. 

“It sickens me,” he continued, his stare intensifying. “I’m just a loser who got lucky and got out of a shitty small town.” He gestured away from himself. “I’m still that loser. That freak. And I was never given a chance by girls after we blew up—hell, most guys laughed at me. I had to just figure this out for myself, and I,” he gestured back to himself, “have chosen to remove myself from it. Remove myself from that picture they’ve painted for me. And then I found someone who fucking understands.”

As you listened, Eddie’s hand came back down, brushing against yours before weaving your fingers together.

“Someone who sees the world like I do and chooses me despite it being so…so loud. And you have spent your life thinking you have to do this alone. I get it. So did I. But one thing I’ve learned that you haven’t is that you don’t have to do this alone. We got you. I got you.”

“This is going to look so bad for you,” you whispered, tears running down your cheeks.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t care.”

Your head shook for you, rapidly denying his words. 

“And the rest of the band.”

His fingers met the back of your head, trying to soothe you as he rubbed circles into the muscles.

“I don’t care.”

Your eyes searched his as you tried to make sense of it all, make sense of the fact that he was still here. He hadn’t left. He’s saying things that no one, no one, had said to you before and meant so fervently. 

“And me,” you finished, barely above a whisper.

He paused for a split second, long enough for you to catch it before he finally looked away, tucking his lip into his mouth.

His forehead bumped against yours, taking a deep breath. You did the same, breathing him in as you tried to find the will to stay.

To fight.

To keep whatever the hell it was that you had.

“Baby, I want to be with you.” His eyes shot back up to yours, tears collecting in his eyes.

“And I want our privacy. Trust me, I understand how you feel. But I still want to go outside and be as normal as we can. I wanna go get dinner and coffee and do whatever the fuck we want. I want to post a picture of you and dedicate my songs to you and be open and whatever the fuck else I want.”

“I feel the same way.”

“I know you do, baby. That’s why I want you to understand me. I want the same things you do, and I want us to figure out a solution together. I know we can do it. I just know. So don’t…don’t go.”

You closed your eyes, choking on a sob as you tried to make sense of it all. How he could still be here, fighting for you to keep going. 

“Eddie…”

His hands clutched onto yours as he sniffled. You felt his tears landing on your skin.

“Stay.”

This was messy. You were messy. A big, huge, ginormous mess that was getting in the way of everyone else’s happiness. Being everyone else’s disappointment. It was only a matter of time before you fucked up and ruined this. Ruined him.

But he’s still there, asking you not to leave.

“Is it really that simple?” you asked.

“Look at me.” 

And you did, watching his tears cascade down his cheeks. Watching as his face grew desperate, watching as his lip quivered.

“Please, don’t go. Stay.”