#Though I remembered essentially nothing from this movie.

[lightlycareless]

I was reading your scorned ex husband stories and they made me so sad(especially the second one) then I started thinking about the twin au and like what if the twins parent trap them in a different divorced au? Lol. Naoya is still a dick obviously for splitting up twins(seriously who would do that??) but maybe not completely irredeemable for Y/N to forgive him 🥺 Hehe this is just something silly I thought up and wanted to share

Hellooooooo

Heheh this got me watching the movie again, right in the nostalgia. It had been so long since I last saw it that I actually didn't remember most of it, but I do think however: how the hell did they think that was a good idea 🤣 gee, talk about parent of the year.

Anyways, some liberties were taken to make the story work, though the premise is essentially the same.

Also, these are the works anon is referring to :) Ex-husband 1 & Ex-husband 2. Now onto the warnings:

Warnings: none major. Naoya is an a_hole, as always. Naomi and Naori are adorable, but poor kids seriously :'(.

Happy reading!!

If Naoya does this, you effectively hate him from that point forward.

It is non-negotiable, you never want to see him ever again, especially after the cruel words he used to justify the separation of his children:

“I only ever cared about Naori anyways.”

You made it your life-long purpose to keep Naomi from someone as despicable as her father—though it hurt you to do so, for it also meant you’d be away from your beloved son; just 2 years into his life… you barely got to make any memories with him before he was stripped away from your arms.

But such was the divorce agreement: the two would keep one child, and out of their lives.

Naoya remains in Kyoto with his son at the Zen’in estate, while you move back to Tokyo, close to your family but distant enough to have your own apartment. Just the two of you, the little home you always wanted.

In an unexpected turn of events, Naomi and Naori would go on completely unaware of each other until enrolling in the same elementary school.

It was almost undetectable at the beginning since Naomi now had your last name—but once teachers and students alike began to realize their physical similarities, it became impossible to ignore.

“No… we don’t look alike.” Naori would quietly complain. Out of the two, he was the least enthusiastic about this advancement, doing his best to avoid the limelight due to his reserved nature.

However, that wouldn’t mean anything to Naomi: ever the bubble one, she was nothing but to have a new best friend that looked just like her!

“We’re almost like twins!” she gasped—same hair color, eyes, height… how could they not? “I’ve always wanted a baby brother too.”

“Well, I don’t! And I could be older too, you know? Besides, why would I want a sister that’s weak and ugly…?”

Intended to hurt her, Naomi only laughed at his words, for it would take much more than that to bring her down—one could even say that the two were reflections of their respective parents in that matter: the only contrast between the two, as a matter of fact.

“That’s not true!” she happily refuted, taking hold of his hand and heading to the playground. “Now, come on! I want to go on the swings, and I need someone to push me!”

Though Naori was greatly unwilling at first, he’d soon warm up to her, mainly because she was part of the few, if not the only, kid that didn’t bother him because of his shyness; always rushing to the rescue whenever bullies began to swarm him, as well as reassure him there was nothing wrong with being the way he was.

And if that wasn’t enough, the food Naomi began to share with him (courtesy of you, after much insistence from her part) effectively validated their friendship.

“When will you ever bring him over?” you tease, it’s the happiest you’d ever seen your daughter! And for that, you couldn’t help but feel glad and obligated to repay the favor.

“I don’t know, mama. Nori-kun tells me his papa can be quite strict.”

You chuckle.

“Well, I’m sure I can convince him next time the parents have a meeting at school.”

“His papa doesn’t go to school.” Naomi frowns, her words making you sad for the poor child. “Says he’s too busy.”

“Oh, that’s awful. Well, what about the mama?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

Your heart longs to comfort him.

If they only knew…

And as time went on and their friendship flourished even more, so did their interests for one another; beyond those of their favorite colors and toys, and more into… personal grounds.

Matters that had always quietly hurt Naori one way or the other since he could remember; more so since you had been nothing but sweet and kind to a figuratively unknown kid, which highlighted the fact he never had that one thing he always wished for.

What he might never have, since his father has long given up on it, considering the way he coldly changes the subject, or completely ignores it. Naori simply… doesn’t talk about it.

Until now.

“Why don’t you have a dad?” He dares to ask; it’s no secret that the one to pick him up at school is one of his father’s many subordinates, always changing, not enough to be interesting to the other parents outside of how rich (or a jerk) he must be to have employees pick up his child.

Compared to you, always spoken of fondly for the following reasons:

If it was Valentine’s Day, you’d send Naomi with a big box of candies so she could share with all the class.

Halloween was the same, even hosting small gatherings if the children wished to celebrate in a safe environment.

If it was a classmate’s birthday, you always made sure to send them a personal gift or attend their birthday party. Your gifts might’ve put some parents to shame from time to time, but it didn’t matter, you kind of grew to be some kind of celebrity thus a few always tried to be on your good side—or Naomi’s, so to speak.

Naomi’s birthday… well, some fought to be on the guest list.

In other words,you were an amazing for both kids and parents alike, enough to inspire Naori to daydream about what it would be to have a loving mother like you—to always be at the door once it was time to leave, patiently waiting for the moment your daughter would come into view and subsequently pick her up into a tight, warm hug, followed by a kiss and wide smile as you urged Naomi to tell you all about her day.

Or more importantly, wonder if you were open to adopting him.

“Oh… that—I… don’t know!” Naomi responds truthfully. “Mama never talks about him.”

“Have you asked her?”

“Once or twice, but all she says is that I should focus on my studies!

…

But I can see how sad she gets whenever I mention him.” She continues. “Mama isn’t very good at hiding “adult talk” and neither is my auntie, so I always get to hear how lonely she is when they talk about him! … and how she should try dating other people, or whatever that means, so she wouldn’t feel like that anymore.”

“I think is when you marry someone.” Naori tries to explain, Naomi scowls out of disgust.

She doesn’t like the idea of sharing her mama with someone else, grows somewhat jealous too.

Well, maybe if it was Uncle Nanami, he’s always been nice to her and her mama. Not Geto because she plans on marrying him herself.

And she supposes her papa too… but how could someone you love make you sad?

“I don’t want her marrying anyone.” Naomi shakes her head. “She’s happy with me!”

“But don’t you wonder about your dad?” he asks. “What did he look like? How did he meet your mom?”

Or how they fell in love?

Naturally. Because just as Naori, and even after you tried your hardest to distract her from it… she too longed to have a father. Someone to play with her after finishing all her homework, put her over his shoulders and let her see the world from his height, or protect her from the monsters that lived inside the closet…

There must be an answer to both of their mysteries—people don’t simply disappear.

And such, is how they assigned themselves a new mission; a task of the upmost importance, requiring all their attention and care if they wish to uncover why they only have one parent—and who was such peculiar character.

Anything that could hint such solution is a chance they’d take, however…

To Naomi, this endeavor proved quite fruitless, for any indication of your past relationship was effectively ripped from the evidence. Quite literally: thousands and thousands of pictures cut in half, neatly removing the person that accompanied her mother—whom she assumed to be her father. And that’s without mentioning your consistent disapproval of the matter. Naomi was right where she began.

This lack of advancement both frustrated her and placed more pressure onto Naori’s efforts, which shockingly, turned to be quite more than what they bargained for. Getting results neither could’ve imagined, not even in their wildest dreams…

“Naomi-chan… I’m not sure if you’re ready to see this.” Naori would caution as he placed down a large wooden box before her, filled with his findings.

“Why? Why not, Naori-kun?” she frets, surely it couldn’t be anything too outrageous.

…Could it?

Yes, it could. And it was.

Because beyond the astonishing realization that all the pictures Naori brought were in virtually perfect shape…

The fact they both recognize the people in the photo, Naomi’s mother, wearing that same bright eyed, wide smile look on her face whenever particularly excited. Happy—alongside Naori’s father, with his usual dyed hair, ear piercings, and striking eyes…

Holding two newborn babies—named Naomi and Naori such as the inscription in the back stated, alongside their birth time and date (Naomi is older, at last is known) …

Is what truly shocked them.

…

…

…

You. Naoya.

Naomi and Naori.

Mama and papa.

A family, for all intents and purposes.

What everyone around them proclaimed: siblings.

Naomi and Naori were siblings. Twins.

“Does that mean we—”

Naori nods. If it hadn’t been obvious enough by now.

Nonetheless, as thrilling as this discovery was, for it essentially made their respective dreams come true… another question arose. One that undoubtedly could not proceed unanswered.

“Why aren’t our parents together?”

Or most importantly:

“How can we get them back together?”

“But what if they don’t want to?” Naori frets.

“I told you already! Mama looks very happy wit him, and auntie says she’s very lonely too… besides, if they get back together that means we’ll finally be a happy family! And isn’t that what you wanted?”

Naori presses his lips together, nodding.

“I want a happy family too. I’ve always wanted a papa to play with!” Naomi continues.

“And a mom to hug…” Naori adds. “What do we do?”

First…

Get them together, face to face. In other words, talk. It’s how adults always preached problems got solved.

Since you had given Naomi the impression you’re not interested in anything pertaining to Naori’s dad, she had to get creative. Force you into a position where you wouldn’t be able to ignore her as you’ve done before—and one where Naoya would inevitably have to go to school too.

It had to be a convincing excuse, and since the two were children in need of dire solutions, their innocent minds led them to the most extreme resolution yet.

“I need you to punch me.” Naomi says, determined.

“Why?!” he gasps.

“Because I need to get hurt for mama to come, and if you’re the one in trouble they’ll have to call your papa, and then, the two will be here, just as we planned!”

“Can’t we do something less dangerous…?” Naori doesn’t like the idea of getting in trouble with his strict dad, as if he weren’t insufferable enough…

“No, Naori. It must be this!”

“But I don’t want to punch you…”

“Come on, we have to do it to have a family!!” she insists. “Or do you not want mama to make you food every day? To hug you too??”

He swallows.

“I do.”

“Then do it!”

And… he does. After taking a deep breath, clenching his fist and hitting Naomi in what she could only describe the weakest punch she could’ve ever anticipated. Surely, not enough to make this case convincing.

“Naori! You have to hit harder than that!”

“I—I tried!” he cries.

“No, you didn’t!” she cries back. “You didn’t even try!”

“Ye—yes I did!” Naori frowns. “It’s not my fault I’m not as strong as you!”

“Yeah, right! You’re a boy, you’re supposed to hit harder!” Naomi adds, smirking soon after an idea crosses her mind. “… Then I guess you don’t really want a mama.”

“I do want a mom…”

“No, it’s fine. I should’ve known not to trust you with something so important anyways—” she says, words that brush each and every one of Naori’s insecurities. “You’re just as weak as everyone else says…”

With a frown on his face, and a sour tightness in his chest, little Naori quickly clenched his fist and prepared himself to prove her wrong once and for all. Show that he wanted this just as much as she did—if not more.

Naomi was trying her best to get a rise out of Naori, everything necessary to motivate a genuine hit out of him and get their plan in motion—she never meant any of those words, intended to apologize after all was said and done, though she doubted it would matter once they got what they sought after.

But it was almost comical how it happened, how he miscalculated his steps, how far his hand had to travel to hit Naomi, and how he ended up doing far more than necessary: but convincingly so, in the end. Tripping over her and sending the two tumbling down, loudly hitting the ground in such a motion that had them scraping their skin, and of course, tears following suit.

“Maaaaaaa, I want my mamaaaaa.” Naomi intuitively cried, tightly holding onto the teacher as the two were sent to the infirmary.

Naori didn’t cry much for his father, he rarely did considering his prominent absence, but just one look at his teary face and trembling lip, and it was obvious whom he sought for comfort—the same one the school somehow convinced to come along and deal with this unfortunate incident.

As well as the supposed altercation that made way for all this to happen in the first place.

“No, what do you mean a fight??” You’re the first to arrive, demanding a believable explanation from the teacher. “That’s not—that doesn’t sound like my daughter!”

“I know, I thought the same… but that’s what the kids are saying.” She explains. “That Naomi-chan was inciting Naori-kun to punch her, and that she was even saying awful things to get him to do that. I don’t know what they were doing, if they were playing a game or… I don’t know; all of it is so weird—I’m sorry.”

You sigh.

“It’s fine. There’s no need to stress when it’s already happened.” You explain. “Is the parent of the child here already?”

“Should be soon, but I don’t know if he’s actually coming, Naori’s dad isn’t quite… present.”

You frown at the name.

“Naori? Wasn’t he Naomi’s best friend?”

She nods.

“It just makes everything even more unbelievable… really, what’s gotten to them?”

You hope to figure such when speaking to the poor child your daughter allegedly antagonized, after apologizing for such behavior of course. Which you’d have to deal with after returning home—Naomi… seriously, what could’ve possibly gone through her mind to incite such act? Was she being bullied? Did Naori suddenly decide he no longer wanted to be friends with her?

And why did his name appear to be so… familiar?

You’d figure it out soon enough when entering the infirmary, quickly scanning across the room for your daughter—only to freeze upon locking into Naoya’s; a much smaller, softer version of them, that is.

“Mamaaaaa!!” Naomi quickly cries when seeing you walk past the door, rushing to your side and hugging you tightly, the adrenaline of the whole succession still vivid in her mind. “Mama, it—it hurts a lot!”

Comforting her ought to be your utmost priority, but at the sight of your estranged child, the baby you were forcibly stripped away from… you couldn’t think of anything else but pinching yourself to see if this was a dream—if he was truly there, before you: flesh and bone. After so many years of distance…!

And naturally, hug him. Keep him so, so close to you and never let go; to make up for all the time you’ve spent apart and the things you never got to do because of his undeserving, cruel father…

Who stomped past the door soon after, equally freezing when seeing his estranged child, and ex-wife after 5 years of imposed silence. Startled, as if he hadn’t been the deciding factor behind it all.

Or perhaps, the reason why Naori enrolled in this school in the first place.

“Y/N.”

“Naoya.”

Looks like there’s much to catch up to.

Obviously, part 2 is needed. Essentially where Naoya will disclose more of what the hell was going on in his mind when pulling that stunt, as well as some angst. I have to. hahaha

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little thing I wrote; I do love it when we indulge into domestic au... but not at the expense of the kids 😭😭😭 think of the children!!! lol.

Well, 0nce again, thank you so much for sending in this ask!! Now take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[moonypears-blog]

Sofia: Sometimes, I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast.

Cedric: That is an excellent practice.

Cedric: However, just at the moment, you really might want to focus on the Jabberwocky.

[divinesolas]

First everything

Summary: in desperate need to pass your upcoming math test you go to your best friend for help, your best friend who you just so happen to be in love with. Sometimes feelings just spill out and theres nothing you can do but embrace it and try to navigate through it.

modern!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

w.c: 4.2k

c.w: college au, nerdy jace, two virgins just trying to figure it out, virginity loss (both), fingering (fem), oral (fem), minor hand-job, p in v, protected sex, love confessions, glasses stay on during sex, theres also fluff guys, not proofread

a.n: for my nerdy jace warriors out there 🫡 pls lmk your thoughts !

perm jace taglist (open!) <3 @tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels

you could not afford to fail this upcoming math test with you’re grade already as rocky as it is and if you didn’t nail it your grades were gonna tank.

So you decide to do the only rational thing you can think of and go stop by your best friends house who just so happens to be basically a genius to get him to tutor you. You don’t text him, having a key to his place and checking his location you can see he’s home he definitely won’t mind you just dropping by.

He’s been your best friend since you two were kids, having lived across the street from you the two of you would always stand by the bus stop together and chat and when you got older he started driving you to school. you guys would spend all the time together though you guys didn’t end up in the same college you guys happened to both get into colleges in the same city and lived right near each other.

He was perfect essentially, you try to ignore that gnawing feeling in your stomach every time you speak to him or even think about him. You’ve liked him for as long as you can remember but you never tried to do anything out of fear of ruining the relationship you two have built. You also can’t get a read on if he feels the same, everything you two have ever done has been platonic, cuddling on the couch while watching a movie, having sleepovers, but you can shake the feeling of wanting to be more, maybe he was thinking the same way but you had no clue.

The apartment is quiet when you enter, when you call his name and there’s no response you think for a second maybe he went out and left his phone? but that’s not like him at all. until you walk towards his bathroom and you can hear the shower running and let out a sigh of relief as you begin to set up your stuff in the living room and order some take out for the two of you on your phone.

busying yourself on your phone you don’t even hear the shower turn off or the door open until you hear the soft thumps on the floor of his footsteps and when you look up the two of you gasp at one another. With water dripping down his chest and a firm hand places on the towel around his waist, his glasses all fogged up and his face hot red you feel like you might pass out.

“I’m so sorry oh my god i had no clue you were coming i haven't checked my phone um oh god.” You can barely pay attention to his rambling as you can’t take your eyes off him. Since when was he toned? oh and the towel is low enough you can see his v line. NO! You shake your head as you find yourself heating up, “no no its my fault Jace i never texted you i just thought i would show up um.. I’m so sorry i should have texted.”

He scratches the back of his head as he begins to move his way to his room, “no its okay you can show up any time i just, um i uh let me go get dressed.” With that he quickly rushes away without another word his ears and face blaringly red. when the door shuts and you’re alone once again you lean against the couch and take a couple deep breaths. you cannot be thinking about him like this right now. Your thighs press together unconsciously as the memory of him was still so fresh in your mind.

You quickly stand and rush to his bathroom to splash some cold water on your face to snap yourself out of it. he’s your best friend who you just so happen to be in love with and today will fill your fantasies for the next decade. You manage to get yourself back on the couch and run a hand down your face as you try to calm your racing heart and mind. Its fine its cool its just a normal thing people shower and they just so happen to get naked in the shower its not weird to see your best friend shirtless no its not.

he walks back into the room and sits down on the couch next to you, now dressed in a white t-shirt and some sweatpants, his glasses free of fog but his hair drips onto his shoulders and shirt making some parts of it see through. when you look closely you can even still see his ears are a bright red. “is everything good? its not like you to just show up out of the blue.” you are thankful he’s acting like that did not just happen, or maybe you’re just overthinking it and its not a big deal.

“i need to trade brains with you this Friday at 11 am.” his beautiful laugh fills your ears as he raises his brows at you, “you’re finally admitting I'm smarter than you?” You playfully huff and push his shoulder lightly as he smiles at you. “you’re way better at math then me, i need help Jace please.” you press your hands together in a plea and he taps his chin as if he’s in thought. “I don’t know, what do i get in return?” You pout at him and scoot a bit closer, “you get to hang out with your gorgeous smart and talented best friend?” He blows raspberry's and looks up at the ceiling turning himself away from you. “and i bought take out.” “deal.”

He is a great help, though he’s a history major he’s still places in a math level higher than you and he’s able to guide you though everything you’re struggling with ease. Its usually so easy to ignore how you feel about him but tonight is different. You don't know if its hormones or if there's something in the air but you can’t stop staring at him thinking about him. The way he bites on the top of his pen when he’s in thought, when his forehead creases while he’s checking over your work or listening to you, the way he moves his hands while he talks and explains the problems and the solutions you can’t even stop looking at him while he’s eating.

This was bad. very bad. but at least you managed to get the information he’s told you poured into your head and with his notes you’re sure to ace the test. After a couple hours of studying you two decided to put on a movie but you can’t even cuddle up next to him like you normally would instead choosing to lay on the other side of the couching praying he doesn’t ask about you’re odd behavior.

You can’t help but continue to look at him throughout the movie barely even looking at the screen. he has such a nice side profile. At one point he glances at you and catches your eye so you quickly turn away from him but he sits up and pauses the movie, turning to you with concern laced in his eyes. “Okay spit it out what's wrong?” you. you shrug and try to play it off like nothing, you certainly can’t tell him what's really bothering you. “I’m just worried about the test.” “the you i know would have stopped worrying about the test as soon as you closed that textbook.” you let out a shaky sigh and he moves to sit next to you, staring at you with his puppy dog eyes desperately. “you can always tell me anything you know that right?”

not this. you can’t tell him this. as much as you want to. Yet your heart aches at the thought of not being able to kiss him at the thought of not spending yet another day another minute being his and him being yours. he grabs your hands and his voice is hushed laced with care, “please.”

you cave.

“I'm in love with you.”

You watch him freeze and you take a deep breath as you look down at your connected hands. “i know this is really sudden but i cant hide this any longer. i think I've loved you since the second i met you and i cant keep continuing to pretend like I'm not. If you don’t feel the same that's fine we can just move on and pretend like this never happened.” you let out a fake laugh and a couple shaky breaths as you get off your chest your best kept secret. When he doesn’t say anything you look at his face to see his glossy covered eyes and red tinted face. “Please say something.”

You can feel his hands tighten around yours as he lets out a shaky breath. “I'm so in love with you i feel like i'm gonna throw up.” you laugh as a wave of fresh air washes over you, he grins and lets out his own laugh as a lone tear runs down his face. “fuck this is not how i thought tonight would go.” You don’t know how long the two of you were sitting there just laughing and smiling at each other but it was just so peaceful.

You end up cupping his face and he freezes his breath caught in his throat. “Can i kiss you?” “Please.” The kiss is soft and slow but its everything you’ve every dreamed of. His lips are as soft as they've always looked, he’s clearly inexperienced but you are too and you figure it out together. You feel like you’re not close enough to him, so you end up separating from him and he watches with wide eyes as you sit yourself in his lap. His hands quickly move to grasp your waist as he gulps, you can feel his hardness poking at you through your shorts and he lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to its just,” he’s quickly cut off with a moan as you pull him into another kiss.

You can feel yourself aching in your stomach, yet you can’t bring yourself to do more until you pull away from his lips. a long string of salvia that connects you two snaps as you begin to speak. “I want to go further, if only you want to.” His chest moves quickly up and down as he tries to catch his breath, he blinks rapidly as he looks at you with swollen lips, one of his hands moves to readjust his glasses. “I do its just, i don’t know what i'm doing.” the two of you softly laugh as you press your forehead against his and he lightly rubs his nose against yours. “I don’t know what I'm doing either, we’ll figure it out.”

His hands around your waist tighten as he places one last kiss on your lips before he stands, you squeal lightly as he keeps you firmly around his waist walking towards his room. “You could put me down you know?” He places a kiss on your cheek and you wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t want to.”

Once in the bedroom he lightly places you down on the bed and he stays standing up unsure of what he’s supposed to do. “do i like take off my clothes um.” You stand and the two of you look at one another. “Why don’t we both undress? or do you want to undress each other?” At your words his eyes light up and his ears couldn’t get any redder, he clearly likes the idea a lot so you grab his hands and place them on your shirt. “You can take it off.” He nods and lets out a shaky breath as he lifts your shirt over your head.

If you had known this was going to happen you would have chosen a cuter bra but you instead stand in your basic skin tone bra, heat rises on your face lightly with embarrassment but the look of amazement on his face has you feeling confident. You grab his hands once more and slide them to your waist where you help him tug down your pants and you stand in just your underwear in front of him. His mouth opens in amazement as his eyes dart all over you. “you’re so beautiful.” “shut up.” “im serious. you’re the most beautiful women ive ever seen. im the luckiest guy in the world.”

You place your hands on his neck as you place a light kiss on his lips. “you’re so sweet.” He shakes his head and his hands cup your face eyes full of love. “im only telling the truth.” Your hands move to the neck of his shirt and grip it. “Your turn.” His bright red face somehow only gets redder when you slide your hands down his chest to grab the bottom of his shirt and lifting it over his head. “when did you start working out?” He lets out a light moan as your hands drag down his stomach and rub around his chest. “when i moved here uhh the umm the complex has a gym.” You lightly um as your hands reach the waistband of his pants and you begin to toy with the elastic.

He expects you to take off his pants move back to sit on the bed but instead your hands goes inside the waistband to cup his budge from his briefs. The sound he lets out is not what you had been expecting, it sounds something closer to a whine as he questions you, “what are you doing?” You grin at him as his eyes dart all over your face. “Can i touch you?” He pants lightly as your hands already begins to move slight and he gulps. “shouldn’t i touch you? or umm oh i don’t know fuck please.” his head falls to your neck and he begins pecking light kisses on the skin there as your hand slips into his briefs and wraps around him.

He throbs in your hands, you lightly jerk him to see how he responds and you can hear a pleased moan as you continue to pump him in your hand using the precum that drips out of his tip as a lubricant you find a steady pace. He bites into the side of your neck and you let out a shaky moan as his grip tightens on your waist. you can feel wetness soak your skin whether it be his sweat or tears you have no clue but the only thing you can focus on his whines and moans in your ear. “you’re so good fuck fuck.” he must be getting close because you can feel him shaking but he suddenly grabs your hands and pulls them away from him as he pants.

“did i do something wrong? im sorry.” he quickly shakes his head, “no no of course not i just don’t want to um cum right now.” you tilt your head in confusion, why would he not want to cum? until he turns his head and even his neck has turned red and a light bulb flicks over your head and you let out an sound of understanding and grab his sweatpants to pull them down until they hit the floor.

you both stand face to face in just your underwear, you watch him eye your chest and you reach your hands up to unclip your bra. you slowly unclip it and he watches as it drags down your arms and you toss it lightly on the floor. you sit down on the bed and you motion for him to join you. he does and he warily watches your face for approval which you grant before he cups your breasts with a shuttered breath. You can tell somethings bothering him though, theres a look in his eyes that says somethings wrong but before you can question it he speaks.

“can i touch you?” its the same question you had throw at him but it gives you butterflies, you wonder if it had done the same to him. you spread your legs and he stares at the spot between your legs where you’re soaked. theres a huge spot on your practically ruined panties where you’ve begun to leak, theres even some residual wetness on your inner thighs. “fuck.” he licks his lips and looks up at you and your flushed face. “don’t get cocky jace.” he laughs lightly as his fingers press against your slit from the fabric and you let out a moan. he watches for your reactions as he begins to rub you through the fabric, “Jace, please.”

his fingers shake as they push the fabric aside and he touches your folds. “oh fuck you’re so fucking wet.” he just continues to rub at your skin, it feels nice but you both know you need more. “how many should i,,” he trails off, unsure of how to word the question. “two, just to start, you can add another when i tell you.” he nods and slowly pushes two fingers into you.

his fingers feel a lot better than yours do they're thicker and they're longer reaching a bit more than you can and your hands dig into his shoulders. “good?” you hiss lightly for a second as his hands wiggle lightly before nodding. “yes move please.” he quickly listens, pulling his fingers out before slowly pushing them back in methodically. He feeds off every sound you let out and moves quicker as your face contorts in pleasure. it feels good but its not enough and when you tell him he can add another he finger he looks at you unsure but when you reassure him its fine he does and the burn it adds satisfies the itch that you know can only be scratched once he’s inside of you.

when he pulls his fingers out before you can cum you whine but he just smiles at you “lift your hips for me.” you do and he slides your underwear down your legs exposing you fully to him. He takes a second to admire you before your eyes widen as he gets down on his knees, “i thought guys didn’t like that.” you try to tell him but he just shrugs, “i bet i will.”

he kisses you inner thighs slowly working his way up to your slit where he pauses before he lightly licks at your folds before pushing his tongue inside of you. your hand finds it way to his hair as he warily licks every drop of you he can get. when you tug at his hair he groans, you try your best to avoid his glasses which sit pushed up into his hair. Your face contorts with pleasure as you throw your head back. he’s messy and clearly unsure of what he’s doing but it doesn’t matter to you as he brings you closer to your release. you can feel your stomach burning as he suddenly pulls away and looks at you, he looks gorgeous with his hair a mess and his lips glossy.

“could you show me um where uh,,,” your brows furrow in confusion until you laugh and sit up. “its fine here.” you grab his hand and use his finger to push around inside of you until his finger presses against your clit and your moan. you suddenly fall back once again with your hands playing with your breasts while one of his hand plays with your clit and his other on your knee to keep your legs parted while he tongue works his way inside of you. you can no longer ignore the burning in your stomach as it becomes harder and harder to push down. “Jace I'm gonna oh fuck.” the grip you have on his hair tightens as you hiss when he continues to work you till you shake with pleasure and you essence drips into his mouth down his jaw and neck.

He shakily stands and licks his lips seemingly not caring that he was a mess. “do i-“ you pull him down on top of you and press your lips against him in a feverish kiss which he returns, “i want to be on top.” his eyes widen, “will that be good for you?” you nod rapidly eager to feel him inside of you and your eyes practically turn into hearts when he stands and pulls down his briefs, his hardness slapping his stomach you barely get the chance to admire him before he rummages around in his bedside table pulling out a clearly new box of condoms.

he struggles to open them slight with his shaky hands but manages to open it and grab one. when he looks back at you and your amused expression he looks down at the box with embarrassment. “Aegon got it for me. he was trying to tease me.” you grab him to sit on the bed and get him to lay back against the headboard while you grabbed the packet out of his hands. “then ill have to thank him later.”

you open the condom with your teeth before slowly sliding it down his length causing him to hiss and close his eyes to calm himself. the two of you look at each other as you sit up, “are you good?” he nods and lightly thanks you, “are you?” you also nod and you grab him to position him into your opening while he pulls his glasses back down to his face. with one last look you begin to sink down onto him.

you put your forehead against his and the two of you shudder with pleasure the lower and lower you get. once you get as low as you can go you pause and the two of you take a few moments to readjust. his glasses fog up as he catches your lips in his, when your hips move slightly up then back down he bites at your lip before throwing his head back and whines slightly while your mouth lulls open in pleasure.

You two find a simply rhythm with you moving up and down. sweat covering your bodies as the two of you sing in pleasure, his glasses are basically completely covered now with fog and you take them off his face before shoving your lips messily against his as his hands grip your hips to help you move up and down on him. the sounds of your skin slapping against each other and moans and whines fill the hot room. he throbs inside of you as he hits spots you've never been able to reach, your head falls into the cave of his neck neck as you feel yourself close. “Jace fuck you’re so good fuck.” he whines and bites your shoulder again “please cum please Jace fuck wanna feel it.” he cries into your neck as he nods, “i love you i love you so much.” “i love you too Jace.” when he feels you release around him it pushes him over the edge where he's shooting his load into his condom.

the two of you fall completely on top of each other in a sweaty sticky mess. you catch your breaths unable to think straight. no words are spoken for awhile until you sit up lightly and push the hair away from his sweaty face. “we should have done that sooner.” the two of you laugh as you peck his lips. “i really love you a lot Jace.” he beams and grabs his glasses to fiddle them back onto his face. “i love you too.” you hum and kiss his cheek. “as nice as you being inside me is i really have to pee.” the two of you hiss as you pull away and he sits up to watch you stumble your way towards the bathroom. he tosses the condom away and he stands to get a cup of water not bothering to put on any of his clothes.

he hands you a glass when you walk out of the bathroom and you chug it down before looking at yourself with disgust. “i need a shower.” “you can use it i don't mind.” you roll your eyes and slap his shoulder much to his confusion. “that's when you’re supposed to say then lets take one together dummy.” his face flushes for the millionth time that night as you walk away and sigh as you turn to see him not following you. “come on you’re not gonna leave me alone are you?” he downs his glass and quickly hurries to follow you as you giggle.

[vintagegeekculture]

I remember a friend of mine had some LPs that were Star Wars themed disco albums, and it brought back a very weird memory from back in the 70s (yes, I'm old!) of listening to a Star Wars disco mashup on the radio. What was all that about? I also remember something like that for Close Encounters, too.

You remember correctly, and this went on for a long while. In 1983, disk jockeys around the country played a record that involved an Ewok rapping the plot of Return of the Jedi in Ewokese. This made it to #60 in the Billboard Top 100.

This is hard to explain to people who weren’t there….but in the wake of Star Wars in the late 70s and early 80s, scifi was so beloved and mainstream that the orchestral music for nerdy scifi and fantasy movies about outer space were remixed and sampled into Giorgio Moroder-esque Italo-Disco dance numbers. And the most astonishing thing is, instead of being consigned to convention acts the way “horse famous” Brony dubstep acts are, this received national airplay on the radio, reached the pop music charts, and were played in discotheques. And incredibly, this continued for years and expanded from Star Wars into Star Trek, Wizard of Oz, Black Hole, Close Encounters….

All of this was the work of one specific person: Meco (or Dominico Monardo). The term “ahead of their time” is thrown around a lot, but Meco really was: a combination producer-songwriter and Italo-Disco pioneer in the style of Giorgio Moroder, he did several things that are now absolutely standard: he used remixes and sampling before hiphop made that standard for musicians, he wrote “fandom music” on a Moog synthesizer decades before Bronies turned their conventions into cringey dubstep concerts with songs like “Everypony Dance Now.”

It's stunning to me that Meco has not been rediscovered, considering every single trend in the culture essentially went his way.

The most startling thing about Meco’s Star Wars disco album, the one that got the ball rolling on this trend, is this: I always assumed it was some kind of cash in created by a record label mandate, a label executive’s completely cynical choice to hop on a hot new trend. That isn’t a crazy thing to think at all, since Star Wars is and always has been the most merchandized and sold out scifi property ever. But it wasn’t! You see, it was all the product of a single man’s specific vision: Meco had to convince his record label to make the record because they were skeptical.

When Meco went to see Star Wars in 1977 on Opening Day (what an experience that must have been) with his friend and fellow Italian chest hair/gold medallion enthusiast Tony Bongiovi, he was already an experienced producer-songwriter who had worked with Gloria Gaynor, Diana Ross, and formed DCA, the Disco Corporation of America. If you've ever listened to Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out," Meco actually played the trombone solo in that song. Seeing the Star Wars movie for the first time, though Meco thought the movie was nothing short of a religious experience. Originally, he wanted to do Star Wars music as a b-side on a Gloria Gaynor album, but expanded the idea into an entire album.

In Meco’s own words:

"When I think about what I did, nobody came to me, nobody said 'Meco, why don't you do this.' Nobody says 'Here's some money go make a record of this movie.' It was just my own... It was magical, it was just out of this world when all that happened."

Not only did this album hit platinum, not only did it actually outsell the Star Wars soundtrack, his remix of the Star Wars theme also went to #1 in the charts. It’s actually the best selling instrumental single of all time. A record, that, incidentally, it holds to this day.

Dick Clark, host of American Bandstand, had this to say about Meco:

"In 1977, Meco Monardo accomplished something no one else has ever done to the best of my knowledge. He was the first one in history to out-sell the soundtrack of a motion picture with his own distinctive version of a film's music. The music was totally danceable, and broke new ground. It's no wonder the STAR WARS THEME went to # 1. I loved his treatment of music from THE WIZARD OF OZ. Again, Meco created something innovative. The fun and the excitement gave a whole new feel to that totally familiar and well-loved music."

Like a lot of studio producers, Meco had an insane work ethic and hit when the iron was hot: he did an album about Close Encounters that exact same year, but also did a Star Wars Christmas Album, one of the strangest pieces of Star Wars kitsch around.

One of the most interesting things about the Star Wars Christmas album is that one of the songs, “R2D2’s Wish You a Merry Christmas” is the first professional vocals by John Bon Jovi, who was Meco’s friend Tony Bongiovi’s seventeen year old younger cousin (he was initially known as John Bongiovi). It's incredible to hear a squeaky voiced teen Bon Jovi on a kitsch album about a robot Christmas.

1978-1979 was really his best year. Meco made an Italo-Disco remix album entirely devoted to Superman, and at this point, Meco had the pull to get access to John Williams's sheet music for the score before the music even came out. In my personal opinion it's the best of them because he has to recreate it entirely with his own instruments, leading to a very unique sound.

He also did an album based on the Wizard of Oz:

And a combination album of Star Trek/Black Hole. It's probably the earliest remixing date of Goldsmith pieces of music: the Motion Picture Theme (which is now associated with the Next Generation - hearing it done in Italodisco is uncanny) and the Klingon Theme:

Incidentally, I think the design here of the Meco Enterprise, which had to be modified for legal reasons, would make a wonderful canon starship if anyone wants to be inspired by it. It reminds me of the same concept that would be used in the very next film for the Reliant-class of ships.

Meco eventually retired from music in 1985, but unfortunately he is no longer with us, as he passed into the next dimension in 2023. I think he showed us that creativity is often about transformation, and was inspired to make his art by a legitimate awe of space, the cosmos, and human imagination that the scifi movies of the 1970s and 80s provoke.

[diremoone]

“how i wonder” | r. sukuna

it’s been ages since he’s celebrated any sort of birthday or holiday. but here he is, with the girl that’s best friends with his little brother, at her apartment with Chinese takeout and watching a Halloween movie on Christmas. and it’s nice, until the power goes out and he’s left with his own thoughts.

part one | part two | part three

w — modern! au, fluff, age gap, older man/younger woman, Sukuna is 36 & Reader is 22/23, slowburn, pining (on Sukuna’s end), Sukuna thinks too damn much in this one but he’s so intrigued by reader he can’t help it haha, celebrating Christmas solely to feel happy and not lonely (sorta; on both ends), this was originally named “snow sparrow” but then was unhappy with it lmao, and many other tags I may have forgotten lmao

[ divider credit @/inklore ]

A man as wealthy as him shouldn’t be seen outside of the fancy home and set of cars he owns. His bank account is big, too big to be standing in the elevator of a simple apartment complex. Although the place is nice, he thinks. It’s not older than him and dilapidated and run down like some awful things he’s seen, nor was it built fresh and fancy and made to be super expensive. It was simple, and a despite liking the finer things in life, he found the simplicity rather… nice for a change.

This was only half-scheduled: meeting you at your place for the holiday. You’d been with Yuuji for a final essay assignment before the school break. Nothing major, just helping him edit grammatical errors and fix his repetitive word usage. That was two weeks ago; two weeks have passed since you made an offhand comment about “two bored people being bored together” for the the holiday.

Sukuna would never deny he wouldn’t outright admit it either that his little brother living with him brought something great into his life: a woman that he enjoyed challenging him, bringing him a new sense of vigor for life beyond the seven sins he was accustomed to.

His hands seem to be sweaty, though he’d like to think it was because of the several bags of Chinese takeout in his large hand. His left? Probably from having his phone in his hand too much. Yeah, that sounded right. He has no reason to be nervous. Why should he be? No need to dwell on it any further.

He passes by only maybe four or five people on his way up to your apartment that’s on the top floor. The few people he does encounter don’t meet his gaze; instead either intimidated or dumbstruck by his monstrous height and imposing aura and can only make a quick glance at him, probably wondering what such a person like him, especially as big as him, was doing in such a simplistic, plain apartment complex.

Sukuna eyeballs the door numbers, even on the left and odd on the right. Yours is four doors down on the right, 407 if he remembers correctly.

No, he remembers perfectly. Why wouldn’t he?

Sukuna knocks twice and readjusts the bags of warm food in his other hand. He catches himself shifting his feet underneath him like a nervous schoolgirl and almost cusses at himself, had it not been for the tiny metallic click of a lock.

You seem surprised, bewildered slightly that he’s really standing in front of your apartment door. Like you hadn’t actually expected him to take you up on the half-joking offer of spending the holidays together as two “lonely people.” You’re essentially a deer in headlights.

But a beautiful deer in headlights.

He can smell the subtle scent of lavender from you, a smell he hadn’t expected, but was certainty… entranced by it, and with a hint of something fruity mixed in there as well. The soft, navy blue sweater leans slightly more off of your left shoulder, revealing the black bra strap underneath. The black leggings you’re wearing make images go through his head that he’s tried to keep in behind the doors of his office and bedroom. You don’t even have to wear makeup, even try in the slightest to look as beautiful as you do. You’re natural, and you’re not afraid of it. You’re already confident in your own skin, even at your younger age. And heavens, does he love it.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.” Just like he thought. “But come on in. That’s smells good.”

Sukuna doesn’t get to see the cartoon cow slippers you’re wearing until he’s taking off his own shoes at your front door. His mouth quirks up in a small grin.

Adorable.

“Food can go on the table,” you say, gesturing to the low, long and flat coffee table in front of the couch. “I’ll get drinks. Sorry if you don’t like tea, but that’s all I got.”

“That’s fine.” His voice sounds almost foreign to himself as he stands in an unfamiliar place. But at the same time, he thinks it fits. Like he belongs here in this simplistic but nice apartment of yours, here with you having dinner and spending- You know what, he can stop thinking for a moment and focus on the present.

He’s in deep thought as he takes in the expanse and decor of your home further. It’s nice, definitely nicer than what he expected. His eyes take it all in, but finishes when his eyes land on the cute little Christmas tree tucked away in the corner beside the door to the patio, with tiny, glittery ornaments twinkling as the interwoven, multicolored lights shine against them.

God, you’re almost too cute.

But he couldn’t help but wonder for a small moment how you were faring expenses for this place, alongside groceries and going to school most of the time.

“You must manage your finances well to live here,” he hums.

“I’m not as dirt poor as I used to be, I’ll say that,” you reply. “But even then, being stingy will always be ingrained into my DNA.”

“Even if you have the world at your feet?”

You point to him with the index finger wrapped around your cup of tea, smiling. “Keyword: always~ World or not, the bare necessities are fine for me.”

He swallows down what your words do to him and tries to keep a straight face. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the way you inadvertently say you’ll always feel like you’ll never have anything to desire or genuinely want outside of pure necessity. Sukuna doesn’t like how natural it sounds, how uncaring you are towards wanting more than what you have now. He knew you were like this somewhat, but not to this extent. It makes him… a little angry.

So, now he knows the diamond necklace he bought you won’t be received like he wants it to be.

Guess I’ll have to save it for another time, he notes tactfully, watching you settle the food on the table and hop onto the couch and get comfortable.

The ambience of your home is a change of pace Sukuna didn’t know he needed. Until now.

He’s a giant, giant man, so he takes up most of the couch, even with it being relatively large in itself. You don’t seem to mind however, with the way your feet are barely a centimeter away from touching his leg.

“Any movie or show preferences?”

“Anything but Yellowstone.”

You snort. “What do you have against Yellowstone?”

“Dialogue’s too goddamn fake.”

You toss your head back and let out a boisterous laugh, giggling like a madwoman.

“So, the Powerpuff Girls then?”

“You’re not five.”

“Everyone has an inner child.”

Sukuna grumbles. “Just put it on fuckin’ Yellowstone.”

You throw your hands up in mock surrender, right hand only a few fingers lifted from holding the remote. “How about… Squid Game?”

“For a Christmas show? You’re weird as hell.”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

Sukuna chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ll let you decide.”

The spooky movie is ultimately what you choose, and Sukuna finds it nothing short of amusing. He’s not fully interested in the movie, mostly interested in you and the quirkiness that made you choose such a movie on a day like this. His eyes flicker between you and the movie, watching you munch down on the lo mein.

It’s been ages since Sukuna has allowed himself to indulge in relaxation, allowed his mind to think of absolutely nothing but the childish movie in front of him that was picked out for him.

One would think a man like him would let his attorneys and the supervisors directly underneath him do all of the thinking for him while he bathed in his own riches. Sukuna did, yes; he used to. But he knows that one step too far into indulgence could mean the end of everything he put all of his blood and sweat into. And that was why he was so involved in his business, rather than let someone else handle it.

But here he was: indulging himself. (But it wasn’t the same as being on a yacht with women somewhere in the Caribbean.) Perhaps the difference was it wasn’t indulgence of sin, but rather the indulgence of peace and quiet; the desire for more than the company of a one-night stand.

You certainly deserved better than any sort of degrading, essentially whore-like treatment the women he used to be around were given and treated themselves as. You were nothing like them, not even slightly; you would never willingly to jeopardize your morals and dignity, not even for a chance to be with someone like him, as wealthy as him. That kind of interest was on the back-burner. As much as he hated it, he respected it just as much.

Sukuna half-watches the movie as he eats the takeout, not having seen it since one of his first girlfriends as a teenager introduced him to it. It was never important, never intriguing enough for him — nothing but a waste. But now, since you chose it, now it was enough for him to watch it. He finds he enjoys Jack Skellington, amused by his desire to take over Christmas Town. He also feels some sort of similar between him and Jack, regarding Jack’s interest in Sally and him… with you.

“You want a refill?” you ask suddenly, drawing the man from his thoughts. Sukuna looks down, seeing that he was almost out of the tea. Had he been so deep in his own thoughts he didn’t know he’d been sipping away at the drink? He almost scoffs in disbelief.

“If you don’t mind,” he replies. But he figures he’s going to need to use the restroom soon.

“Bathroom’s first door on the left,” you say, getting up after pausing the movie. He’s dumbstruck for a moment. Were you a mind reader?

Sukuna watches you in the reflection of the television. Even just refilling the drinks, you manage to enamor him. You seem so poised, yet so uncaring that someone of his status was sitting in your living room, watching a corny Halloween movie for Christmas. Perhaps being so uncaring went hand-in-hand with how poised and calm you were? There shouldn’t be any other explanation than that.

But why? He wondered what made you unlike the other women, even ones at your age that were nothing but a flustered mess at the mere sight of him. Why weren’t you the same?

He excuses himself to the bathroom and makes it quick. He sees the bottle of lavender body wash, then notices the shampoo, conditioner — the fruity smell he inhaled earlier. With a quick glance, Sukuna sees no perfume either, which perplexes him.

There’s no way she could possibly… Sukuna ponders, but doesn’t finish the thought. And all of a sudden, the lights flicker, hard. It’s something that’s been happening for the last hour or so, but it’s been something he’s ignored until now.

Sukuna ambles back into the living room, seeing the lights dim just as hard as a few seconds ago. Your still in the kitchen, but narrow your eyes slightly at the darkened lights.

“I didn’t see this place as having bad electricity,” he hums, sitting to face the TV, continuing to watch you in the reflection.

“It doesn’t,” you reply. “I suspect the snowstorm’s fixing to get bad enough to knock the power out soon. Now would probably be a good time to leave. I can still see a few snow plows out.”

“I’ll pass,” he replies coolly. “Besides, two cold and lonely souls are better than one.”

He doesn’t know why you let out a tiny snort and giggle, but you do. (A little flower of pride wants to bloom in his chest.)

You lift the lid to the slow cooker and stir. The smell of chocolate reaches his nose after you seal it.

“It’s almost done,” you suddenly speak, “if you’re done watching my reflection in the TV, would you like some hot chocolate?”

Busted. Sukuna knows that he’s now the deer in headlights; his heart thumps harder in embarrassment like a schoolgirl’s would.

“How sweet is it?”

“I’ve no idea. I fucked around with the recipe, so we’ll just have to find out.”

A sudden click is heard, and all the lights fade instantly. It’s completely dark, pitch black almost that neither you nor Sukuna can see in front of yourselves. He moves to stand, but you interject. “Sit, please. I don’t need your big ass knocking my shit over. Nor you getting a concussion.”

Sukuna laughs. “You have it covered then?”

“Could walk this place if I was blind,” you joke with a small snicker.

He watches you find four different candles to light up your apartment, one each for the kitchen and bathroom, and two for the living room. You disappear into your bedroom down the hall for a few moments, then you come back with a surprising, heaping mess of blankets hiding your form from nearly head-to-toe.

“Help me, please? Don’t let it fall on the food.”

Sukuna stands and his big arms wrap around the bundle of blankets, lifting them from you with ease. You pluck one from his grasp and quickly put it over the couch for extra warmth. You’re not about to freeze your ass off with him here.

You get under the blankets fairly quick. It takes nearly two king-sized ones you’ve had tucked away to cover the colossal man that is Ryomen Sukuna.

“Think the food is still warm?”

“Barely.”

“Are you gonna finish the lo mein then?” you ask.

“You can have it.” He half wishes he hadn’t eaten before he came so he didn’t seem so… uninterested in the food.

You have absolutely no shame devouring the remaining food as much as you possibly can in front of him. You eat as much as you can, but there’s still enough of the food left for him if he wants it. It just a matter of it getting cold, you think.

The temperature drops faster than you anticipate though. When you chuck the empty box of noodles into the trash from the living room (you made it, huh, that’s weird) a gust of wind rattles the patio doors, seemingly almost shaking the foundation of the complex. You hear a hum of surprise from the older man next to you as you huddle under the covers more. You shudder from the onslaught of the cold.

Sukuna sighs heavily. He pulls his arm from the blankets “Come ‘ere.”

He almost laughs at the blanched expression on your face. But after a few moments, you cave, scooting yourself closer to him until you two were practically touching thighs.

You squeak as he lifts one of the blankets with one hand and you with the other, trapping you under the second layer.

You shake your head and snort. “God, you’re shameless.”

Sukuna belts out a boisterous laugh. “Shame has never come easy for me.”

You scoff playfully. “I’m sure it hasn’t.”

“Nor does it for you,” he retorts.

And then you admit something that’s going to be on his mind for the rest of his time here. And perhaps for days after this, too: “Mine is more of a learned habit.”

Another gust of bitter cold shakes the patio doors again. You shiver. “Jesus, I didn’t expect it to get this cold.”

“Or for the power to go out.” He huffs. Like second nature, for both of you, he pulls you closer, and you lean into his massive body, taking in the heat his body.

Goodness, you think, closing your eyes, he’s a furnace…

Today certainly hadn’t gone as he expected. The last thing he was anticipating was a snowstorm blowing out the electrical system for several cities, snow falling several good feet and keeping him in the apartment of the woman he’s fallen for.

But you’re what is consuming his mind.

You’re on his lap, eyes closed and resting your head on his chest. You’re so small. Regardless of height, virtually anyone would be smaller than him; he’s a behemoth of a man, yes he knows it.

You, compared to him, are simply tiny, like a bird in the hands of a giant. So delicate, so small and cute. But as delicate as you are, you’re not glass. You’re small like a sparrow, but at the same time you desire freedom, using your wings to fly wherever and do whatever, regardless of how hard life would make your wings have to flap. Your soul isn’t easy to chain down… It’s beautiful.

“Does your brain always run a billion miles a minute this late?”

He grumbles. “Sleep, would you?”

“Your brain has no depth, does it?” you say. Then you ask, “Are you even okay with me sleeping on you?”

“If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be in this position, would we?”

You yawn in reply, nestling your head comfortably on his torso. A small “okay” leaves your lips, and you seemingly have no problem steadying your breath and falling asleep against his chest. It’s nice, being that way for a good few minutes. Well, until you prove you’re not asleep like he thought.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Sukuna almost jumps and cusses, “Goddamn it.” You seem to know that you’ve startled him and laugh in return.

You keep conversation easy; although the two of you talk anything but what is on his mind. That’s not something he’s ready for. He’s still sorting out his own feelings, seeing if they’re beyond just being enthralled with you and your personality. Seeing if what he’s feeling is just high intrigue for you as a person, or whether what he’s feeling is going to lead to something more, beyond intrigue and fascination.

Because he knows that you won’t be able to stay forever. He knows that you, your soul, isn’t going to be easily bound by just anyone. He knows that you want to be unbound, he sees it in your eyes and hears it in your voice; he sees the desire to live freely in the way you carry yourself, the way you act and behave. But holy shit; does he want to be the one to change that.

You carry conversation easy, but eventually you fall asleep on him. The hot chocolate in the slow cooker is forgotten, but he’s sure it’ll be just as good in morning.

Sukuna, as he closes his eyes, wonders about the things you want. Where you’d want to go and the things you want to do. That kind of talk, however, is reserved for a time where there’s a deeper connection between the two of you. It’s reserved for a time where your walls are down and you’re no longer on guard, no longer having your walls built higher than heaven and deeper than hell.

For now, you two are two lonely souls celebrating Christmas, cuddled up to one another for the sake of warmth and nothing more during a sudden blackout.

It would be ludicrous to wonder if you’ve ever wanted to be loved and cherished, married to someone that would cradle your head and tilt it back to kiss you with the utmost devotion a human heart could give.

Now wouldn’t it?

a/n: I know that this is slowburn and everything, but it feels… superbly subpar? pls let me know if you guys think otherwise. this went about 85% of the original plot I had in mind so that’s a plus haha. I have full intent of picking up a bit on the romance aspect (of reader beginning to develop feelings) of this series in the next chapter, which briefly takes place after this one (I promise there’ll be at least one kiss)

—

taglist: (basically everyone that rb’d and commented on the first [for those that tagging worked on] ;; closed)

@vagabond-umlaut | @poe-daydreams | @thedovahqueen | @lotus-n-l0ve | @chiyoso | @miraclecherryblossomsblog | @unbreakableblueheaven | @marscatbutler | @vanillabloo | @wo-ming-bai | @visionsofmagic | @tohsri

[izzabela]

Could you please write about earthrealm reader gets talked into by a few of the other champions to go back to outworld and when she does, she finds Syzoth at the entrance and spends the day with him and before she leaves he asks her to stay with him bc he loves her and wants to be with her?

Inter-dimensional Love - Syzoth x fem!reader

in which Syzoth falls for you at first sight

a/n: something something syzoth would be such a devoted husband

ship[s]: syzoth x fem!reader

warning(s): none, post kanon

"No, I'm not going!" you squeal behind your dorm door. Kung Lao and Johnny are trying to push in, though, shoulders ramming into the door.

"Come on, dragonfly!" Johnny draws your name out. "You have to go! No one'll be here since it's everyone's shooting day for my moooovieeee!"

You groan, weighing your options for your weekend plans. Yes, it would be great to train alone, even better without your idiot friends around. But, you're alone- and to be fair, it would be pretty fun to see the creative process of Johnny and his movies.

"Move out of the way," you tell them from the door. You can hear them step away, and you take this time to grab a little crossbody bag to shove some essentials in.

Opening the door, your hands are on your hips. Johnny is full on grinning, and Kung Lao is immediately behind you to push you to the portal.

"Finally! I am no longer a victim to Johnny!" he cries happily, and you roll your eyes playfully as you're being led.

You (joyfully) endure bickering between Johnny and Kung Lao before finally meeting up with Raiden and Kenshi. Raiden waves while Kenshi gives a nod of acknowledgement.

"Good afternoon, are you joining us today?" Raiden asks, and you sigh as you shrug.

"I was drugged and dragged out against my will," you feign depression and mimic a helpless maiden. Kenshi chuckles.

"As much as I hate shooting, Outworld is a beautiful place," all of you walk through the portal. "Just remember that it's temporary, and that we are just guests."

You nod, and the image of the maple trees and greenery of the temple transforms into white ceramic stone, beautiful blue skies, and foreign greenery and shrubs not known to you. It was intoxicating, Outworld mimicking a strong liquor that one gets addicted to.

In front of you, a woman in yellow and silver stands proud, along with other similar-looking women. A woman in blue and silver is present as well, and a man dressed in all green with lizard-like tattoos stands to her side.

"Welcome back, Earthrealm champions and warriors," the woman in yellow announces. "Though, I do not recognize you. State your business."

You gulp, explaining carefully to make sure you say the whole truth. How you were chosen as a champion, but due to your inadequate skills, you were benched for more intense training. How you avoided filming because you did not take part in armageddon.

"Basically, dragonfly over here won't do nothing but buzz, buzz, buzz," Johnny finishes for you, and you smile awkwardly.

"Accepted. I am Tanya, leader of the Umgadi, the Empress and the Princess's personal guards. Outworld welcomes you with open arms," her smile is cordial, but it isn't unkind.

"I extend my welcome to you as well," the blue woman steps forward. "I am Princess Kitana, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army." You bow in response.

You turn to the man in green, who just stares at you intently, his pupils growing narrow and his iris's taking over.

"Will you not introduce yourself?" you ask carefully. Both women look at the man, and the green-clad man only moves when Kitana gently nudges his shoulder.

"Ah! Apologies.... I am Syzoth, Royal Emissary to the Imperial Crown and to the Zaterrans." You nod, though your eyes still linger over him.

As Tanya leads the way again to the palace, you take in the surroundings of Sun Do. Once reaching the opening from the portal entrance of the city, you guys hop in a carriage, taking the scenic route to soak in the city.

You and Syzoth are paired together with Raiden and Kitana. You're not really sure where the others are, and not like you care, when you whip your phone to take photos for your friends and family to see.

"What... is that?" Syzoth asks, his face practically over your shoulder as you turn your head to meet his gaze.

"I-it's a cellphone," you answer bashfully, cheeks warm at the proximity. "I have not been here before, so I would like to cherish it."

Kitana removes her mask, her face scrunched up a bit as she also asks you some questions.

"Are you not here for the movie shoot? With Johnny?" she asks, and you shake your head before answering.

"Kung Lao and Johnny wouldn't leave me alone when it came to me coming to see Outworld. I caved, so now I'm here." Raiden shakes his head in disappointment, and Kitana chuckles lightly at the anecdote. Seems she knows Kung Lao and Johnny well enough that something like that would happen.

"Princess, if I may," Syzoth speaks. "I would like to show her places not just in the palace." Kitana quirks a brow as she flicks her leg over her knee.

"You will have to ask Tanya about this," she states. "Why the interest, Syzoth? She is here for the shoot..." You interrupt them.

"I mean, not necessarily. I don't mean offense when I say this, but I may be bored just hearing Johnny yell 'cut!' over and over again." Kitana flashes a smile in amusement.

"It can be tiring... Very well. When we arrive to the palace, you may explore the city with Syzoth," Kitana rests her hands in her lap again. "Just do not be separated under any circumstance."

You both nod, and you can't wait for the carriage to stop at the palace steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once at the palace's staircase to the doors, Kitana immediately informs Tanya of the change of plans. Surprisingly, she does not reject the idea.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact your fighting skills lack.

Regardless, Syzoth immediately takes your arm and drags you around the bustling capital. The area closest to the castle is where the wealthy live. Huge, white stone buildings tower over the clean streets, and many of the stores are similar to the boutiques you see at home.

"This is where people in the court, merchants, or wealthy business owners live," Syzoth explains as the people wave and smile at you and him.

"Normally, they are not this kind to outsides. But, since you are with me, it is... manageable," you frown a bit, but you still take this time to look around and take pictures.

"You are nice, though, Syzoth," you offer a kind rebuttal. "Johnny talks about how adorable you can be sometimes."

Syzoth can't help but feel warm in his cheeks too, and behind him his tail is out and wagging. You look behind as well, and you cover your smile to take in the image of a grown man's tail wagging.

As you two walk, you don't realize that the crowds have grown a bit bigger, and there are definitely more people around. You can smell different foods in the air, different spices and herbs on sale, not forgetting the pungent smell of meat as well.

Voices shout in the distance, you can hear babies crying and children laughing too. The sizzle of oil on a hot pan, and the faintest sounds of music creat a harmonious symphony of natural bustle.

"This is the heart of Sun Do," Syzoth announces. "I prefer to stay here more so than the upper side of the capital."

"Why?" you ask.

"It reminds me of Zaterra, Zikandur province up north."

You listen to Syzoth talk about his life as a Zaterran shifter, how he was bullied and practically exiled. How he lost his family and friends, then gained some, and how his people look to him as a hero.

"And you? What is your life in Earth and Earthrealm?" he asks. You laugh nervously as you try to talk about something else.

You speak about your life as a training champion, how you work at a coffee shop, and how your life is incredibly mundane when not training or on missions. You mention your family and friends, and you show him pictures of them too.

"Beautiful..." Syzoth breathes, but he isn't looking at the pictures- he's looking at you. You turn away, hands cupping your face as you try to hide the obvious flush on your cheeks. However, Syzoth is trying to find your face, leaning over closer and closer to you.

"F-Food! Let's get food!" you exclaim, taking his wrist as you drag him to the nearest stall and push him in front to order food for you. You watch as Syzoth carries your food on a stick, and he carries a bag of... black chips?

"What is that? Chips?" you reach in to take one, and Syzoth is oddly excited.

"I did not know human can stomach insects and bugs," Syzoth said excitedly as he grabs a handful of his "chips". The insect is in your hand, but you turn to him with wide eyes and tears forming as you mumble a "what" out.

Syzoth sets his food down to try and calm you down, causing a little scene as your tears fall gently and slowly. His hands are calloused and slightly rough, but it's somewhat soft as he coos you and flicks your tears away.

"I did not mean to scare you! Please eat your food, it will make you feel better," Syzoth tries to calm you down, and you laugh wetly as you take a little bite.

Once calm, Syzoth loops your arm in his as you two walk together as he points out different spots in the heart of Sun Do.

He points out the spot where he helped Johnny and the others in escaping the General and Reiko. He shows you his favorite stalls for fried bugs and all things insects.

He also points out where he stays when he is not on emissary duties, a little room that's part of a huge building of small rooms. Kind of like an apartment complex.

You don't even notice the time pass, your only indication being the that the sky was now a dark navy, silver stars illuminating your scenery up above.

And another thing, Tanya and Kitana find you guys sitting together on a bench in front of the once busy street.

"There you two are," Tanya huffs. "The shoot has finished, and we are ready to escort you all back."

You and Syzoth nod, though you notice that Syzoth frowns a little more than smiles.

"The carriage awaits us, let us be on our way," Kitana says, hand out waiting for your acceptance.

You walk back with Kitana and Tanya as Syzoth sinks a little behind you three. You tell the princess and the guard of your experience, and how you wish to see more in the future.

The conversation continues on the carriage, and Kitana asks questions about Earth. Honestly, they were quite silly: questions about magic users, if people live long, and other childish questions.

Once at the path to the portal, Syzoth gets out first and comes to your side, hand out as a help for you to get down. You smile, stepping down gently as your eyes linger on him for a bit.

As you and your friends approached the portal, you can't help but look back continuously at Syzoth. Something about him made you want to stay- not go home.

"You comin' or not, slowpoke?" Johnny asks as the others walk in the portal. The words are stuck in your throat, trying to find a way to explain to them your change of mind.

"I think... I think I'll stay here. Just for another day," you say as you turn to look at Syzoth.

Syzoth is beaming, and he pulls you close to him as you and him run off together towards the carriage. Before Kitana, Tanya, or Mileena could say anything, Liu Kang interrupts.

"Let them be," is all he says, accompanied by his kind, signature smile.

You'd be back home, just... not at this very moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i wish syzoth was real

anyways, see yall in the next fic!

[dailyrothko]

Hi! I was wondering if you had any opinions on the play Red by John Logan? Really admire the Rothko work you do!

First of all, thank you.

Secondly, I think I maybe in a weird position to critique this. I have read almost everything written about Rothko that I know exists. All the books, all the articles I could find and all the interviews I can put my hands on where people who knew him talk. I actually have you guys to thank for this because until this blog got popular, I didn't know much about his life other than the basics. But, feeling some responsibility to my "Audience" and chosen subject, I tired to educate myself in this niche.

Because of this, one naturally forms a picture of the person in your head based on these collected impressions. I think most people don't really know much about him, at least until recently.

I am thankful that the play was an entrée into the art for a lot of people. Like the Rothko episode of Mad Men, many people are brought to awareness of the Rothko through these other mediums and I think that's really cool.

The thing though is that John Logan wrote the movie Gladiator, and you can tell. I see nothing bad about that kind of drama, it just doesn't jibe with my impression of Rothko, While Rothko was sensitive, upset at times, neurotic and opinionated, careful and studious, but he was not this bellowing pontificator that I feel is represented in the play. Again there's nothing wrong with making a drama of it, it's just something that I divorce from Rothko's actual character. I used to have a job reading movie scripts for an actor and you find a lot of common devices people use to make the drama effective, and I feel Red uses a lot of those to good effect. Every play or movie I have ever seen about an artist takes the task of making a largely internal process, external enough for the audience to become engrossed in.

Rothko was sensitive, well-spoken intellectual man. Many of his friends speak of his great tenderness and generosity towards them. The play seeks to pit him and his assistant as two poles of the art world, the new encroaching on the old. Again, fine as a dramatic device but Rothko painted alone, and he talked about painting to no one, ever. Anyone who knew Rothko says he never discussed his art. So any conversations in the play are entirely fantasy.

So, basically I think the play is entertaining and hopefully gets people interested in the art, but I wouldn't take it like a biography of Rothko! And that's really my main point, not to knock the play but to point out the differences between fact and fiction.

Here's some context:

"When I've seen my father portrayed, I've sort of winced, because it doesn't sound like him or come across like him. He was a very warm, humorous person, I remember him telling me silly stories as a child. - Kate Rothko

"As I see him, he was a very loving, essentially feeling man. He was loving and lovable. He liked to put on a rough show. I mean he liked to talk tough. He presented to me a softness. And I was full of my Oriental, religious view of things. I never attempted to talk to him about it because he didn't respond to it. I took it that it was his concern with the world which was from boyhood because of his parentage and finding the same ugliness and stupidity in the art world as in the world that made him so convinced that life wasn't worth living." -Wallace Putnam

Mark is often presented as off-putting; however, he really was quite warm, nurturing and could be very funny." - Regina Bogat

"(Rothko had) a genuine charitable impulse. It grew out of real sympathy. I don't think it was a put-on in any way, nor for self-aggrandizement...there are numbers of cases in which while he was alive he helped persons and always anonymously. He never wanted it known, nor did he ever talk about it." - Stanley Kunitz

*forgive typos, my brain does not see them until weeks after the fact

[bennie-jerry]

My Beef with Wanda Maximoff - An MCU Rant

Sorry not sorry, I will ride the Wanda-ain't-shiitake train till the wheels are worn out. I do not care what her fangirls say. And if you're legitimately going to be so overly offended just from me disliking a FICTIONAL character, I highly suggest you click off, make some tea, and watch a Ghibli movie.

How many times does it need to be said? Just because someone suffers from some form of (small or big) trauma, IT DOESN’T GIVE THEM A PASS TO DO EVIL SH—

I really REALLY sincerely hope there's lore or bits I'm missing here (and if so, PLEASE tell me because I WANT to be wrong so BAD). But from what I know and remember, I feel as though I have every right to be disgusted with who Wanda is as a person.

It frustrates me so much how this carmine-colored narcissist will whine about people being scared of her, but she does stuff only a scary person WOULD do.

Purposefully setting the Hulk off so you could use him as a wrecking ball on innocent civilians in Johannesburg during Age of Ultron? Seems scary as heck.

Literally warping the universe itself to hunt and kill a teenager who did nothing to you during Multiverse of Madness? Seems scary as heck.

Brainwashing an ENTIRE town JUST so you can live in delusion about your man not being dead during Wandavision? Seems DOUBLE scary as heck.

Don't even try to defend what she did in Age of Ultron. Even if she supposedly didn't INTEND to have civilians killed, she sure as HECK didn't seem all too sorry that it happened. She wasn't ‘regretful’ that she did it. She was only ‘regretful' when Bruce confronted her on it. She has the nerve (the utter AUDACITY) to hate Tony Stark for the same CRAP that she does (if not worse, which let's be honest—it’s worse).

At least Tony Stark DIED out of an effort to save everyone, whereas Wanda usually tends to only help others when it benefits HER.

Wanda is nothing more than a Multiversal brat with a god-complex and no one can tell me otherwise. If something does not go 100% her way, she completely acts out and throws a reality-warping tantrum.

“Oh, but she tried to fix everything in Wandavision!”

Yeah, only after finding out she was BRAINWASHING people!

How the FREAK do you reality warp an ENTIRE town (especially at the large radius she used her magic) and expect NO one to be under mind control? Would you NOT try to fly around the premises to see if ANYONE else was there?

Once again, even if this was an example where she didn't INTEND for it to happen, then that proves another great flaw that she has.

Wanda hardly (if ever) thinks through her actions. And then when her actions bite her in the butt, she has the nerve to be surprised. Wanda almost never (and I'm being generous here) considers how her actions harm or affect others until it turns around and affects HER.

She did not deserve Vision, he was too good of a man for her, sorry not sorry.

Just the stuff she did BEFORE Multiverse of Madness ALONE is enough to not like her.

Let's not even get into the fact she never ACTUALLY apologized to Bruce Banner for everything she put him through. All she said at most when he confronted her is, “I know you're angry…”

Oh wow, REALLY? I couldn't POSSIBLY understand why Banner would EVER be angry at you for essentially brain-raping him (going into his mind and memories without his CONSENT) and using his worst fears against him to trigger Hulk so you could use him like a personal killing machine, further lessening the very few support systems he already HAD. She should feel grateful Banner didn't immediately throw her through a wall upon seeing her.

“But she became an avenger and helped them in Endgame!”

I could not give less of a DOOKIE about the fact she did that. Wanda fighting Thanos was literally the ONLY option she possibly had if she didn't wanna turn into dust along with the other half of the population. Sure, she also did it because she was forced to kill her boo BECAUSE of Thanos, but let's be honest—she would've had to fight him regardless. Her handing Thanos’ butt to him (while a very cool scene) doesn't prove JACK about her character.

The fact she ever BECAME an avenger after effectively traumatizing the MAJORITY of them is mind-boggling to me.

“Oh, I'm sorry I weaponized all of your traumas against you for my own personal gain because I wanted to work with a genocidal robot, can I join you guys?”

“Sure, Wanda! Come into the team and we'll pretend like you didn't do a darn thing!”

(The fact this isn't even ALL that she's done is absurd, I can still keep going—)

Don't even get me STARTED on Multiverse of Madness. And before anyone tries to say, “She did it so she could have a reality with her children!”

BRO, HER KIDS WEREN'T EVEN FREAKING REAL—

Wanda Freaking Maximoff wanted to murder a TEENAGER all for some children that were not even ACTUAL people. And when she did have them, didn't she make them FIGHT against the military in Wandavision or am I mistaken (which I VERY MUCH hope I am because what the he---)?

I do not care whatsoever what her reason is or what trauma she went through. Attempted murder of a minor (ESPECIALLY in this case, a minor who didn't even do anything) is inexcusable to me.

There is no way in frog fingers you guys are ACTUALLY trying to justify and/or downplay a grown ADULT trying to murder a CHILD (because that's what America was—a CHILD).

(Her and Miguel O'Hara would get along GREAT, when's the collab--)

And by then, she had ALREADY brutally murdered a whole bunch of people and probably corrupted the multiverse even FURTHER than she already had.

It wasn't until an ALTERNATE version of her (who ACTUALLY had her kids) told her to sit the [BLEEP] down (I'm paraphrasing here, but you get my drift).

Wanda is NOT a victim. Is she a good villain? Yes. But this witch isn't a victim. Not anymore at least. She doesn't apologize for her actions. She doesn't take responsibility. She doesn't reflect on what she does.

And even when she DOES finally do ANY of those things in ANY capacity, the damage is already done. In fact, it's not JUST done, it's also BURNT inside the oven causing smoke to go everywhere.

There is no rhyme or reason you could pull out that will convince me to be anything short of angry with this character and I'm so tired of her fans trying to defend her just because she was a lab rat and lost her man.

Once again, it's not bad to like a character that does awful stuff. But please, for sanity sake, STOP acting like they're a lost little angel BECAUSE you like them. I know they say "hurt people hurt people" but that still doesn't justify doing bad stuff just because bad things happened to YOU.

[detectivestucks]

Friday Night Fights

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summery: Work is getting stressful and during your weekly hang with Kakashi he finally unleashes all of that stress on your body.

Warnings: NSFW, Hard Dom Kakashi, Degrading, BDSM, Body Piercings, Squirting, Oral, Unprotected Penetration

Word Count: 5.7k

Anon Ask

Running the metal ball along the roof of your mouth, you play with your tongue piercing while you think. You’re reading over the files your team gave to you for revision. It’s near the end of the fiscal year and you are desperately trying to concentrate. Now that you were a team lead, you had more responsibility than you wanted. You really only took the promotion for the pay. Looking over at the stacks of paper in each corner of your desk, you remember how fun it was last year when you were a normal agent. Responsible for nothing and just having fun working with your two friends.

Three years ago you started at your current job. During your training class you made fast friends with Rin and Kakashi. The three of you spent all of your breaks and meals together. After the second day, you exchanged numbers and made a group chat specifically for your inside jokes about management. Then by the end of your first week your trio started a weekly ritual of hanging out every Friday for what you dubbed ‘Friday Night Fights.’

Each week you rotated who’s house you went too. The host being responsible for the evening’s food. The other two, responsible for the entertainment. Usually it was a movie or some kind of game. One of your favorite nights was when the three of you played twister. Rin had to reach her right foot to red and ended up sweeping your leg causing you to fall on top of her and accidentally hitting Kakashi’s face on your descent. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more angry than when he thought his handsome face might’ve been blemished by your loss.

“Relax pretty boy. Women like scars”

Eventually though, life caught up with you. Kakashi switched departments and you got a promotion within your current one. Rin found a job in her field and you saw her less. Now she only comes to Friday Night Fights once a month, if that. Most of the time it was just you and Kakashi. The games became less frequent and Netflix began to take its place. The vibe shifted from wholesome fun to a flirty standoff between the two of you. Unsure if you want to cross the line from friends to more, even though you were definitely slipping down that slope already.

The last few weeks Friday Night Fights was essential for both you and Kakashi cause work was such a pain. The end of the fiscal year was upon you and there was a lot of pressure to close every project your team had been working on. The final profit report was due and your budget for the next year had to be submitted and reviewed.

Kakashi’s department was just as bad. It didn’t help that he was always going toe to toe with his boss cause she never did the projects correctly and always relied on him to fix it for her. She refused to listen to his advice ahead of time and only seemed to need his opinion a week before anything was due. The helplessness drove him mad.

“She literally dropped the same stack of reports on my desk that I told her last week needed to be itemized! Now I have to sort through two hundred accounts and pull up the breakdown of the services rendered by next Thursday!”

“Why don’t you come back to my department?”

“Cause I don’t wanna lose the pay. It’s not like they’ll give me a team lead role after a year of being in another department.”

“True. Maybe you should just take Val’s job.”

“Seriously. She makes me wanna choke someone out. How did someone so irresponsible become a senior manager anyways? It pisses me off.”

“Nepotism probably. Or maybe she slept her way to the top.”

“Har har. Wish I could sleep my way to the top.”

“Have you seen yourself? You definitely could.”

Kakashi shoots you a look. “Val’s manager is a guy.”

“And you could turn ‘im.”

Kakashi playfully smacks your ass while you finish cooking in the kitchen. You were craving strip steak so you splurged a little this week.

“What’s the occasion anyways?”

“The occasion is called self care. Work sucks this month and we still have a week to go. I wanna treat myself. Just count yourself lucky that I included you.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have shared.”

“I don’t know, I’m a pretty selfish person.”

“Oh please, you're literally the nicest person at the company. You can’t say no to anyone.”

“Hey! I can say no.”

“Psh, yeah right. You’re a textbook people pleaser. That’s why you’re so stressed.”

“Maybe I’m stressed cause my best friend is making wild accusations.”

“Wild?! Hello Y/N, meet delusion.”

“Fuck off!”

Kakashi slaps your ass again before pushing himself off the counter to go look for plates.

“Can you grab the fancy napkins out of the towel drawer?”

“You wanna use cloth napkins?” he says in an almost mocking tone

“Yes. It’s been a shitty week. I wanna be fancy. Sue me.”

Kakashi nearly rolls his eyes as he grabs the restaurant quality napkins from the drawer. You wanted to be fancy yet he knew for a fact you wouldn’t be eating at the table. You plate the meal and grab your ‘fancy’ glass of boxed wine before heading to the living room.

The two of you sit on the couch and eat the potatoes and steak while Kakashi turns on “10 Things I Hate About You.” He always was a sucker for chick flicks which was one of your favorite parts of his personality. You find yourself leaning against him after your plates have been discarded to the coffee table, cleaned of their contents, napkins on top.

Near the end of the movie Kakashi gets a text. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and the title of the sender says ‘Val my Boss’ ‘Bitch’

Come in two hours early on Monday to get started on those invoices

Kakashi closes his phone without responding and throws it down on the couch.

“Everything okay?”

“It wants me there two hours early on Monday”

“That sucks! She’s the worst.”

“Fuckin sick of her”

“On the bright side, you get overtime pay.”

Kakashi scowls at you. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

You nuzzle into him some more. “I was just trying to cheer you up. You don’t have to be annoying about it.”

Something in Kakashi snaps. He turns to grab you. Fingers closing around your throat, “Don’t call me annoying. Didn’t anyone teach you that name calling was rude.”

In your surprise, you felt a jolt of excitement between your legs. You let out a little whimper and the sound was so gratifying that Kakashi lifted his fingers lightly just to regrip your neck and squeeze harder. He shifts his weight so he is fully facing you, leaning inches from your face.

“Maybe I need to teach you some manners.”

You silently nod as you look at him, eyes getting lost in his, excitement coursing through your body. He pulls you forward by your neck and kisses you, immediately shoving his tongue in your mouth. You moan. Your hands fly up to his hair, lightly pulling at the soft tresses. Kakashi mounts you, straddling you so you can’t run from him, not that you would. One hand on your throat, the other behind your head, pushing your face against his.

The heat between you had been building for the better part of a year. You had been imagining this moment for a while but never did you picture him choking you. It must’ve been your lucky day cause the choking was leaps and bounds hotter than any scenario you had imagined.

You push your tongue past his lips and rub your piercing along his inner gum line. Kakashi groans into your mouth, gently nibbling on the muscle between his teeth. You playfully flick the ball of your piercing along the roof of his mouth. He squeezes your neck harder and leans back.

“Shit Y/N, that’s fucking hot.”

He goes back to sucking on your bottom lip while you nibble on his upper one, each getting toothy with the other, slowly starting to pull on each other’s hair more with each passing second.

Suddenly it occurs to you that you might be ruining your friendship and things could be weird after this. You don’t wanna lose your best friend.

“Wait Kash, should we be doing this?”

Kakashi leans back, taking his hands off of you. For a millisecond you regret your words. You want this. You want him. Why the fuck did you stop it? But then you see him reach for his belt buckle and you exhale. You see him undo the clasp, pulling it out from the loops of his jeans.

“I’m so sick and tired of women telling me what to do.”

He wraps the belt around your wrists and tugs at the excess length, lifting your hands up and behind your head, elbows bent at the ears, his arm behind your back as his other hand comes up to your jaw. In a menacing tone he smoothly leans in to give you a piece of his mind.

“How about for once, one of you shuts up, and do what I tell you to do for a change?”

The question nearly knocks the wind out of you. You can feel your underwear soak. The sternness in his voice made you instinctually slip out the words,

“Yes sir”

You part your lips and he's back at them, playing with your piercing before you push it back into his mouth to keep running the metallic ball along his interior. You really were a textbook people pleaser.

The hungry moan from his mouth falls into yours. You want nothing more than for him to spend hours here in this very position but it’s not up to you. It’s up to him to decide how long you are to receive his lips. Which to your disappointment, is not very long.

He gets up off of you and yanks on the end of the belt so that you are forced to lie down on the couch. He slips his hand out from under your back but your body weight on the end of the tether keeps your hands in position. He’s on top of you once more and you can feel his erection through his pants. Your eyes shift down to gaze at the bulge when he distracts you.

Kakashi reaches for the hem of your tight tank and pulls it over your head so that your face is trapped under the fabric. He pulls up your sports bra allowing your chest to fall out of the support. You hear his growl as his eyes fall on your tits. To his excitement you’ve been keeping a naughty secret from him. Each peak lay trapped between two black cones. You had pierced your nipples as well as your tongue.

“Oh I’m gonna have fun with you.”

Oh gods I hope so…

Kakashi dragged his tongue tantalizingly slow over each bud. They were more erect than usual from the hauntingly beautiful man kneeling over you. He lapped at your right nipple, letting his lower lip catch on the jewelry earning a gasp from you.

“F-fuck Kashi.”

Grabbing your breasts with both hands, Kakashi went back and forth sucking on each peak, tugging on your piercing, then blowing cold air on the wet tip before switching over to the other. Your back arched up towards him involuntarily. You wished you could have watched him play with you but instead you were trapped in your own shirt waiting for Kakashi to let you see.

When Kakashi started biting down on your nipples you moaned loudly at the pain. He was enjoying your piercings too much. They already made you more sensitive on a daily basis and now he was out to torture you for his own fun. You started to squirm under him and he slapped down on your tit.

“Ah”

“Be still”

He barked, but he didn’t actually want you to be still. He just wanted to see your internal struggle. He wanted to wreak havoc over your body the way his bitch of a boss was wreaking havoc over his life. For once he was in control and he loved it.

You rubbed your legs together, the arousal you felt was too much. You craved relief.

“Kashi” you whine

“Fine slut, here.” he switched your legs so instead of being under him they were wrapped around his waist.

“Grind on me and make yourself cum.”

You obey, glad to get some alleviation from the flood of need consuming you as his muscle continues to glide over your peaks, tugging and rubbing on the black hardwear. The sensation in your nipples tingling down to the nerves between your legs, rubbing heavily on Kakashi’s lap. You push into his clothed erection, creating heat from the friction. You feel the desire building as you get reprieve where you need it. Little gasps and moans generate under the shirt, as your core works to roll your hips up and down on him.

“Mmmm, keep going little slut. Show me how much you want to get fucked.”

He tugs particularly hard on your nipple as you try to reply

“Gahhh! Yes sir.”

He wished he could see how your face scrunched up as he played with his new favorite toys but there was just something so sexy about you being trapped in your shirt. It made him want to take advantage of you. Like you were some pathetic weakling, waiting for him to destroy you.

You grind more desperately, feeling close to a release. Kakashi begins to mark your chest while his fingers pinch and play with your nipples. He was driving you insane. Your mind clouding as your hips frenzied up and down along the bulge in his pants. Breath becoming labored as you frantically chased your orgasm.

Kakashi released his lips from your skin, satisfied with his artwork but fingers still playing with your tips.

“That’s it. I know you’re close. Show me how much you want me to stuff you.”

“Yes! Yes sir, yes!”

Kakashi was so tempted to grab your hips and finish the job but he held himself back. There was plenty of time left to manipulate you. This was you earning it. To keep his hands busy he brought one back up to your neck, bearing down on your windpipe while the other found the belt, giving it another tug to keep your hands under your shoulder blades.

You slowed your strokes making them big and heavy, tugging your lips through your pants and soon he could feel you shiver against him.

“Did the little slut make herself cum?”

“Mhm” you whine under your shirt.

“Good job” he praises with another swat to your chest.

Kakashi begins to rip down your pants, spitting on your pussy before giving it a wack of his palm. He then pulls the neck of your shirt above your face so that it is still binding your arms together but now you can at least see.

He stands up and begins to shed his clothes. You watch, mesmerized by his towering figure. His work at the gym was yielding mouth watering results and you couldn’t stop yourself from gawking. You wanted to lick between each muscle and leave bruises all along his abdominals the way he marked your tits.

“Lets put this mouth to better use, hmm?”

You nod, looking up through your lashes at him.

“On your knees, whore. Now!”

You slide off the couch to stand up on your knees before him. He pushes your head down to his balls for you to collect them in your mouth. You stick your pierced tongue out to pull them into where they belong while Kakashi strokes his freed boner violently.

You fit both orbs in between your lips and suck, running your pink muscle all over them, massaging them with the stainless steel ball resting at the center of your tongue.

“That’s right. You’re nothing more than a good mouth for sucking on my nuts.”

You hum in agreement and feel Kakashi’s balls tighten as you do. “Fuck, just a perfect little slut. Yes you are.”

You loved his praise. Your eyes closed as you savored the taste of him. He ripped his balls out of your mouth and replaced it with his pink tip. You looked him in the eyes while you worshiped it. Giving light kitten licks before wrapping your lips around it. That’s when you noticed. He had been keeping a kinky secret from you too. Your lips run over a dydoe piercing on the top rim of his mushroom head. Your eyes widen.

“You like?”

You nod your head keeping him inside your mouth. You suck and begin prodding at his slit with the tip of your pointed tongue before rubbing it with the ball in your mouth. Kakashi shivers from the feeling.

You start to take more of him in your mouth, keeping your tongue out so that the round stainless steel end massages his shaft as you bob up and down on him. You can feel the small silver studs adorning his rim rubbing the back of your throat and you can’t wait to know how they feel inside your empty cunt. But you don’t get to enjoy these musings for too long. Kakashi places both hands on the back of your head and starts ramming himself down your throat. You choke and he holds you there. Keeping you down on him. The drool in your mouth starts spilling past your lips.

“That’s a good girl. Keep my dick in your throat.”

Your face was turning bright red as you waited to breathe. Finally he pulled you back. You gasp and pant, swallowing what oxygen you could before he was shoving himself back in.

“Eyes open, I want you looking at me.”

You obey as he bullies your throat. His hands in your hair tilting your face up so he can gaze down on you. Drinking in the feeling of power, having you down on your knees before him.

“You gonna be a good little slut and service my cock, right?”

You try to say yes but it comes out muffled. “Huh? What’s that? I couldn’t hear you.”

You try again but he deliberately starts thrusting in and out of your mouth. “Speak up if you have something to say.”

You try to say yes again but now he is freely fucking your face, ramming himself down your windpipe, while he pushes your head towards him. Hissing from the feeling of your tongue ring at the base of his shaft. He had never thought about how that stupid little steel bar in your mouth could be so useful to him. Now he may never stop thinking about it.

“Good girl.” he coos, “Don’t forget to look up.”

You try but then he pushes himself extra far and your eyes snap shut as your core tightens. You think you’ve had about all you can take when he finally pulls you off of him and spins you around so your face lays on the couch with your feet planted on the ground, displaying your holes to Kakashi’s leering eyes.

He immediately goes to swat at your lips dripping with arousal. The sound of impact is loud as you cry out.

“This cute little pussy is for me, ey?”

“Yes!” you cry.

You want him in you so bad. You need to feel him fill your hole the way he filled your mouth. You are eager to feel just how good his piercing rubs your walls. You wiggle your behind, asking for him to enter.

“You think you deserve a reward for taking my cock in your mouth so good?”

“Please sir”

He brings the palm of his hand down hard on your rear. “You don’t get rewarded for doing the bare minimum.”

Your skin stings from the blow but then it’s washed away from his tip prodding at your entrance. He teasingly enters only half way, stroking you lightly before pulling out and striking you with immense force again. As you cry he reenters you, deeper than before. Stroking in and out hearing your moans before he pulls out again and strikes with even more force. You feel like your skin is burning when he plunges in all the way. He thrusts in and out quickly making you sing before he rips out of your tightening hole to strike you several times. He repeats the brutal process, taunting you.

“You think you’re special just cause you can take a dick? Ha! You’re just a little whore.”

You reply with cries and screams, noises falling out of you from the beating.

“You think you’re special cause I chose to shove my dick in you? Think again slut. You’re just a toy for my pleasure.”

Your skin felt like it was on fire. Your knees grew weak from the game. It felt too good but he was edging you. Giving you pleasure but pulling out and hitting you before you could get off.

He unwraps your wrists and finishes taking off your shirt and bra. He throws them across the room and loops the belt around your neck, tugging on the end like a leash. Your fingers desperately reach up to the leather.

He holds onto the belt while shoving himself into you, taking you from behind like the little sex doll that you are. He rails through you pushing your organs aside while tugging hard on the belt, letting it constrict around your throat as your back bows. Nothing but grunts make it past your lips as the backs of your thighs collide with his hips. With his free hand he keeps hitting your plush behind, watching the ripples wash over your skin.

Your hands find their way to the couch cushions for support but he doesn’t like that. No, you’re not helpless enough like that.

“Spread your cheeks”

“Yes sir” you whisper

You reach behind you and spread your fingers before sinking them into the flesh of your behind, tugging outward so Kakashi could get a full view of your puckered rear and his wide girth gliding in and out of your labia. He groaned at the sight of your beautiful submission. Reveling in the feeling of how much tighter he had to hold the leash now that more of your weight was resting on your neck.

You choke as he wraps the belt around his knuckles. A reminder that you are no longer in control. At work you were in charge of so many daily operations but at this moment you were at Kakashi’s mercy. You were relieved of any choices. Your current master made them for you. Even the choice to breathe had been stripped away and that thought made juices squelch around his member invading your silken cavern.

Kakashi thrusts into you, abusing you, taking out all his pent up frustration on your body. He sees your starting to go limp and lets up on your tether, opting to grab you at your elbows instead. The improved grasp on your body allows him to slam in more forcefully and hit you even deeper than he did before.

Now that the tension had fallen from your neck you were able to properly breathe again. You begin screaming from the new depths of Kakashi’s dick in your slit. Feeling how his ring was massaging you in his assault, dragging along your walls as they squeezed around him.

As much as he savored the sounds of your surrender, he couldn’t have your neighbors checking in on you so he grabbed one of the napkins from the coffee table and stuffed it in your mouth, gagging you so as to muffle your cries. You couldn’t help how noisy you were. The stimulation was just overwhelming.

Thinking it couldn’t get more intense, he shoves you forward so your knees fall onto the couch. He grabs your hair and pushed your face onto the back of it, while reaching around your waist to begin rubbing your swollen bud. He begins stroking again and you feel yourself unravel. Your hands go to grip the couch again when he yanks on your hair to bring your ear close to his mouth.

“Did I say you could let go of your ass?”

You shake your head and bring your hands back behind you. He shoves your head back down and says,

“Grab your elbows. This ass needs some punishment.”

You whine, knowing your bright red skin can’t handle any more spanking but that isn’t your decision to make. You fold your arms behind your back and hold onto your elbows, bent over the back of the couch, your erect nipples grazing the upholstery. He lifts a foot onto the couch, posed as Captain Morgan so as to keep himself inserted as he brings his hand down on your cheek. He feels how you clench up in pain, straining around his girth. It eggs him on as he continues spanking your backside. You flinch and cry but he knows you like it. He feels how you drip. Slick coating your inner thighs.

“Only a whore would enjoy this so much. Tell me, are you a whore?”

You scream into the napkin as he brings his hand down again.

“Answer me!”

You try to scream ‘yes’ but the fabric has you silenced. He snatches it out from between your teeth as he strikes you again.

“Yes!! Yes I love it sir!”

He shoves the napkin back in, satisfied with your answer.

“Fuckin knew it, filthy slut”

With a final slap he pulls your hips back so you’re lined up along the edge of the couch. He stands behind you, one hand digging into your hip, the other still tangled in your hair, burying your face into the back cushion of the couch.

He drags in and out of you slowly, taunting you. Each time coming out to the tip so your ridge feels the metallic studs tug at it. Then he buries himself up to the hilt, pushing in just a little more when he’s flush against your rear. Satisfied moans come from your chest.

He drops the hand on your hip and brings it back to your clit, rubbing circles around it. You squeeze around him and flinch. He leans down,

“Do you like when I rub there?”

“Mhm” is all you can say before he releases your hair to take hold of your hips. He starts driving in. Both hands now placed on the flesh of your waist, pulling you back into him harshly with each thrust. He gains speed, the momentum causing his balls to crash into your clit, replacing the work his fingers were doing. Your face melts into a pleasured expression as you feel that coil of tension, that had been building since his earlier edging, on the verge of snapping.

His brutal pace left his sack crashing into your clit relentlessly. Your face bounces against the cushions until you finally release. You spray as you shake, graffitiing the couch with your fluids, the tingling warmth of the orgasm radiating from your cunt.

Kakashi pile drives into you, not letting you rest, allowing his balls to continue slapping into your swollen, wet clit as you spray, making your jerk violently. He grabs your hips tighter, keeping control of your body so he can continue to pound into you. You scream and writhe, trying to escape his grasp, almost letting go of your elbows to push him off.

Your sensitivity was all consuming and he didn’t care at all. You were a toy, a fleshlight, poised to service him. He was going to take advantage of how tightly your walls were bearing down on him, even if it was uncomfortable for you.

Your cries fell on deaf ears as Kakashi sank himself into you. He pushed you forward on the couch more, making room for him to kneel behind you. He brought up one knee and lifted your leg to rest on top of it, spreading you when you were already too tender to take any more. The new angle deepened his access, allowing him to push your diaphragm out of the way as he chases his pleasure.

You were brilliant. Your sweaty slick covered body contorted to his every whim. The look of your fucked out face turning around to plead with him for mercy where none would be granted. How the napkin was wet around your lips from the drool collecting in your mouth. The bright red on your ass cheeks from taking a beating by his hand and the perky peaks of your tits, rubbing along the couch’s fabric. The cones of your piercings, threatening to snag, tempting his hands to toy with them again.

One hand planted on your hip, controlling the pace, while the other reached up and began groping your chest. He was obsessed with your nipples. The piercings were too enticing. As much as he loved the current position, he needed to see your tits.

He withdrew from inside of you with a loud squelch and pulled you down to the floor, your bare back making contact with the area rug below. You brought your knees up near your arm pits, holding them spread as Kakashi sunk his tip past your folds, stroking in and out of you passionately while his hand roamed the surface of your chest, playing with the bars piercing your buds. You make doe eyes at him as he does, making him smirk with pride. Maybe this is his new Friday night ritual with you. You spread your legs while he plays with your tits.

He bends his head to give them both a harsh suck before he adjusts your legs to go over his shoulders. You hands wrap around his neck as he starts to slam into your corridor. You scrunch up from the intensity. Your head burying into Kakashi’s neck before a particularly cruel snap of his hips had you flinging your head back, nails sinking into the skin at the base of his head, your back arching off the carpet before he leaned forward, bending you in two. He was close to finishing, pounding feverishly into you. The last of his stress melting away as he wrecks your pussy, shredding the inside, rubbing it raw, filling it with his precum. His anger turns to pleasure. Teetering once more on the brink of orgasm. He leans in even more and you fall over the edge, gushing around him, cum dripping from your folds and down your ass crack. Your mewls are muzzled by the napkin still stuffed in your mouth as mascara runs down your sweaty tear soaked cheeks. You are the picture of wrecked and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Just as he’s about to burst he rips the napkin out of your mouth and grabs a fist full of your hair to drag your face to his cock so he can shoot his heavy load down your throat. You stick out your tongue and hollow your cheeks to pull as much cum from his shaft as you can, feeling it rhythmically spring to the back of your throat. His salty taste filling your mouth.

When he’s done, you hold the suction and bob your head some more. He flinches but you grab his waist, getting revenge for his earlier brutality after you squirted. He fists your hair and pulls back forcefully.

“Nice try slut.”

You smile up at him, feeling fully fucked out. Smiling back down at you, he kisses your face. He pulls you up but only to push you back down on the couch so he can lay on top of you and sloppily make out while he plays with your nipple piercings some more. You sleepily wrap your arms around him, drained from his pounding. 

“I’m spending the night.”

“Yes sir.” you whisper in your ear.

“Don’t get me riled up again. I don’t think you can take a second round.” he murmurs into your ear before kissing your temple. You ignore him and wrap your legs around his waist, grinding against him with your bare sex.

Stopping you before he gets carried away, he stands up and throws your body over his shoulder like a nap sack. He hoists you up to your bathroom to shower. 

After turning on the water he fingers you under the spray, pinning you against the wall and toying with his new obsession. Your already very weak knees are unable to hold your weight as they quake in pleasure. His digits bury themselves inside you, scoping out the damage done by his length minutes prior, feeling how he tore and scratched you. 

After making you cum a third time, fourth time total, he washes himself off. Then scrubs down your weakened form, being extra gentle around the rug burn on your back as well as your very bruised and beaten bottom.

Turning off the water and drying you both, he pulls your exhausted body to your bedroom, grabbing panties and a fresh tank top from the top drawer of your dresser. You slowly and sleepily put them on as he goes to get his briefs from the living room. When he returns he sees you try to put on pajama pants.

“Absolutely not.”

You stop in your tracks as he strides over to swat at your hand. He kicks the bottoms aside for the crime of trying to hide your beautiful body and takes posession over your mouth. Kissing you as he guides you backwards onto the bed. You climb in together and pull the covers up over your bodies while you wrap your leg over his hips. You sleepily grind on him with your eyes closed, sucking on his face, feeling wiped out from how he ravaged you.

He tickles your ear as he whispers, “You realize you’re not allowed to wear bras anymore.”

“I’m not?” you dreamily ask between kisses

“No” he replies with a pinch to your nipples through your shirt. “I need to see these at all times.”

“I can do that”

“Good slut”

You laugh into his mouth, continuing to kiss him. Excited for next Friday.

Masterlist

[martialartslover7]

Unpopular opinion incoming: ...Why do NaruHina fans even like The Last?

Unironically, I really want to know why, because, I am a huge NaruHina shipper myself, and even still, this movie never fails to aggrevate me in the worst way possible, even now, not even getting angry or anything, but... I just feel empty. I feel nothing. Not even the kiss made it worth, and I am HUGE sucker for sappy romances from time to time. Hell, I am a romance author, as a hobby. But this movie, it legit felt like, I just wasted my freaking time. That's a far worse sensation than getting mad, because, I just got nothing smart to say about it.

So, let me get this straight, and I am pretty sure, I am speaking of behalf of anyone that even remotely supports these two as one: The series NEVER making Naruto acknowledge Hinata's confession, was just damned moronic, even from a writing standpoint, because, yeah, in Japanese, it can mean two different things when you say "I love you", I know that, it might just mean "I love you as a teammate", but honestly, considering that NaruHina, by this point, was always meant, even according to Kishimoto, in hindsight, not acknowledging this moment for years to come, until the movie had to speak up about it: You lost the plot. If it was always meant to happen, why did you write it in a way as if Naruto straight up ignored everything she said?

And listen, I know, Naruto is a really delayed mofo, but the movie tried to paint it as if, "Naruto is a dense idiot, who isn't in touch with his own feelings, so you have to put him in a Genjutsu to """see the depths of her feelings for him"""", but honestly, to me, this just felt like a really convenient excuse to just regress Naruto as a person, just so the ship can happen, essentially, "guilt-tripping" him into going, "Ohhh, Hinata always had feelings for me, I didn't notice, even though she risked her life". Again, again, again, none of the events would even bother me so much, if it weren't for the undeniable fact: Somehow, during Shippuden, they tried to make it seem "ambigious", by not addressing her confession, EVER. Like, almost as if, Sakura was meant to be "the final option, because of Kushina", but it was clearly bullshit, and the movie wasn't subtle on that front either. But then, WHY WASN'T IT BROUGHT UP? WHY DID NARUTO NOT SAY ANYTHING?

And before any of you stupid motherfuckers are going to accuse me of being a "closeted NaruSaku shipper", I am not. These two simply wouldn't have ever worked out in the long run, for one thing, because I am not a fan of this trope, of the girl always needing to use violence, on an already traumatized individual (not to mention, that being played for laughs, which also rubs me the wrong way, especially in regards to comic relief characters), and him just going with it, which, by the way, isn't very realistic at all, as to why Naruto never got cross with Sakura at one point or another (one can of worms, I want to talk about some other time), and secondly, c'mon now, look at these two. They are more siblings than anything. As if, two different halves and shades of Kushina live inside the two of them, individually.

Not to mention, why are you NaruHina fans so comfortable with pardoning bad writing, brushing it off as if it's "deeper than you think"? Because, I just can't see it any other way, both Naruto and Hinata were frankly OOC in this movie, considering, this is all supposed to take place after the war. I can forgive Naruto being an idiot, who is slow on the draw, but straight up going "he is just dense", is frankly retarded, considering, we are talking about the equivalent to ninja Jesus Christ with him here, who basically loves everyone like family (safe for the villains), but then comes Hinata, he confesses first, but somehow "he is dense"? Why do we even need a fucking Genjutsu for all this? Doesn't he remember a person he truly loved like her, of ALL people? So we are left with having to rely on made-up flashbacks, which never even happened in the original series (only in Shippuden, late-game), and a contrived plot device, that comes in the name of "Otsutsuki"?

On that note, I really do not like what this movie did with Hinata. Look, "Toneri was messing with her chakra", even if that were true, it doesn't change anything, because it's still an excuse to make her another damsel in distress for Naruto to save. I get it, Hinata is not like Naruto in that, she bears his battle attributes, but sheesh, man, are you really fine with regressing her back to the Genin, who can't even run down walls to save her life? This is a mess, I really cannot approve of this, Hinata is way stronger than that, and we all know it, this just isn't acceptable to me. I want my couple dynamic to be evenly distributed to feel absolutely comfortable.

And this is acceptable to you all? I call it, for what it is: Terrible writing. Stitched together with convenient excuses, just to have the ship happen somehow, in an artificial way, despite having criminal lack of shared screentime together, non-canon content excluded, by the way (I am sorry, I have to be consistent here).

With all this knowledge, the movie comes off as a truly cringeworthy attempt to try appeasing to us, who love these two together. The sappy music, the "larger-than-life" presentation, the overt reliance on spectacle, rather than substance, is just making this experience even worse for me.

Peace.

P.S.: This is just my silly, personal opinion, if you love this movie, more power to you. But to me, this is one of those pieces of media that genuinely make me feel miserable.

[spacequokka]

Say My Name | 09

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader Genre: Fluff, Smut Rating: M Summary: After you've chosen them over your job, Kyungsoo makes sure you feel loved. Word Count: 4.4k Warnings: soft hard hours, dry humping, fingering, breast play, vaginal sex, editing at the last minute because I overslept

I listened to Rain and Moonlight while writing. Enjoy!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Maybe you could have worded things better, but luckily Kyungsoo had been by your side to help you explain things to the guys. Once they understood that you weren’t moving out, they were quick to rush you with hugs and kisses, beyond grateful for the chance to try things out. A quick game of rock, paper, scissors declared Jongdae and Jongin as the cleanup crew while everyone else retired to the living room to watch whatever someone found on Netflix. As usual, you found yourself in a sandwich on the loveseat, this time Chanyeol and Baekhyun.

Minseok chose an action movie, insisting on a Jackie Chan classic. Rumble in the Bronx. The conversation was light as you all actually paid attention to the TV this time. Chanyeol tucked you against his side and relaxed allowing Baekhyun to cuddle into your other side. Before you knew it, the movie was over. Someone made a comment about beating someone else’s ass in Smash Bros, and controllers came out as the shit-talking intensified.

“Well, that’s my cue.” You peeled yourself off the loveseat, ignoring Chanyeol and Baekhyun’s pitiful pouts. “Gonna go shower while I can.”

You stopped by your room to pick out a change of clothes along with your essentials. The noise in the living room got louder by the time you made it to the bathroom. You were tugging your shirt over your head when you heard the door open and shut. Hands pulled at the shirt and you yelped when you saw Kyungsoo’s face inches from your own.

“Soo! What are you doing?” You held your shirt to your chest and he chuckled.

“A shower sounded good to me.” He held up his hands. “I cooked, remember? You moved faster than I could think to ask if you’d let me join you. I’ll behave, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Though you were a little self-conscious about it, you bit your lip and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Though, I planned to wash my hair so I might hog the water for a bit.”

He shrugged and began undressing. “It’s fine with me.”

You took a deep breath and forced yourself not to think about it. He didn’t care. He wasn’t looking at you like that. You turned the shower on then continued yanking off clothes. The second you were completely bare, you stepped in. The warm spray of water felt amazing on your tense neck and shoulders. You rolled your head slowly as you massaged every muscle you could reach.

Kyungsoo stepped in behind you. “Want me to try?”

You nodded, low-key grateful for the offer. He poured some of your shower gel into his hand and lathered up. His touch was nothing short of magical. You had to lean against the wall to keep your balance once you closed your eyes and just let him take over. You jerked when you felt yourself leaning too far and his hands flew to your hips to steady you. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Let’s wash up and get out.” He touched your cheek when you looked over your shoulder at him. You started with your hair, wetting it then adding shampoo while he grabbed a loofah. He washed his body while you gave your scalp a good scrub then rinsed the suds out. The silence between you while you washed was comforting, reassuring even. You wouldn’t mind showering with him in the future. Once you were sure the shampoo was out, you reached for the conditioner, but Kyungsoo gently pried it out of your hand. “Can I? Please, _____?”

Admittedly you were a little apprehensive about it. You hadn’t let anyone touch your hair in years, convinced no one would give it the same care and patience you did. You took great pride in your hair and to allow anyone else near it like that meant you trusted him. Did you trust Kyungsoo? You bit your lip then sighed. Of course you did. Despite your apprehension, the process went smoothly. He was patient and attentive to your instructions and even asked questions for clarity. It was a level of intimacy you’d never had with another person before. You were able to shut your brain off and simply enjoy the sensation of his fingertips massaging conditioner into your scalp as he hummed a song you couldn’t quite name.

Soon enough, you were out of the shower and helping each other dry off then getting dressed. He took care to help you get your hair in a towel, working as if he’d done it a thousand times before. He was the perfect gentleman, eyes and hands never straying too far. There was a tenderness in his actions you hadn’t felt until then. It made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, content and surprisingly at ease. Once you both brushed your teeth, he took your hand and led the way to his room.

“We have time to hang out before it gets too late.” He flicked the light switch on and the room was bathed in a soft mellow light. “I might do some light reading.”

“Because reading is better than staring at your phone?” You snickered as you climbed onto his bed. You’d washed his sheets and comforter plenty of times before but not once had you ever sat on it. It was incredibly soft, like sitting on a cloud. “Oh, wow.”

He smirked at you as he went around to the other side and pulled a book out of the drawer of the nightstand. “What? Did you expect me to sleep on a slab of concrete or something?”

You shook your head. “No. I knew it was a good bed, but this,” you pressed into the mattress and watched it slowly rise again, “this is heavenly.”

His cheeks lightly flushed with color as he shrugged. “Well, you’re welcome to sleep here whenever you want.” He kicked off his slippers and leaned against the headboard. “Anything of mine is yours.”

“I could never take advantage of you like that.” You flopped back onto the pillows and sighed. “My bed will do for now.”

He leaned over you with a frown. “How would that be taking advantage? I was the one that offered.”

“I know, but you’re getting nothing in return.” You looked away and swallowed hard before finishing with, “Isn’t a relationship about balance?” Seconds ticked by without a response. When you couldn’t stand the silence anymore you looked up at him and found him with a dopey grin on his face. “What?”

His hand crept across his lap to your cheek, where his thumb gently brushed against it. “This is balance. You’re giving up your comfort zone for me, for all of us. I think unrestricted access to the best bed in the building is fair trade.” He pressed his warm, soft lips to your brow and whispered, “Thank you.”

You didn’t know what to say to his tender gesture. His kiss created a ripple of goosebumps over your body. It was an odd feeling but not unwelcome. When he pulled away and picked up his book, you were tempted to follow and snuggle into his side. You were allowed to do that, right? Would he mind or would it be a distraction? You could easily get your phone and play some games or scroll through your socials—

“Come over here.” He wiggled his fingers and you smiled, barely containing a giggle. You were at his side in a second curled into him like he was a blanket with his arm around your shoulders, chin resting on top of your head as he looked at the book. “Ah, here it is.”

He got comfortable and started reading. His voice was a soft murmur as he pulled the story from the pages. His warmth seeped into you, and before you knew it, you were fighting sleep. He took a peek at you and chuckled.

“One sec,” he whispered reaching somewhere behind you. A warm, weighted blanket covered your body and he settled down again. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” His little smile was everything to you. As he continued the story, you adjusted your position and ended up resting a hand on his chest, just over his heart. Your ear was pressed against his chest and you heard his heartbeat clearly. It was a steady rhythm that was both soothing and reassuring. He pressed a kiss to your forehead just as your eyes closed for the night.

When Kyungsoo felt your body sag against him, he marked the page with his bookmark and closed it with a contented sigh. He’d never be able to fully express how relieved he was everything worked out. As he reached over and cut off the bedside lamp, he recalled the conversation they’d had about you before coming home. The conference call had been a pain to work into their schedule on top of securing privacy for everyone in their different locations.

Yet they’d made it work, just like they were sure to make this work with you.

He pulled the blanket over his legs and scooted in closer allowing you to rest your head closer to his neck where he brushed more kisses against your face. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of doing it. Not with the way you lit up and blushed. And to think, you thought he’d be okay with you moving out. Madness. Life without you isn’t really living.

His limbs relaxed as sleep started to set in and his mind returned to a past conversation with the guys.

“If I knew that taking her out of the house was allowed, she could have traveled with me.” Yixing’s voice had held a hint of irritation yet remained cordial. Kyungsoo admired him for having restraint given the situation.

Baekhyun scoffed. “She can’t leave the house for that long. And it was just one evening.”

“Even so, the rest of us weren’t aware it was allowed,” Jongin stressed. “It’s bad enough you get to go before us, but you’re also making up your own rules as you go along. What happened to keeping it professional outside of the apartment?”

“And sex on a yacht?” Chanyeol cut in. “How do we top that?”

“This isn’t a competition. It was a unique situation that happened to work out in my favor.” Junmyeon hadn’t bothered to hide the smugness.

“Bullshit!” Sehun coughed.

Kyungsoo couldn’t agree more. “A dress and shoes just happened to be lying around?”

“I couldn’t believe it either.” Jongdae stroked his chin as Baekhyun suppressed a laugh. “Almost like it fell from the sky.”

“You’re so full of it.” Sehun laughed and chaos ensued as they began yelling and pointing fingers at one another. At some point, Minseok remembered the purpose of their conference call prompting him to grab a pot and spatula. The loud clanging cut through the group’s discussion.

“We’ll discuss rules another time. Right now, we have a more urgent issue.” He paused to make sure everyone was listening before he continued. “If we plan to take things further with _, then we have to address her fears and concerns first. Naturally, job security is her first priority.”

“But we already swore to keep it between us.” Jongin pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean that she trusts us to keep our word,” Yixing spoke softly. “Or believe that things will stay between us. We could easily be overheard even right now.”

“Which means she’s constantly thinking of losing her job which also provides her a place to live.” Junmyeon sighed. “We need some way to ensure that even if the worst happens she’ll be taken care of. A backup job and housing.”

“Maybe even emergency funds?” Minseok volunteered with a snap of his fingers.

From there, they were on the same page, a team working together to come up with ways to make sure you wouldn’t have so much to overthink your pretty little head about. Of course, he’d seriously underestimated just how active your mind and anxieties were, but he was glad he got you to see reason in the end.

A soft sigh left your lips as you readjusted your head and he held you a little tighter. He really hoped you trusted them more now that you were taking a chance. Trust and communication would be of utmost importance to make things work with so many people involved.

He inhaled and the scent of your conditioner filled his senses. It was really nice to finally get a proper scent of it after being teased with fleeting whiffs as you pass by. Finally nice…to hold you like this…

In your humble opinion, Kyungsoo’s room was the best to wake up in. It didn’t directly face the rising sun, yet still allowed enough light in to get that soft early morning glow. As awareness slowly seeped in, you realized that you were completely wrapped up in Kyungsoo’s arms. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back and the warmth of his breath on your neck. You turned over to face him and he stirred slightly before opening his eyes to meet yours.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, smiling softly.

“I’d love to wake up like this more often.” He brushed his thumb over your cheek and you leaned into his touch. Your eyes locked and in that moment, you felt completely safe and secure in his embrace. You leaned in and he met you halfway, starting with a soft brush of his lips before gracing you with a gentle kiss. Once wasn’t enough. Feeling bold, you pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. He didn’t say a word but his grin said enough. His hands settled on your waist as you went for another kiss. Steadying yourself with your hands on his chest, your lips connected again, this time lingering longer. His hand came to your cheek as he held you in place, opening his mouth a little to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip. You whimpered at the chill that bloomed over your skin and he chuckled. “Music to my ears, jagi.”

The way his words sounded so tender, so full of love, really rocked you to your core. It was hard to have restraint and stay guarded when he was under you being so honest and vulnerable with his affection and feelings. You couldn’t help the way you ducked your head, cheeks flaming, as you turned your attention to his jaw with little pecks that trailed to his neck. When your lips brushed over a spot just under his ear, he groaned softly and pushed his hips up against your core. His reaction surprised you while stoking the growing fire between your bodies. Curious, you did it again and followed with a gentle nip. His hands squeezed your waist, holding you firmly in place as his hips bucked up again.

He exhaled with a shudder. “Please. Just a little harder.” His voice was husky and firm. When your teeth scrapped his skin again, he pushed his neck towards you, giving you ample room to fulfill his request. This time, you suckled as your hands moved to his shoulders while your hips pressed as hard as you could against his growing erection. He hissed then outright moaned, hands moving to cup your ass as he pushed up against you. “Yeah, jagi, just like that.”

You kept at it, testing new places across his neck and collarbone to see if you could get more of those sweet sounds. When you started to move down his chest, he sat up and pulled you into another kiss, this one much more heated. His teeth caught your lip before his tongue soothed the bite. He didn’t need to ask for permission for more. You immediately let him in, surrendering control so he could explore at his leisure. His kisses were a mixture of his shyness and passion, brushing across your lips before applying pressure and nudging your lips apart, tongue stroking yours then teasing the roof of your mouth. Whenever your thighs twitched because he’d found the right spot, he’d push up against your heat and moan, filling your head with his desire. Your arms went around his neck as his hands found your waist again, both of you pushing against each other seeking friction.

He pulled away slowly with an audible smack and looked into your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever kissed someone like this.” His voice was just barely above a whisper and filled with wonder. His eyebrows wrinkled. “And I don’t want to try it with anyone else either.” His gaze dropped to your lips. “I know it wouldn’t be the same.”

“Kyungsoo—”

He inhaled sharply, grip tightening as he looked at you startled. “S-say it again. Say my name like that again, jagi.”

You leaned in and kissed him again. “Kyungsoo, please. Can we—” You couldn’t bring yourself to get the words out, to ask for what you both wanted. A whine escaped your lips before you squeezed him with your thighs, hoping he’d get the hint. You’d gotten used to them taking the lead yet here he was letting you lead the way. “Please.”

His chuckle was low and throaty making his chest rumble against yours. “Please, what?” He nudged your head to the side and skimmed his lips along your throat to your shoulder. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your cheeks burned, and you closed your eyes. “Don’t tease me. You know what I’m trying to say.” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “I want it.”

“Hm,” he looked up as if he were thinking. “Close but not good enough.” He fell back onto his pillows and pulled you with him then rolled both of you onto your sides. His kiss was deeper as his hand found your waist, fingers exploring your heated skin. “Tell me what it is you want, jagi. I’ll give it to you if you just tell me.”

Frustration threatened to consume you. You put a leg over his hip and pulled him closer, moaning softly at the feel of him pressed against where you wanted him. “Need you here,” you whispered against his lips with a pointed roll of your hips. “Wanna feel you inside me. Please?”

He smiled as the hand on your waist skirted over your silk sleep shorts down to your thigh. “Inside? Are you sure?” He pushed the fabric out of the way and his fingertips brushed over your panties. “Mmm, she’s soaking through your clothes, jagi.” His lips returned to your neck. “You want me to take care of you?”

“Yes, please.” You pressed down against his fingers, crying out when he pushed your panties to the side and touched your slit.

“Shit,” he hissed and pulled away. “You need to take this off.” He tugged at your shorts. You nodded and lifted your hips to let him pull your shorts and panties down your legs. “All of it.” No sooner than you’d tossed the garments away, his hands were pulling at your shirt and then unclipping your bra. Cool air hit your nipples and you shuddered when his warm hands cupped your breasts. “Finally.” He brushed soft kisses over your chest before drawing a nipple into his mouth. His moan went straight to your core, making you clench and grab his hair.

“Oh, fuck—Soo—please!”

He lapped and sucked, twisted and pinched until he could barely keep you pinned to the bed. He casually trailed his hands down your body until one rested on your thigh as the other touched between your legs. “So messy.” His fingers smeared slick over your pussy before two parted your folds and went in, one then two. “So beautiful.”

You pulled at his shirt. “Off. I wanna see you too.” You finished with a pout and he smiled.

“Of course, my love.” He tugged his shirt off then laid beside you to kick his boxers off. He was rock hard, pressed against your thigh and so very close to where you wanted him most. You teased the tip of his cock with your fingers before wrapping your palm around it. “Mmm, love the feel of you.” He caught your lips in another bruising kiss as his hips started to move. His hand wrapped around yours and he guided your hand up and down the shaft, applying pressure around the head making him moan sweetly into your mouth. He pulled away and did the same with your hands. “Next time.”

You bit your lip and looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Will you put it in now?”

He slipped one hand under your neck. “Yes.” He pulled a condom from under your pillow and handed it to you. “Don’t question it. Baekhyun’s idea.” You laughed as you tore open the package and rolled it on for him. His other hand went under your knee and pulled it over his hip allowing his cock to glide across your sticky folds. He held his lip between his teeth as he rolled his hips, captivated by the way the tip would slide over your entrance making you moan a little louder than before.

“You’re teasing!” You groaned and pushed his shoulders. He rolled over onto his back as you positioned yourself on top, eagerly reaching behind you for his cock and lining it up. You had to swirl your hips a few times but once you felt pressure in the right spot, you pressed down with a delighted moan. It wouldn’t go in right away so you lifted up and tried again, getting a few more inches in.

“Please stop squeezing!” His eyes were screwed shut with a death grip on your waist. “J-just relax and let gravity do the rest.” You didn’t realize you were tensing up. Sure enough, once you took a deep breath and relaxed the fit was much smoother. “Ohhh, fuck.”

You put your hands on his chest, lightly rubbing his nipples. “Do you need a minute?”

He nodded. “Oh yeah. Just—yeah a minute.”

“Okay, no rush.” You smiled and leaned down to kiss him. He welcomed the distraction, hands cupping your face as pecks turned into deeper kisses with playful nips and teasing tongues. When your fingers found his hair again, he rolled his hips up into you. You had to reposition your hands just above his shoulders to keep your balance. “Soo!”

“Don’t fall over.” He muttered before thrusting up into you again. “So good.” You braced yourself and met his next thrust. The gentle grind sped up until you had a steady, comfortable rhythm. “Slow down, jagi.” He kissed you gently. “I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”

“But I wanna cum. Want you deep.” You could barely think with the way your body was lighting up with pleasure. “Don’t wanna wait.”

“You can do it.” His hands cupped your breasts again, fingers toying with your nipples. “Keep the pace. Take it slow.”

You covered his hands with your own and whimpered, dropping down onto his dick harder. He flinched, squeezing your breasts. The feeling shot through you, making your pussy clench. “Fuck. I need—I need more. Please, Kyungsoo.”

He shifted his body, propping his feet up on the bed. “Then take it, jagi. Take what you need.” One of his hands grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled, arching your back. He sped up the pace, pounding up into you with long, deep thrusts that made you shake and cry out. Mindlessly, you followed his lead, riding him hard and meeting his hips with loud claps of skin. Your head went empty, focused on his grunts and moans and occasionally swirling your hips. “Almost there?”

You nodded, head jerking. “So close, so close.”

“Give me your hands.” He let go of you and held his palms up. You laced your fingers with his. “Okay, now pull your knees up and squat. Yes, good girl. Use the bed to bounce—fuck!”

You couldn’t even moan. He went impossibly deep, hitting that spot right on with each thrust. It felt so good, turning your legs to jelly the closer you got to orgasm. He watched you closely and the second you started to twitch, he quickly rolled both of you over onto your sides again, lifted up your leg, and pounded you through it. Your arms were around his shoulders as you babbled his name mixed with curses and moans right into his ear. You felt a tremor go through him and he sped up, working with shallow thrusts until he pushed in deep and let go. His embrace was tight as he buried his face in your neck, hips surging gently until he slowed to a stop and let out a deep breath.

His eyes opened slowly and he looked at you. “How do you feel? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head with a wide smile. “I feel amazing. Light as a cloud. You?”

He pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes again. “I feel…complete. I can understand why they value the intimacy so much. I get to see another side of you and it’s exclusive to us. No one else gets to see you fall apart like that.” He pressed another kiss to your skin. “Makes me feel special.”

“You’ve always been special to me.” You leaned back. “You always will be.”

He looked into your eyes for a few seconds. “I love you. I hope you don’t think it’s too soon, but I’ve never been this sure about someone. I know I love you and I know it’d take a hell of a lot to change that.”

You swallowed hard and nodded. “You’re right. Everything you said last night? It was more than just a job, and I love seeing your reactions to the personal touches. I love doing anything that makes you all happy.” You looked away, unable to take the full weight of his gaze. “And I know it wouldn’t be the same with another group…because this is my home. I love you, too.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” He kissed you, slow and gentle, stopping for air only to dive right back in. “So sweet to us. Thank you.”

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[luvhughes43]

I need to know the Hughes fams thoughts on vivienne

this has been sitting in my drafts for so long so i’m just going to post it even though it doesn’t feel complete (to me)

the hughes had seen how jack was with you. how comfortable he was, how much he liked not being some sort of commodity.

vivienne was entirely different. not even in a bad way, but she was always focused on being the picture-perfect couple.

"jacky!" vivienne cooed, pressing her check against jacks in greeting. jack smiled at her, wrapping his arm around vivienne as she got comfortable on his lap.

luke and quinn shared a look, trevor outright rolling his eyes at the sight of the couple. trevor wouldn't openly admit it, because if you asked him he was all for whatever his friend wanted, but he was team y/n.

if jack noticed the looks, he didn't pay them any mind. he knew how much his family had grown to like you, and with time... maybe vivienne would grow on them too. that wasn't the case.

⋆ ★

"sweetie, can you help me with the salad?" ellen asked, gesturing to all the uncut vegetables sitting on the island. vivienne looks over, raises her brows, and then looks back at her phone.

"hmmm.. i just got my nails done" vivienne replies in a grating voice. she flashes her nails in Ellen’s direction, and then turns back to her phone again.

"i'll help you mom" luke speaks up, shooting out of his chair and walking over to the island. "she's rude, isn't she?" luke whispers to his mom who purses her lips and nods.

"shes... different" is all ellen says before she turns to the oven.

luke rolls his eyes before whispering back, "you can admit that you dont like her. its okay"

ellen sighs. "jack had a rough time after the break up. if hes happy with vivienne, then hes happy. we barely know her. maybe shes really great"

when jack walks into the kitchen, vivienne stands up from her seat at the table. "jack! lets help your mom and set the table, yeah?" vivienne says, completely forgetting about her manicure that, well... hindered her abilities to help when asked.

"mom..."

"luke, enough."

⋆ ★

"we gotta debrief this," luke sighs as he shuts the door to quinns room.

quinn looks up from his ipad and his brows furrow. "what?"

"vivienne and jack, obviously" luke speaks easily. he sprawls himself across his older brothers bed and waits for quinns opinions.

when they didn't come, he continued. "you dont think she's a little..."

"okay yeah shes annoying, but what's that have to do with me?"

"nothing. this is about restoring the balance of-"

"you watch too many movies" quinn laughs, interrupting whatever luke was about to say.

"you know what, trevor would love to talk about this with me" luke grumbles. he stands up from the bed, and quinn is quick to pull him back down again.

"okay, no. we can talk about it" quinn responds, pausing his show and setting his ipad on his side table.

"their relationship just feels... fake ... like, i dont know. like remember when jack brought y/n here last summer?" quinn nods, urging his brother to continue. "i've never seen him so happy. he genuinely liked her,"

"i mean, i think he likes vivienne" quinn adds.

"well sure but its different"

"i think... i think jack loved y/n. thats why its different with vivienne. they dont have the same dynamic" quinn shares his thoughts and luke thinks it over.

"yeah..." the boys both sit in silence for a minute.

"that really sucks" luke finally responds.

"and maybe youre being too hard on vivienne? i know you really liked y/n but its not your relationship. maybe she'll grow on you?"

"hey! lets not act like you like vivienne! i see the looks you give me!" luke defends, not wanting to get into his own feelings (aside from not liking vivienne) dissected by his older brother.

⋆ ★

essentially, none of them really liked vivienne but nobody wanted to admit it (aside from luke) to jack. they just want him to be happy after the breakup even if it means putting up with vivienne.

[filipinoizukuu]

what comes next though? (MHA ch. 413)

// major spoilers for mha ch. 413 since its leaks, so please stop reading if you arent quite caught up. i havent written one of these in a LONGGG while lmao.

ANYWAY, with all that being said.... this week's leaks huh?

We saw it coming a long time ago, we speculated it to hell and back, we made aus and fics, and now it's finally here. The conclusion we've reached and the one that's been hinted at since the release of Heroes Rising in 2019:

bnha is going to end with deku giving up one for all and becoming quirkless.

(LOTS of words under the cut -- youve been warned.)

For those who are a little lost; the basic premise of the ending we are hurtling towards is that Kudou (the 2nd user of ofa) has a plan to take down Shigaraki. With AfO dead and gone + Shigaraki becoming so powerful he is essentially invincible -- theres no other choice for the heroes other than destroying him inside out; the plan being the equivalent of charging a battery so much it explodes.

the way they're going to go about this is by essentially, feeding Shigaraki bits of One for All until he's given all of it -- then allowing the vestiges of the previous wielders to create a massive revolt similar to what SnS did until they can successfully tear him apart from inside the "quirk realm" and shut him out. Kudou volunteers to go next since danger sense has already been taken, and if Shigaraki uses gearshift again after Deku already used it twice, Tomura's body will likely shutdown and receive twice the backlash Deku does when he uses kudou's quirk.

(sidenote: funny as fuck that deku only understood once kudou equated the strategy to bkg throwing papers at him. bro stupid af.)

its a sensible(ish) idea. one that seems plausible given the context of the last hundred or so chapters with heroes like Hawks and SnS having their quirks revolt against both AfO and Shigaraki in a way that makes it clear that its not uniquely OfA that animates the souls of peoples quirks. Its inherent. Quote, Nana Shimura, "romantic" even.

(let it be known though that i think hori absolutely did not plan on delving into this plot point as much as he is now. ill explain in a bit, but heroes rising was 100% a major factor of why he moved in this direction.)

That being said, the conclusion of the plan (and subsequently, the major plot of bnha) is as follows: Deku gives up One for All to Shigaraki. One for All unites with All for One within Shigaraki and destroys it in one final clash between Yoichi and his brother. The break in the barrier of Shigaraki's hatred will part, letting him find the consciousness of Shimura Tenko behind it after years.

Shigaraki dies, taking OfA and AfO down with him,

and then Deku is quirkless once more.

Sad conclusion aside for now, I firmly believe that no matter what way you look at it; Deku was always meant to end the story without a quirk. Given some of the original drafts of bnha where Deku was never supposed to be given a quirk in the first place, this is clearly unsurprising. What's more is my favorite piece of information relative to katsuki and deku's character development:

the fact that heroes rising was (one of the) ideas for the original ending of bnha.

a refresher for some of you: heroes rising is about class 1a going to the isolated village of nabu island and defending it against an upcoming big bad villain named "nine" with a quirk that is essentially a scaled down version of all for one. katsuki and deku eventually resolve the conflict together via brute force by deku giving katsuki ofa, them rushing in while the quirk is transferring and both of them have it, and then ultimately defeating nine at the end. the movie then of course circles back on deku losing one for all, undoing that consequence by saying the transfer never completed bc ofa chose him over katsuki and they all move on to the endeavor agency arc with katsuki remembering absolutely nothing of the final battle.

many fans often misunderstand one of horikoshi's quotes about the movie in that it was, without a doubt, the original ending of bnha. for the sake of accuracy, that is not what horikoshi really said; what he ACTUALLY said was something closer and to the tune of of how it was "one OF the endings" he planned on using for bnha, but his original idea for how the story ends "has not changed one bit."

obviously disregarding the cop out where ofa sticks back to izuku in order for the series to continue as normal; this can only confirm that bnha was going to end with midoriya izuku quirkless whether katsuki was involved or not.

so what's different this time?

its hard to figure out how far horikoshi had planned the ending of bnha with heroes rising's prototype conclusion in mind. if heroes rising never pulled through and horikoshi had planned on bnha ending with the shared ofa transfer and katsuki continuing deku's legacy -- then that means katsuki wouldve died an early death because of all might's confirmation that only quirkless people can hold on to one for all without dying young, meaning he either intended on katsuki dying soon after the story ends or only planned that plot point after heroes rising was released.

the plot as well of heroes rising's conclusion cannot have been thought of all that early on because of ANOTHER tidbit of information that changes perspective of the entire series: in that,

bakugou katsuki was never supposed to be a major character to begin with. (keep an eye on this link; i reference this interview a LOT)

he was not supposed to have an arc. he was not supposed to become a major focal point of the series. he was not meant to be the hero he is in the story today. bakugou katsuki was not written with the intention of being a major narrative this late into the story -- instead originally only existing as a character that deku would surpass within the first few arcs.

but then katsuki cried, and deku apologized, and then opened his big fat mouth, and then told him a secret he didnt even tell his own mother -- and suddenly bakugou katsuki was not just another footnote in deku's story, but a legitimate character that grew and created one of the most loved (and hated) character turnarounds in shonen history. he started of as a literal EXTRA before snowballing into the very same character horikoshi decided would defeat all for one, the original scariest antagonist of the entire series. someone not even ALL MIGHT could defeat.

but circling back, yeah. heroes rising was definitely not the ending horikoshi thought of first, nor was it the ending he thought of last. ultimately, it was simply another route he couldve taken into wrapping up deku's fate into what it was (probably) always meant to be:

deku was gonna lose one for all no matter what.

it's kind of fitting, honestly -- for this to be the ultimate conclusion to the series. it makes the most sense, since what sent deku down this path so many years ago was his mother apologizing to deku for being quirkless; as if being quirkless meant he was born inferior to those who had quirks. people, after all according to deku's famous beginning monologue, are not born equal.

Even still, i thought to note: deku never stopped wanting to be a hero. we all know this, obviously. this was his driving force -- but then when you REALLY think about the implications, you have to ask. what the heck was deku even planning to do?!

he had ideas. he had hope. he wrote notebooks for the future and thought of his costume for being a hero -- but not once do i remember him writing about his hero experience as if he was suddenly going to develop a quirk. he was planning on saving people quirkless -- an extremely interesting motivation especially when he couldve so easily chosen to walk the path of being a doctor or engineer instead if he wanted to save people so badly. its a story about conviction, about doing the things you wanna do in the way you wanna do it no matter what ANYONE else says and hey wait a minute that sounds familiar

it doesnt quite read that way at first, especially because of how izuku almost listened to all might about "being realistic" when the first met and nearly gave up on becoming a hero entirely, but izuku is a lot similar to katsuki in the sense that no matter what gets in his way -- he is determined to achieve his dreams in the way HE CHOOSES, and not the way that is more "convenient".

even when you look at just his name, "deku" in the way that uraraka had interpreted it (dekiru -- "you can do it!") and the way deku reexplains it to katsuki in deku vs kacchan 1 ("the deku that doesn't give up!") you can so easily tell that deku from the very beginning has only ever needed the slightest push to pursue being a hero, quirk-or-not-be-damned. hell, we even see a glimpse of this possibility in the sports festival race when deku absolutely DECIMATES not just bakugou but also TODOROKI (as well as every single other damn student participating in the festival) with nothing but robot scraps and his balls of steel. it just so happens that until the promise of one for all, no such encouragement or push was ever given to deku in his pursuit of heroicism, most especially in comparison to katsuki who had been receiving praise and validation for his goals his whole life.

i'd argue that deku's conviction is even stronger than katsuki in a way no other person seems to recognize (except maybe katsuki himself). katsuki had received only positive feedback and zero competition for his goals growing up while deku received nothing but discouragement. both of them kept the conviction of being a hero for TEN YEARS; neither wavering til the day of the sludge incident.

that aside; what comes next?

we know the story after that. deku gets his quirk, he goes to school, he fights, he drops out, he fights some more, and now he's standing before shigaraki tomura with every quirk of one for all unlocked and over twice the power that all might had in his prime -- fully knowing he's about to lose EVERYTHING in order to defeat shigaraki.

this is deku we're talking about. he doesn't care. he knows the implications and what that will mean for his dream -- but his goal right now is in front of him. his goal is shigaraki, consumed by hatred, threatening to take down the world izuku loves most into a pit of misery and decay because society failed people like them. does he care? probably. will he refuse to give up his power if it means not saving the world and fulfilling one for all's purpose? absolutely not.

deku has made all might's quirk his own, but one for all does not belong to him. it belongs to yoichi. and kudou. and bruce and nana and all of the other users who built that quirk for generations in hopes that one day, someday, someone would be able to yield it all and bring down the monstrosity that created it in the first place. deku will not hesitate, but also deku knows what he will lose.

i have... a few things i dislike about this.

Admittedly, i do think that this is a better resolution than the simple brute strength approach of Heroes Rising. For one, while i do love heroes rising with my entire heart and soul, i firmly believe it would not have been a satisfying conclusion to the core lessons and teachings bnha tries to impart throughout the story. simply outnumbering and outpowering afo/shigaraki would not be enough to close yoichi's story and one for all -- much less the story of shigaraki himself as tenko, the boy consumed by hatred.

Still, this new ending that horikoshi has laid out leaves me with more questions; as well as large expectations for how izuku's character will close out. its complicated, because deku's evolution and development is subtle and intricate in a way i havent seen from other shonen protagonists and i worry about doing it justice.

but most of my problems have to do with bakugou katsuki.

(aint that the truth)

i know i mentioned that bakugou was never intended to be a major character, but i want it to be known that that was only in the beginning. season 1, maybe even season 2 -- but horikoshi had said it best himself in that bakugou katsuki, against his permission, had gained a life of his own and inserted himself into the very grain of mha's story. you cannot deny this.

he is the series deuteroganist inarguably. one of the most beloved characters and one of the most attentively-written development arcs in the whole series. katsuki in and of himself embodies major themes in bnha that make it so that ditching his development and impact last minute after defeating all for one would reflect poorly upon the conclusion of the story itself. he and deku are intertwined in arcs -- even if they do have separate paths at the end of the day. katsuki is the one izuku told about the quirk. the one who followed izuku during the paranormal liberation arc. the one who understands one for all and is determined to learn about it more than anyone else barring all might and deku himself. the one who is closer to izuku than anyone else.

it can't be over for their arc, no matter what way you see it. friends? rivals? hero partners? what comes next, when the smoke clears? what comes next when izuku gives shigaraki hell, like katsuki told him to?

katsuki's atoned. we accept that, have known it since chapter 285 and have continued to know it until the iconic apology in the rain. that's not where katsuki stops however, because we know that its not all about begging for izuku's forgiveness nor atoning for himself. its about catching up to izuku -- the last words he uttered before shigaraki crushed his heard say it all.

"can i still catch up to you, izuku?"

since the moment katsuki died, we've been given a metric ton of material to read through what he and izuku have become in the story. firstly, the point of katsuki being the person closest to izuku. what does this mean? what does that say about katsuki? is he supposedly the person izuku loves the most? the person izuku believes in the most? i'd argue these two criterion would easily fit his mother or all might a lot better -- not his childhood friend turned bully turned rival turned barely-friend. katsuki sure as hell didn't believe he was the person closest to izuku before shigaraki brought it up as evidenced by the fact that he let IIDA bring deku back to UA -- and neither does izuku as far as i bet. what was shigaraki's intention?

katsuki heard that statement. he hasnt said anything, but he definitely heard it. its an open end that is left entirely unanswered PRECISELY because katsuki fought afo on his own and izuku is about to tackle shigaraki without katsuki by his side. if it was heroes rising's ending wherein they would both fight shigaraki and take him down together -- then that statement would easily be answered by how their strength and bond is the one thing that gave them an upper hand in the final battle. other than that... i'm not entirely sure how they're going to have katsuki and izuku acknowledge katsuki's brief "death" and Tomura's reasons thereof.

But fine, lets ignore that for the time being and move on to what happened when Katsuki came back.

katsuki answered izuku's cry for help. he came back to life in the last moment to save all might when izuku was too busy fighting tooth and nail to win. they are the penultimate example of two sides of a hero; the win and save. not one without the other. every single parallel thus far between izuku and katsuki have always been to draw attention over and over to each of their stubborn convictions to win and save under all might's tutelage.

katsuki has chosen to prioritize winning and fighting over saving and rescuing over. and over. and over. and over again. at every single opportunity from the very beginning of the series. in usj, in sports festival, in the final exam, every choice he's made up until --

chapter 285 - bakugou katsuki: rising.

he chooses to save izuku in this instant. as he says, his body moved on its own -- or in other words, he felt like how izuku has always did since the sludge villain incident. this is bakugou katsuki catching up to midoriya izuku. its katsuki realizing that he needs to save so deku can win, and actually being okay with that for once. it's a major turning point in his character that clearly tells even horikoshi that there's absolutely no way katsuki can go back to being a side character within the plot of bnha after a development like this.

and then, after this instance, we notice it happen again and again. katsuki choosing to save to win instead of winning to save. katsuki protecting best jeanist against the nomu. katsuki coming to chase after izuku when he runs away from UA. katsuki (in a way) saving aoyama when its revealed he's the traitor. hell, katsuki saving ALL MIGHT as soon as izuku -- the savior -- begs someone to save his idol when he can't because he's too focused on trying to win.

so what changed?

what changed since the moment of chapter 285 was katsuki accepting his fears and anxieties. katsuki letting go of his aversity to working with deku. the reason katsuki started accepting the path of saving to win was because he TRUSTED deku to win where he couldnt.

this is katsuki accepting that him and izuku already surpassed all might together.

but katsuki said it himself. it's not over. he accepts that him and izuku are finally on equal footing -- hell, he admits he's the one who needs to play catch up. it's not about katsuki conceding to weakness, but katsuki being able to trust in izuku to finish the job. the point is that they both will break and break until they win the way they choose to, and the other will be there to win while they save and save while they win. moreso, katsuki still wants to be number 1. he still wants to catch up and surpass deku. he wants to fight by deku's side. but ... as we've established:

deku will be quirkless soon.

my problem (or, i guess, curiosity?) with the path horikoshi seems to be going down for the end of this story is what happens to this end? what happens to the wonder duo? i believe in a quirkless deku plot as much as the next person -- but any reader would find it easy to see that once deku loses one for all, he will not be nearly as efficient nor quick nor capable of a hero as he once was. especially not against a developed katsuki with mastery over cluster explosions.

he will lose one for all and he won't ever be the pro-hero he was going to be before the final war arc. katsuki will get number 1 surely, but will he be happy about this resolution? i don't think so. All Might himself had said it when Katsuki spoke to him about his relationship to Izuku; that the twin stars reminded All Might very much of his own rivalry with Endeavor and the bitter feelings it created.

endeavor expressed regret and a bitter end to their rivalry; the acknowledgement of the bitter truth that the only reason he was the number one hero is because all might lost his own quirk. he knew he didn't deserve the mantle all might had held for a long time before him. he knew that he was still only just playing catch up with the wisdom and understanding of heroicism that all might had in his heart from the beginning. endeavor will likely retire from being a pro-hero unsatisfied with this truth and his own victory at becoming the no.1 at the very end -- never feeling like he truly surpassed all might of his own accord. both enji and toshinori -- victims of their destiny.

is this the fate that will befall katsuki once izuku is quirkless for good?

There are many questions I have in wake of the recent chapter. The end of the series is here, and that's a whole can of worms i haven't touched in and of itself. We all saw this coming; some of us know that this was always going to be Izuku's fate since the beginning of the series. But now that it's more than just izuku's character involved in his dreams of being a hero -- i dont know how this series is going to conclude and if it will be satisfying to any means. there's a lot of questions i still have; bakugous arc feeling incomplete ever since he came back to life, the conclusion of all might and one for all's dreams now that they will disappear altogether. where does deku go after this? where does bakugou go? where do any of them?

i guess i gotta wait and see lol

[bizaar]

Endless Summer ✧

Part 3: Band on the Run

Cruel Summer Masterlist

Prev - Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), horny-loser!reader, brief descriptions of sexual fantasies, swearing, and so much pining

word count: 19k

a/n: we're back baybeee! also, if anyone knows the original creator of the gif below, please let me know so I can tag them, I've had these on my laptop for over a year and I've lost all my credits!!

In the three hours it has been since you got home from school, the floor of your bedroom has become almost totally obscured by what is essentially every article of clothing you own. You’d made the mess in a frantic attempt at putting together an outfit out of thin air because you don’t actually own anything cool enough for how you’re planning to spend your night.

You’re supposed to be babysitting, just like every other Tuesday night you’ve spent since you were thirteen years old, but this week, for the first time in history, you did everything in your power to get out of that duty. You’d pulled out all the stops to convince everyone that, despite the perfect health of your earlier day, you’d somehow managed to contract a sudden onset, highly contagious illness sometime between fifth-period chemistry and now (one you intend on making a swift and miraculous recovery from) and for the safety of everyone around you, you should not be disturbed under any circumstances.

You blame it on how you’d spent four hours out in the cold, taking Dustin and his friends around to trick-or-treat last night, though all that does is get your mother on your case about how she “told you to wear a coat”, but would you listen? No.  

 It took almost a full hour of debate, all the tricks you’d ever seen employed in movies to fake sickness, and what you like to think of as an Oscar-worthy performance on your part, but your parents eventually gave in and called across the street to deliver the news. Part of you feels like it was only because they didn’t want to argue with you anymore, but in any case you got what you wanted.  

Dustin was going to the Wheelers, your parents were going to their weekly Tuesday night extracurriculars, and (unbeknownst to everyone else) you were going to see a band play at the Hideout.

Though not just any band.

The only reason you’ve gone to such lengths to get out of all your previous plans is because you’ve been personally invited to go and see Corroded Coffin play — Eddie’s band. 

Of course, you didn't know that at the time of the initial invitation, which came through Gareth, just as the school bell was finishing its cacophonous ringing to signify the end of fifth-period chemistry. 

“Hey, so, what are you doing tonight?” he asked, leaning less than casually on his elbow to peer down the length of his nose at you.  

You remember thinking that the way he was twisting at the waist looked terribly uncomfortable, but you were only half conscious of anything going on around you as you began the arduous task of orienting yourself toward your original plans for the night.  

“Homework.” You replied in an absent monotone, trying for the millionth time not to get sucked back into the memory of the lunch period spent “swapping eyes” with Eddie Munson. 

It’s been five days since then, but who’s counting?

Certainly not you and all the assignments piling up in your locker, waiting on the promise of “later” you’ve been making since the moment you finally managed to drag yourself out of those woods.

You were vaguely aware of Gareth answering with some kind of a droll response – which was entirely on brand for the likes of him – but you hardly heard him say it.

 You had a lot of other things on your mind, all of which seemed much more important than divulging your wholly uninteresting after-school plans to your lab partner.

Tonight, you’ll be sitting at the Henderson’s kitchen table doing all your overdue assignments while your prepubescent charge plays Atari, nothing more, nothing less. 

Talk about a rip-roaring good time, right? 

Still, it beats the “casual hangout” in Steve Harrington’s backyard Carol had tried to coerce you into attending under threat of major bodily harm. Not that being forced to sit around a pool in early November, fifth wheeling while everyone around you sucks face doesn’t sound like just the most fun a girl could have, but you told Carol the same thing you told Gareth about your plans for that night – you’ve got to do your homework, and it’s not even a lie. 

Normally, you like to think you’re a much better student, and while you’re not entirely sure that line of thinking is warranted (as is evidenced by your last report card, which saw you pulling straight C’s) you know for a fact that any and all thoughts of academia flew right out the window the moment Eddie put himself in the seat across from you in the lunchroom. 

And aren’t you so incandescently glad he did? 

It is a sentiment your teachers do not share. That morning (the first day back after a long weekend spent miserably pining) you’d even received the dreaded summons from your guidance counselor, who sat you down and asked if “everything was fine at home”. 

Why? You’d wanted to ask – because you were seen slinking off to the woods with Eddie Munson or because he wasn’t in school the next day and you haven’t turned in a single assignment since? You might remind them that with the long weekend, there are only technically two days of work missing, but you know they don’t want to hear that because this isn’t really about the homework.  

This is about you following Eddie out into the woods.

How are you supposed to think about things like formulas and essays when you can still see him gazing back at you from across the picnic bench every time you close your eyes? With that dreamy look on his face? 

And more to the point, how are you meant to explain to an adult that everything is fine, it’s only just you haven’t seen him in nearly a week and, not to be dramatic or hideously cliche, but you can’t seem to eat, sleep, or concentrate on anything so banal as homework when you’re fairly certain he was getting ready to kiss you out in those woods before the bell rang?

You’re not positive that’s where things were headed, but you’re pretty damn sure, and it's enough to get your girlish libido ringing the warning bells of your imminent demise with every day that passes out of Eddie’s presence. 

No, you can’t explain that to an educational professional or Carol, or anyone else without raising some serious alarms. Because you’re not even supposed to be talking to Eddie Munson, let alone sneaking off to the woods to become as completely captivated by him as you are. 

And he didn’t even kiss you… 

God, how you wish he would have just kissed you, especially after the way he seemed to make himself scarce the moment you took your eyes off him. 

You’d put quite a lot of time and energy after you got home that Thursday evening into wondering what it would have taken to get Eddie to lean over that table, and quite a bit more into wondering whether you ought to have bucked up and done it yourself. 

Not that it mattered, because he didn’t kiss you and you didn’t kiss him, and there you remain, unkissed and suddenly the topic of everyone’s conversation.

Because on top of everything else, there is that side of it. 

Like somehow a spell had been broken that afternoon you followed Eddie out of the lunchroom, everybody and their mother is suddenly keenly interested in you. People who have never given you the time of day suddenly know your name, and they want to know all the intimate details of what you did with Eddie Munson out in the woods, or rather, what he did to you. 

You probably should have known that was coming.

Still, you hate to indulge them with any kind of answer, even if it happens to be a big fat nothing. They only want to know so they can wrinkle their noses and sneer and shout about how “fucking nasty” that is — shacking up with the Freak King — just like Carol did in the lunchroom the day before all your dreams came true. 

You would spare yourself that humiliation if you could, but more than that, you’re struck by how you don’t want them talking about Eddie that way. 

You have become inordinately fond of him since that afternoon, more than you already were, and in a very specific way. Somehow, you can’t help but feel that, even though your conversation lasted less than twenty minutes altogether, you understand each other now.

You’re simpatico.

You might even venture to say that you’re almost friends. 

Strange how a little quiet intimacy was all you needed to curb the rabid edge of your obsession. Eddie is still all you think about, but in a decidedly calmer way, because he thinks you’re nice and approachable, and you think the same about him.

Still, in the five agonizing days it’s been since that big fat nothing happened, the questions have not stopped. Part of you wants to give them an answer if only to shut them up, but somehow you don’t think “he captivated me” is going to satisfy the people’s ravenous appetite for gossip. 

You’re certain everyone has already made up their mind about what they think happened, anyway. In the food chain of high school social constructs, it doesn’t matter what did or didn’t happen, it only matters what people say happened. and you’re absolutely certain that you’re going to hear all about it sooner or later.

You realize now that’s probably why Carol was so desperate to get you to come out and fifth wheel tonight when she knows you have to babysit. She keeps telling you that you owe her because you didn’t go to Tina’s Halloween party, but somehow you’re not convinced she was that upset to have missed you.

Maybe it’s just that she doesn’t trust you not to lie to her about where you’re going to be and who you’ll be with, who will see you with them, and how that will come back to reflect on her. Guilty by association is the law of the land at Hawkins High, after all.

With all that weighing heavy on your mind, you ignored any further questions Gareth had about your after-school plans and shoved your books into your bag, ready to submit yourself to the quiet death of study hall. 

Ugh… study hall… you’d rather eat glass. Then again, you��d also rather not have to spend your summer watching the sweat beading on Mrs. O’Donnell’s upper lip in summer school, so down the hall you went, headed against the flow of traffic in the busy hallway.

Somehow, it feels like overt symbolism bashing you over the head – you’ve always hated a cliché.  

Lucky for you and your impending academic doom, Gareth was not so easily deterred and scrambled to follow you out the door.

“Why don’t you come out tonight instead?” He asked innocently, like it was the most casual thing in the world and he wasn’t struggling to keep pace with you as all your classmates shoved past.

The question hit you square in the back, punching your lungs flat and wrenching you out of your thoughts with enough force to make your head spin.

“Excuse me?” You gasped, pulling to a stop and whipping around so suddenly that Gareth, who you hadn’t realized was skirting along at your elbow, nearly took a blow to the solar plexus in his attempt to keep up. 

Your insides clenched and forced your heart up into your throat, but before you had the time to decide whether or not Gareth had just asked you out, his eyes went comically wide, and he began to backpedal as if his life depended upon it. 

Then again, it might have, if what he said was true and word got back around to Eddie.

“Not like a date!” He yelped, throwing his hands up and showing you his palms in a way that flooded you with a strange and instant relief, “Just as friends—”

Oh, thank God for that. 

You could barely wrap your head around the concept that Eddie feels any sort of intimate way about you —and you’re still not entirely convinced about that — but to suddenly learn that you are the object of two affections? That’s too much revelation for one week, and you can only thank that dim lucky star that so infrequently passes you over that it had been nothing but a misunderstanding. 

Not like a date, Gareth said, Just as friends, and you’re fine with that.

From there, he had your full attention as he went on to explain that his band was doing a set down at the Hideout, and he was extending you a personal invitation to come and see them play. You had no idea Gareth was in a band, though that was perhaps stupid on your part based solely on the boy’s appearance – of course, Gareth is in a band, and of course, that band’s name is Corroded Coffin (which you’re only slightly ashamed about giggle-snorting over when he told you) Between that and the location, your gut reaction was to refuse. 

Gareth is great, especially when he’s playing the herald to all your hopes and dreams, and especially when he isn’t asking you out, but no.

Absolutely not. 

You would not be going to see Corroded Coffin tonight.

Lucky for you, you’ve had the perfect excuse to get out of anything and everything that sounds like a colossal bore since you were thirteen years old, and you were all too happy to trot it out.

“Oh man, I wish I could,” you began, trying to mask the faintest hint of smug satisfaction in your tone with an apologetic scrunch of your features, “...but I’m babysitting tonight.”

And you would have been content for the conversation to end there, but you didn’t count on Gareth having an ace in the hole, one he was all too happy to knock you upside the head with and send your brains splattering all over the crusty school linoleum.

“Aw, really? Damn, that’s a bummer,” he hummed, “I know Eddie would’ve been stoked to see you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat and you had to fight to stop yourself from seizing Gareth by the front of his shirt.

If you had, you would have shaken him like a ragdoll and demanded he tell you everything he knows. Instead, you did your best to remain calm as you stared back at him and the look of smug self-satisfaction he suddenly had plastered across his face.  

For some reason, it made you think of the message you’d promised to take back out of the woods last week.

“Tell the smug bastard to mind his own business,” Eddie said, and you didn’t, because Gareth never asked you how it went. He just gave you a sly smug look, the same one he was currently giving you right there in the hallway five days later. 

“Oh,” You said, feeling about as casual as a heart attack, “Is Eddie going to be there?” 

Your voice hitched and wavered as you did your best to casually skip over his name. You were cool, calm, collected, and definitely not internally shrieking with the sudden potential of a “part two” of last Thursday…

The potent spike of desperation that thought sent rocketing through your midsection was enough to drive color bleeding up into your cheeks and a cold sweat beading across your brow.

It is a reaction you are certain Gareth was not unwise to as he continued without missing a beat. 

“Yeah, he’s our frontman,” He explained, knowing full well what he was doing dropping that kind of information, “Technically it’s his band – he started it back when he was in Middle School or something,” 

Well, put me in a fucking chokehold why don’t you? Something inside of you screamed to have had such a treasure trove of lore opened up to you.

Like the blessed hand of deus-ex-machina — cheap bitch that she is — opportunity comes a-knocking.

A personal invitation has been extended to you and you’ve never been more anxious, because you? 

At a rock show? 

At the Hideout? 

Who the hell do you think you are? You’ve never been to a concert – which is not an astounding statement to make in and of itself considering your inclination toward introversion – so you have no idea what to expect.

There are a great many things you’ve never done. For instance: you’ve never lied to your parents to get out of babysitting, so you can sneak off and go to a rock concert in a dingy dive bar you’re not legally old enough to get into, to see a boy you are strictly forbidden from speaking to.  

You’ve got no business being involved with any of that and as the school day came to a close and the final pieces of your plan steadily fell into place, you had to ask yourself whether you were seriously going to go to such lengths, just to see Eddie?

The answer was a resounding yes. 

You’re going to see Corroded Coffin perform tonight if it kills you.

As you stand there looking back at yourself in the mirror, dressed in the fifth outfit you’ve tried on in as many minutes, you begin to wonder if it might just do that.  

Your parents have been gone less than five minutes, and you’re already getting cold feet.

Yet another thing you’ve never done is try to approximate dressing to impress someone, let alone the boy you regularly spend your nights and mornings fantasizing over with all the ravenous fervor of a pack of hungry wolves.

You have no idea where to start. 

What are you supposed to wear to a rock show in a dingy dive bar? Jeans and a band-tee, maybe? And if so, what kind of jeans, and which band-tee?

It occurs to you that you ought to try and match the vibe of the band, but you have no idea whether they skew toward Credence Clearwater Revival or Judas Priest. 

Then again, with a name like Corroded Coffin, you can’t help but feel it is probably the latter, but you’ve been wrong before. 

So, maybe jeans and a t-shirt is too casual and you ought to try something a little more risqué. 

Maybe a little denim skirt and the pair of ripped nylons you haven’t gotten around to throwing out… or is that too risqué? How exactly does one strike the right balance between sultry and slutty without outright screaming “I want to feel you in my guts?”

You remember then how you once skimmed an article in Cosmopolitan Magazine about the prospective power of underwear, so you go digging through your top dresser drawer and are very quickly dismayed to find that you don’t have a hidden stash of lacy panties carefully concealed beneath your days-of-the-week underwear. 

Of course, the fact that you’re even considering what kind of underwear you ought to be wearing tonight on the very far-off chance that someone is going to see them is enough to send you into a fit of hot-faced embarrassment. 

No, not just anyone – the fact that you’re considering the far-off chance that Eddie Munson is going to see what kind of underwear you’re wearing is almost enough to give you heart palpitations. 

Christ on a fucking bike.  

And then just like that, you’re imagining how gentle he’d be. 

Laying you back on a tufted leather couch as he kneels before you and reaches up with long, dexterous fingers to unbutton your jeans — should you wear jeans tonight? — and carefully, oh so gently, peels them down your legs at an agonizing pace while puffs of warm breath fan the bare skin at the top of your thighs. 

Then again maybe not, maybe he’ll be fast and rough with you. Maybe he’ll manhandle you and throw you around like a doll, and you’ll like it.

Crowding you against the cold brick of a wall and holding you there, his body pressed flush against your back as stone bites your palms and the side of your face. You gasp when he tears at the back seam of your skirt — oh, okay so you are wearing the skirt — ripping both it and your nylons in half, exposing you to the cold air and the hard strike of his palm as he brings it down on the tender skin of your— 

You’re blushing so violently that you have to go to your hall bath and splash cold water on your face. Even after you’ve calmed enough to wander back to the black hole of mess that is your bedroom, you still have no idea what to wear. 

It’s times like this that you curse Carol for shirking her duties as your best friend. Between the two of you, she’s the expert at dressing to attract male attention, she ought to be here helping you with something like this. 

But she’s not here, she’s sitting out at the pool at Steve Harrington’s playing tonsil hockey with Tommy. That’s where you ought to be, too – sitting at the pool, trying to look anywhere but at them, going at it.

That’s where you belong, in Carol’s shadow or perched on the plush sofa at the Henderson’s with your knees up and Speed Racer reruns steadily turning your brain into soup.

It occurs to you that you might be a bad person, or at least a very selfish one – if you’re going to skip out on Dustin like this, you might as well do it to hang out with your friends, not to try and carve out a brand-new cherry-flavored personality for yourself in a crowd you don’t belong to.

You’re not equipped for something like this. You have no business with rock shows and dive bars and people like Eddie Munson – you’re just a boring, midwestern babysitter from a town no one has ever heard of, and you would do well to remember that there is no changing lanes in a place like Hawkins. 

You’re just about ready to admit defeat and march yourself across the street with your tail tucked firmly between your legs when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. 

Plain-Jane, boring little you, with the same haircut you’ve always had, same silhouette, same clothes, same as it ever was, and suddenly you can’t stop thinking about what Eddie said to you out in the woods…

“You’re not what I expected…” He’d said, twisting the rings on his thick fingers and looking at you so wistfully, in a way you’d convinced yourself was full of hope and an expectation you desperately wanted to meet.

You still want it. You want so badly to be the girl he expects to see at the show tonight, not some trussed-up idealized version of what you imagine might impress him. 

He likes you for you, after all, just the way you are, and it’s enough to stoke the fires of your courage, even if it doesn’t help you decide between the jeans and the skirt. 

By the time you finally throw something on that you’re halfway happy with, you’ve spent too much time wondering about hypotheticals and outfits and whether– in the event of an intimate collision – you would actually like to be spanked. Before you know it, you’re running late. 

You’ve almost convinced yourself that it’s fashionably so as you snatch up your keys, fly out of the house, and down your front steps. All the coolest people are fashionably late … at least that’s what Cosmopolitan Magazine says.

It’s only a short jaunt down Cornwallis to the Hideout, and when you get there, there is a semi-shitty Chevrolet van parked crooked across two spaces with the back doors flung open wide. 

It’s vaguely familiar, the way all vans of its type are, though perhaps you only think you’ve seen it before because of the posse of boys meandering around it, moving gear between the vehicle and the curb. 

Your headlights briefly illuminate the familiar faces of the group before passing them over as you pull into the first parking spot you see.

There is Gareth, of course, alongside Adam and Jeff, who you only actually know by reputation and the quick debriefing of the band he’d given you earlier that afternoon, but you cannot help but notice that there is conspicuously no sign of Eddie among them. 

You try not to be too immediately disappointed by that as you kill the engine and unbuckle your seatbelt.

Oh, will you relax already? A voice chides you from somewhere in the back of your mind. Just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not here.

Across the tiny lot, Gareth drops the end of the amp he’s got propped between himself and Adam (you think) and skips over to meet you as you steal one final look at yourself in the inset mirror of your sun visor.

You’re not a natural when it comes to applying makeup — yet another thing you could have used Carol’s help with tonight — but you did your best to look presentable.

You imagine if there is anything glaringly clownish about the way you look, it will be easily obscured by the dark and dingy atmosphere of the venue. Bar. Whatever.  

And then the crisp November evening air comes rushing in to flash freeze you with goosebumps as Gareth opens your driver's side door and stands practically bouncing on his toes with excitement. 

You brace yourself against the cold and suddenly cannot imagine trying to endure sitting out at the Harrington’s pool on a night like this. 

“You made it!” Gareth cries as you slide out of your trusty little Toyota Corolla and it strikes you with just how nice it is to have someone glad to see you show up for once. 

Your friends are typically less enthusiastic about that. 

Still, you don’t want to appear overly eager, so you can’t help but try and mask it by pulling a face – you’d told him you’d be there, after all. 

“Was that ever in doubt?” You ask, shouldering your bag.

You shut the door and twist your keys in the lock before quickly stashing them. 

“Well, you never know.” Gareth says, shrugging, “People get busy.” 

Yeah, and people also bend over backward to get out of prior obligations to keep their word. 

And then, you find yourself wondering if it’s totally weird that you jumped through so many hoops just to make sure you could keep yours. 

Lying to your parents, lying to Mrs. Henderson, lying to Carol (who called you ten minutes before you left and demanded once more that you come out before cursing you when you declined again).

Somehow you can’t help but get the sense that if anyone knew, if anyone could have been a fly on the wall of your life this afternoon, you might come across as desperate, especially considering you could take or leave the band. 

You’d gone through all that effort just to see Eddie, who so far as you can tell is not even here.

Shit — you’re starting to wonder if tonight is going to be a huge bummer when Gareth brings you back. 

“Come over and meet the guys,” he says eagerly with a hand at your elbow to guide you across the darkened pavement. 

Every step leads you closer to the van, to the band, to the impending night, and you find yourself second-guessing your outfit for the umpteenth time that day. You wonder if you’re underdressed, and whether you should have cowboyed up and opted for the skirt, which you’d decided was a bit much for the occasion.

Was it the skirt or the fantasy that went with it? 

The world may never know.

“Guys!” Gareth calls once you get within distance, “You know–” when he says your name, their heads snap to tandem attention in a way that reminds you of meerkats.

It might have been funny if it wasn’t for the way they stand there gawping at you, eyes big as dinner plates and out on stalks. 

The silence that hangs between you is deafening, and standing there under such intense scrutiny you can’t help but feel suddenly like you’ve made a terrible mistake.

You twist your fingers out of nervous habit and shift from foot to foot, wondering if you’re allowed to be here, or whether Gareth remembered to mention that he’d invited you out tonight.

“Well, say something, for Christ’s sake,” Gareth says through his teeth. 

“Oh, r-right… hi–” Jeff stammers, tripping over your name like it’s a hot coal sitting on his tongue.

Adam is not so smooth.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, like he absolutely cannot fathom that you, of all people would coincidentally be here at the same time as them, and certainly not for their benefit. 

It makes you feel frighteningly out of place and you have to force yourself to put down roots to stop yourself from turning right around and going back to your car. 

Before Gareth can finish telling him to shut the fuck up, a figure appears from the shadowy depths of the van and your lungs go flat. 

Lo and behold — Eddie Munson, in the flesh. 

Just the sight of him makes every part of your brain light up like a cathedral and chant his name as if it were singing Hallelujah. 

Eddie Eddie Eddie!

He’s halfway through some tirade and stumbling over a thick black cord that he has somehow become hopelessly tangled in.

“Hey – you assholes are doing a lot of standing around and yapping for–” he is saying before he looks up, sees you, and cuts himself off with a startled yelp of your name.

Despite the semi-comical octave to which he speaks your name, your insides flood with warmth as he practically falls out of the van. He skips over, dragging what you quickly come to realize is a microphone with him in his simultaneous attempt to free himself and close the distance between you.

It goes about as well as anyone could expect.

Before you know it, you’re standing toe to toe in the span of a heartbeat, and like a balm to your worries, you forget that you were ever nervous about being here tonight. You forget the awkwardness of Gareth’s friends, your stress over your outfit, and the lengths you went to be here, because here he is, staring back at you like everything else has melted away. 

All is once again right in the world. 

“Hi!” He says, quickly wiping his grimy hands down the front of the ridiculously tight jeans he’s wearing, the ones you’re desperately trying not to notice or wonder just how he’d managed to get into. 

“Hi, Eddie,” You purr, feeling the muscles in your cheeks already beginning to pull for how wide you’re smiling at him. 

Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

Had you been looking, you might have noticed the way the rest of the band was watching you, exchanging looks of varying degrees, throwing elbows and shushing each other, but you’re not looking, not at anything but the beautiful boy standing before you. 

His hair is wild, like always, but tonight Eddie’s got what looks like dark kohl liner smudged messily around his eyes and half rubbed off, like he’d tried something new and immediately second guessed it. It’s so incredibly endearing that it makes your heart throb in the stupid cupid fashion you’ve been chasing ever since that Thursday in the woods. 

Your veins flood with ecstasy and just like that, you’ve got the fix you’ve been itching for all week. 

With his tight jeans, the thick studded belt bursting out of its loops, all his chains and rings, steel-toed boots, and the faded band tee cropped at the waist and shoulders you can see him wearing underneath his jacket, he looks like something off the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine.

He’s dressed like the guy who would push you up against the wall and rip your skirt off, and you’ve never felt more like a stupid girl with a silly little crush than you do now.

It might almost be intimidating if it weren’t for the way that he’s looking right back at you, as if you hung the moon and the stars and were personally responsible for the shining magic of the cosmos. 

Like the guy who would take his time unbuttoning your jeans. 

You look at him, and he looks right back at you, and you feel something begin to flutter in the space behind your lungs — something warm and frantic, like the beating of a tiny bird’s wings. 

Right now, standing in this parking lot, you could be the only two people in the world, and you’d be just fine with it. 

And then, there is a cough, a conspicuously cleared throat, and the spell is broken.

Eddie shakes his head, like waking from a trance and simultaneously pulling you from yours. 

“What - uh- what are you doing here?” He asks – it hits you like a fist to the gut. “Not that it isn’t great to see you… it’s just— I didn't expect to see you.”

Oh.

You can feel the corners of your mouth twitch where your smile begins to falter. 

“I came to see your show,” You say quietly, fighting a losing battle against the tide of your nerves as they come rushing back in with enough force to sweep you under.

Eddie’s dark ringed eyes go wide and his mouth falls open, and you feel a cold lump drop into the pit of your stomach with a hollow thump. 

“You did?” he gasps, voice lilting up into that comical octave again, “Really?”

Oh, great. So, nobody knew you were coming.

For as mortifying as that is, it doesn’t sting half as badly as the disappointment battering you over how you’d spent your afternoon thinking Eddie was as excited to see you as you were to see him.

He didn’t even know you were coming — stupid Gareth. 

Suddenly, your subconscious is whispering horrible things to you: maybe he doesn’t like you as much as he’d originally let on. Maybe that moment you shared out in the woods was all in your head, maybe you’d misread the signs and he was just being nice for the sake of the loser virgin, tripping over herself to try and win the affections of the local drug dealer.

It makes you feel particularly stupid about how you’d sat there at a soggy picnic bench out in the woods, desperately waiting for Eddie to kiss you – why the fuck would he kiss you? He doesn’t even know you.   

You can’t even touch how embarrassed you are about how much time you’d spent fantasizing about him undressing you. 

Christ, you’re pathetic. But you’re also here, and you ought to at least try to make an effort to appear like you’re not the socially inept loser everybody seems to think you are.

“Oh, y-yeah… I mean, it’s no big deal.” you fumble to explain, gesturing vaguely like it’s going to help smooth over the growing awkwardness of this moment

Maybe if you keep talking, nobody will get the chance to say anything that sounds too much like a rejection.  

You give your best approximation of a casual shrug and continue.

“Gareth invited me.” You say, and somehow it feels oddly accusatory, “He said it was cool… unless…”

Uncertainty makes you strangely brave, brave enough to lean into the awkwardness of the moment at least – if there’s one thing you’ve learned after years of being Carol’s punching bag, it’s that if you can’t beat the joke, join in.

“…Unless?” Eddie prompts.

You furrow your brow.

“Unless he conveniently failed to mention that I was coming?”

Of course, the moment your gaze snaps over to regard him with a harsh, unforgiving glare is when Gareth conveniently decides it’s time to get back to hauling gear.

With a fistful of each of their shirts, he drags the others away, spouting some bullshit about “call times” and “sound check” and leaves you standing there with Eddie in the chasm of the awkward silence fighting tooth and nail to settle snugly between you.

You refuse to give it the satisfaction as you watch them retreat, and you make a displeased sound.

Bastard coward sons of bitches. A pox on all their houses.

“Well,” you start, “This is awkward, I don’t mind saying…” 

Once the rest of the band has circled around to disappear beyond the far side of the van, you begin to feel the faintest hint of that same warmth from the woods settling over you, and you take a chance to lean into Eddie’s space. 

“Hey, listen,” you say dropping your tone, “It was great seeing you — really, it was … but if it’s totally weird that I’m here I can take off—”

“Oh, no!” Eddie says a tad too loud. His voice rings out and echoes across the empty spaces before he reigns his enthusiasm in, “No – it’s not weird! You should totally stay!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, for sure. You should definitely stay, right guys?” You look just in time to see a nondescript door set into a wall of the bar slamming shut, leaving the two of you alone in the cold, “…Whatever, forget those assholes — I’m glad you’re here.” 

And there you go grinning your face off again.

“You are?”

“Yeah, are you kidding? It’s awesome to see you. Also, nobody’s ever actually come to see us play, so that makes you the closest thing to a fan we’ve got.” 

“Oh, good.” You say. 

“Great.” 

“Excellent.” 

“Fan-tastic.” He says, stretching the word lyrically and moving to shut the back doors of the van with a hard THUNK, “Only you gotta do something for me if you’re gonna stick around,”

You move quickly to fall into step as Eddie starts toward the side door set in between a stack of pallets and a dumpster. The same one the others had only just slipped through. 

“What’s that?” You ask, doing your best to pretend that you don’t smell the toxic waste that is bar trash permeating the air.  

He yanks the door open and reveals the murky interior of the Hideout, waiting just beyond like the portal to another world. 

The smell of wet trash is quickly overwhelmed by the strong tang of smoke and alcohol, hitting you in a wave of thick, roiling air. You grit your teeth as it washes over you, accompanied by the tinny din of a Jimmy Buffett song playing over the jukebox.

“You have to promise you’re gonna cheer super loud to balance out all the booing,” he says, holding the door open for you, “We aren’t exactly what you’d call popular with the local wildlife.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from telling him that Gareth already warned you of that during his earlier sales pitch. 

Something along the lines of “we’re terrible, please come see us play,” had been uttered as a backdrop to your giggling over learning the name of the band, back when it was only a silly anecdote and you knew nothing of the gravity of the invitation. 

You banish the thought to the back of your mind and bite down harder on your cheek to try and distract from the way you can feel your heart beating against your ribs as Eddie’s hand comes up to hover at the small of your back, ushering you inside. 

“I can do that.” You say with a quick nod.

“Perfect – after you, M’lady.” 

You almost don’t remember to be worried about getting into the bar when Eddie guides you over the threshold with a short, sweeping gesture. 

The side door deposits you at the far end of the bar, and despite only the slightest change in atmosphere, it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the neon signage and overhead bulbs.

All your fears of bouncers and fake IDs dissipate when you arrive and there is no one waiting to card you on the other side. 

You do your best to breathe as subtle a sigh of relief as you can, because you made it, you’re in, whatever that means for the rest of your night.  

The Hideout is a full-on hick dive, as much as you expected. Booth seating, pool tables, and the vaguest suggestion of a bandstand in the far back corner next to the jukebox where you finally see Gareth and the others again. They’re busying themselves with the task of setting up amps and instruments beneath a slapdash Corroded Coffin banner hung crookedly over the drumkit. 

It’s clearly homemade and looks very much like it has been spray painted, black over red on a stained white bed sheet. It’s incredibly tacky in the most endearing way.

The bar is not too terribly full for seven-forty-five on a Tuesday night, though in taking in the faces of the blue-collar working-class patrons, the general décor, and the type of music shuffling through the jukebox as the track turns over to play Loretta Lynn, you can’t help but feel that this is not really their crowd.

Not really your crowd, you tell yourself, not that you have the experience to know such a thing. 

If you thought you felt out of place before, standing among the band, the feeling is amplified tenfold as you begin to notice the way half a dozen people have turned around to gawp curiously at you. 

Of course, it doesn’t occur to you that the reason they’re staring is that you’re standing there tucked in against Eddie Munson, who you also had not realized was standing so close to you.

You erupt into a fever of goosebumps as you rock back on your heels and feel the contours of his chest graze your shoulder blades. Eddie’s hand comes up to grip you kindly by the shoulder as he guides you further into the dingy building and starts to give you the rundown. 

You do your best to focus on his words to keep yourself grounded, trying to assure yourself that you’re allowed to be here. 

If he’s not nervous, you’re not nervous.

“We’re gonna go on soonish,” he says, depositing you at an empty barstool, separated from where a handful of patrons sit nursing their drinks, “– we’ll probably play for like half an hour, maybe longer depending on how many songs they let us play.”

“How many songs do they usually let you play?” You ask, having to project your voice to be heard over the din of the bar.

You do your best to hop up onto the stool in a way that is cool and elegant as you have almost perfected with your squat metal seat back in Mr. Kapz’s class. This one is taller than you’d estimated, however, and you immediately find yourself struggling to get up over the lip of the polished wood.

Eddie, ever the gentleman, doesn’t hesitate to help you up and steady you. 

“Three or four,” He hums without missing a beat. “Our record is six, but that was only one time, so I wouldn’t hold my breath for that many with this crowd. Also, don’t be surprised if they pull the plug on us — like, literally kill the power.”

“You’re kidding…”

“It’s no big deal, it’s just something they like to do in this fine establishment.”

He says it like it's funny, but suddenly you can’t help but think back to Gareth’s plea that you come and watch them play. For the first time since he’d invited you that afternoon, you are suddenly struck wondering just what you have really gotten yourself into – you have no idea what kind of music they play, whether they’re halfway decent or as terrible as Gareth let on.

You have to work to remind yourself that, regardless of the quality of Corroded Coffin, you’re here to support your friends. 

Which is only really half true – you’re here for Eddie.

You’re watching him closely when another body appears at his side and claps a loud, forceful hand down on his shoulder. Your heart spasms in tandem with the way Eddie jumps under the sudden contact, and you brace yourself for whatever is coming as his head whips around to address his assailant. 

Then, much to your patent relief, his features light up and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“Oh, hey! Wayne!” He yelps with a rush of boyish excitement, “What’re you doing here? Are you gonna watch us play?”

The man – evidently Wayne – wheezes out a chuckle that is a little too sarcastic to be kind before answering, speaking in a thick Appalachian drawl that is bizarrely out of place in this town. 

“I get enough of y’all’s music at home, thanks very much. Just sayin’ hi on my way out,” he rasps, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder with an unmistakable affection before turning his bright blue eyes on you, “Who’s yer friend?”

Eddie makes quick introductions, and once names have been traded back and forth, Wayne touches the brim of his faded ballcap. 

“Pleased to meet you,”

“Oh – sure. I mean, likewise,” you stammer, stiffening your spine to keep yourself from wilting under the intensity of the man’s gaze.

It’s almost intrusive, and makes you feel like you need to go home and put on another layer of clothing just to keep him from seeing your deepest, darkest, inner most thoughts and feelings. 

X-ray specs got nothing on this man’s penatrative gaze, and when it's just about enough to send you crawling out of your skin, then there goes Eddie saving your life again.

“Isn’t it bad luck to wear a hat indoors?” He asks with a mischievous smirk.

Wayne catches him expertly by the wrist as he reaches for the hat, like he’s a certified expert at avoiding such a motion, and guides Eddie’s ring-bedecked digits safely away from his headwear.

“Bad luck to put a hat on a bed.” Wayne corrects, “Bad luck to open an umbrella indoors.”

Eddie snorts as he takes his hand back and nudges you with his elbow, gentlemanly letting you in on the joke. 

“Wayne’s a nut for that kinda stuff.” He says, gesturing to the older man with no small amount of humor, like it’s simply the goofiest thing anyone has ever heard. “Real superstitious,”

It doesn’t feel mean, so much as a deep set rapport built over a lifetime of back and forth like this. 

Wayne makes a thick, gravelly sound in the back of his throat which you recognize as the beginning rattle of a smoker’s cough. 

“Least I know where the bad luck’s comin’ from when it shows up,” The man hums, “Anyways. What time are y’all goin’ on?”

“In a few minutes. Why?”

In lieu of answering, Wayne just hums again, thoughtfully so this time. Then that bright gaze slides back over to you.  

“They got earplugs behind the bar if you ask for ‘em,” Wayne says with a clipped gesture, “Just so’s you know.” 

“Hey—!” Eddie begins with all the moody indignance of a child.

Wayne cuts him off with raised hands, begging no offense. 

“Just tryin’ to be neighborly in case yer friend don’t know what she’s gettin’ into,” He stresses, “Y’ever heard these fellers play?” 

“Uh, well— no, actually, I—” you start,

Wayne’s brows jump. 

“Like skinnin’ a cat,” 

It sends you right back to the incident in the quad the week before, to what Eddie had said about Carol’s screeching tirade, and suddenly the look Wayne is giving you is so familiar it’s almost eerie.

You realize with a start that it’s the exact same look Eddie gave you out in the quad.

The resemblance is uncanny. The joke, however, does not land.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Wayne,” Eddie fumes, clapping the man on the shoulder in a stilted mirror image of the way he’d done a moment before and maneuvering him past you.

If you didn’t know better, you might have said that the faintest flush of color had bled into Eddie’s cheeks, but you tell yourself you don’t as he pushes Wayne past you and attempts to maneuver him out. 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” 

Wayne stops short then, turns, and gives Eddie a very stern look, thrusting a finger up at him in a way that feels oddly paternal as he warns him with a low utterance of, “Hey now,”.

You know that look well enough from having seen it on your father. It means “watch your tone”, and it does the job it’s meant to.

You watch as Eddie puts his hands up and retreats a step, and the tension dissipates before it’s even had the chance to settle. 

 Suddenly, they’re friends again and your brain is crawling out of your skull with curiosity over who this man is to Eddie – what a strange dynamic they have, decidedly charged with something but clearly softened by a kind of underlying affection.

Almost like family – exactly like family, you realize. 

If you didn’t know better, you might almost guess that this man was Eddie’s father, but of course that couldn’t be true, because you know exactly where Al Munson is meant to be, and it’s not here at the Hideout.  

After a quick back and forth that you only catch bits and pieces of, Wayne gives you one last parting look, brows jumping.

“I’m serious about them earplugs.” He says, then claps Eddie on the back as he takes his leave. “See you at home, Bud,”

“Yeah, okay… later.” He mutters – he gestures after the man once he’s gone, “My uncle.” Eddie explains, and suddenly everything makes a little more sense.

You just had the pleasure of meeting the elusive other Munson, who you’d heard talk of around town, but whose reputation (or lack thereof) has been vastly overshadowed by the likes of his brother and nephew.   

“He seems nice.” You offer for lack of anything better to say. 

“Yeah, he thinks he’s real funny with those earplugs – weird seeing him here though, he usually drinks out at The Attic on — hey, what’s the matter?” Eddie asks suddenly, brows creeping toward one another to form a deep crease of concern between them, “You’re not scared are you?” 

You swallow hard and try not to stare at him, suddenly backed in a multicolor glow as the stage lights come on, leaving him looking like some kind of ethereal rock god. 

“No.” You lie. 

Eddie grins at you like he knows you’re fibbing, and he reaches up to touch your arm. 

You do your best to suppress a shiver under the way he gently squeezes you there.

“Hey, you showing up like this? Biggest thing anybody’s ever done for me. Y’think I’d let anything happen to you after that?”

He barely gives you time to read into the sentiment before something over your head draws his attention and the moment ends. 

“Anyway, you’re perfectly safe. Laverne here’s gonna look after you,” He gestures to the space behind you, “Right Laverne?” 

You turn to see the woman behind the bar that he is speaking to, face split into that big, winning smile of his — a little sleazier than it was a moment before — and are suddenly struck by the knowledge that this is the second person Eddie has introduced you to in this place in less than two minutes. 

You catch yourself wondering just how much time he spends skulking around this bar as a tall, middle-aged woman with a big cloud of frizzy hair dyed a red so deep it’s nearly purple comes into view.

Laverne — the bartender, evidently.

She’s got a blown-out tattoo on her bicep that you think must have been a snake at one point in time, and her massive, freckled breasts are just about spilling out of the top of her too-tight tank top, stretching the name of the bar until it’s almost illegible. She looks entirely too rock and roll for this place, like some kind of a transplant from a seedy biker joint on the Sunset Strip.

By the way she’s glaring at Eddie, you can tell that she is immune to his attempts at charm.

“I don’t pay you to stand around flirting.” Laverne drawls, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward what you can only imagine is the back of house, “An’ you left a whole pile’a dishes stacked up back there when you ran out to put yer makeup on.”

Eddie’s grin wavers under the impromptu lecture and you can’t help but feel your insides squirm on his behalf.

“Gee, Laverne, I never knew you liked me so much,” he tries, but she is not done. 

“Don’t you think for one second I’m gonna cover yer ass so’s you can cut out early an’ go diddle yourself or whatever it is you do on your own time. When yer here, yer on my time, an’ I don’t appreciate my time bein’ wasted,  so, who d’you reckon is gonna do them dishes, Junior?”

All the sleazy charm ekes right out of him and you watch as Eddie goes white as a sheet. 

“Green around the gills” is what a distant relative of yours would have called the look on his face, and you can’t say you disagree.  

You have to resist the urge to reach out and put a steadying hand on him, purely on babysitting instinct, because if you didn’t know any better – which you don’t – you’d think he was about to keel over, and it’s almost startling.

Based on his schooltime bravado, part of you imagines Eddie would be made of stronger stuff in the face of such ire, but you’re quickly beginning to understand that the Eddie you know from school is not an accurate depiction of the man behind the mask. Then again, you’re not certain you know anyone who would be able to stand there and take a dressing down like that, so maybe Eddie is made of that elusive “stronger stuff” after all.

Suddenly, you can’t help but imagine what would have happened in the alternate universe where Carol found herself here with you, standing in his place. You’d like to see her try running her mouth then, face to face with the likes of Madam Hideout. 

Back in the real world, Eddie casts a wary gaze in your direction before answering the woman who you have quickly come to realize is his boss. 

“I’ll do ‘em after,” he mumbles, suddenly much less an ethereal rock god and more a sullen child.

The muscle in Laverne’s jaw flexes as she grits her teeth, and you can suddenly see her right at home standing behind a great oak bar in a saloon, eyes shaded in a big Stetson, spitting a fat gob of dark, rotten chaw to the sawdust floor as she chews through her thick Texan drawl. 

“They shoulda been done b’fore you punched out.” She spits in the tobacco-less, non-Old West version of herself. 

“I’ll do them after, Laverne.” Eddie insists, sliding back into the boyish indignance from before. 

She rolls her eyes and stalks off, muttering something unintelligibly rude as she goes, and an indiscernible emotion wells painfully in your chest. It is deeply offended on Eddie’s behalf, whatever it is, and moves you to want to protect him, though you don’t know how you would manage to do that. 

You don’t typically feel this way about anyone over the age of twelve, and don’t know whether to try and pick a fight with Laverne or to drag Eddie out to the parking lot where you’ll be safe from the ire of rude bartenders – that’s what you would have done with Dustin had you encountered a bully somewhere out in the wild, but somehow you can’t imagine either scenario going over well with Eddie swapped for Dustin. 

The lack of options leaves you paralyzed, and by the time Eddie is talking again, you’ve gone and said nothing in his defense. 

The indignant emotion deflates and leaves you feeling cold and guilty.

“Yeah, that Laverne…” he says, “She’s a real peach.”

You watch the woman saunter to lean over the end of the bar furthest from you, and once you are almost certain she is out of earshot, you lean in close.   

“Do you work here?” You ask in a stage whisper, if only to be heard over the din of the music and murmuring conversations. 

Eddie’s gaze snaps back down to you and you watch as he grows suddenly and strangely shy. You can see his guard cautiously slipping into place as he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck and offers you a lopsided shrug. 

“Few nights a week, yeah.” He admits, almost like he’s embarrassed to have been caught in the conundrum of playing a set in the place where he works, “Pays the bills, y’know?” 

You wonder how much of the interaction with Wayne followed directly by the one with Laverne is coloring this moment, and you’re mortified to have put him in this situation.

If you weren’t here, he would be up on the bandstand with the rest of the guys instead of looking after you, and both interactions may very well have been avoided entirely. Suddenly, you’re desperate to take responsibility for your presence and put him at ease. 

“That’s cool.” You tell him, and for once, it is exactly the right thing to say.  

Eddie immediately brightens. 

“You think so?” He asks.

You nod, because if you’re not nervous, then he doesn’t have to be, right? Suddenly, this interaction feels a lot like babysitting, and you take no small amount of comfort in the familiarity of it, even if Eddie is most certainly the one babysitting you here at the bar. 

“Totally! You’re basically getting paid to play a gig every week – do you know how many bands would kill for that?” 

Eddie’s face splits up into that big, toothy grin.

“Yeah, exactly!” He starts before second-guessing his tone and attempting to reign in his enthusiasm, “I mean – hey, it’s not Saturday night at the Garden, but a gig’s a gig. At least until we can get the band off the ground and get a record–” 

Over the rumble of the bar, you hear somebody shouting from the direction of the bandstand – Jeff, you think. His voice is laced with annoyance as if this is the third or fourth time he’s called Eddie, and he is quickly losing his patience.

“MUNSON!” He shouts, “LET’S GO!”

Eddie twists at the sound of his name and you watch as he pulls a face, almost like he’d forgotten there was a greater purpose to being here other than standing around chatting you up at the bar.

“Whoopsie – guess that’s my cue.” He says, shrugging out of his jacket as he turns back to you, “Hold on to this for me, will you?”

Your heart rockets up into your throat and you hope that Eddie can’t see how your fingers are trembling as you accept his jacket and hold it against you.

You clench your teeth to keep something cheesy from floating up past your lips like you’ll guard it with your life.  

You think you must be making a face, then, one Eddie mistakes for anxiety as he gives you a soft look and his voice turns gentle. 

“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” He assures you, “You’re with the band, remember? Fan numero uno.”

He raises a finger to emphasize the notion, and you nod, watching him turn and trying to beat back the spike of fear that surges in you when he leaves you sitting at the bar. 

He’s fine if you’re fine, and you’re fine if he’s fine, but only so long as you’re enveloped in the safety blanket of his presence – but you remind yourself that you’re a big girl.

If you can lie to everyone you know and sneak out of the house to slip into a bar to see a band, you can sit alone in a room full of strangers for a few minutes before the band starts to play. 

And yet, sitting there, watching Eddie move into the crowd, you’re suddenly struck with the sensation of how stridently you don’t want to be left alone in this place where you so clearly don’t belong. But you don’t have to be so overt about it, so you shout at Eddie’s back in the far-off hope that it will make him turn around and look at you once more. 

“Y’know, you keep saying that,” you start, “But I haven’t even heard you play!”

He turns on his heel and shoots you full of holes with that big, goofy grin of his. 

“Oh man, you’re gonna love us!” He calls back, and you can’t help but snort out an undainty laughter. 

“That’s not what Gareth said!” 

Eddie pulls a face and cups a hand at his ear like he didn’t hear you before throwing a shrug and disappearing into the throng of people milling about the pool tables. 

You take great comfort in the fact that for as cool as you think he is, you are starting to understand that he is an incredible dork. That makes things so much easier, especially with how you want so desperately for him to like you as much as you like him. 

And you like him so, so much. 

Too much – it doesn’t feel like just a schoolyard crush anymore, not since the moment you shared out in the woods, and again back in the parking lot, and just now, here at the bar.

Sitting here, with a big dopey look on your face and hearts in your eyes, you think you could very easily fall for Eddie as you watch him jump up onto the bandstand and exchange an indiscernible something with Gareth, grinning wolfishly as he does.  

You’re almost too busy sifting for gems through the last five minutes of conversation to realize what you just told yourself – you think you could fall pretty hard for Eddie Munson.

The thought startles you enough that you have to move to try and escape the way it makes you feel, twisting on the stool to face the bar. You sit there, letting the din of the environment wash over you in sickly waves of overstimulation, and you remind yourself of what Gareth originally assured you about this outing. 

Not like a date. He said. Just as friends. 

In the wake of your most recent revelation, the idea stings just a little bit more than you are prepared to endure.

Then, there is the abrasive sound of a throat being cleared. It’s only then that you look up and find yourself face-to-face with Madam Hideout herself.

Laverne gives you a hard side eye from where she stands at the tap directly to your right, pouring a tall pint of foamy beer.

If you’re blushing, you hope she can’t tell under the deep, colored lighting.

You try to smile at her, but it’s little more than a flattening of your lips as your mouth stretches horizontally, and somehow you know it isn’t coming across as polite as you’d intended. She doesn’t reciprocate.

Behind you, an amp flares with staticky feedback that makes your hair stand on end as someone plugs in a guitar. 

The sound of a dozen disgruntled barflies rumbles through the room as the band finishes setting up, and you find yourself witness to a sudden mass exodus. You twist in your seat again and watch as at least half of the patrons very quickly make their way out into the parking lot, following Wayne Munson’s lead after the fact.

By the time the herd has been thinned, the room is not empty by any means, but you can suddenly see the bandstand at the far end of the room where you couldn’t before. It gives you the perfect vantage of Eddie.

Corroded Coffin has similarly noticed how the room has cleared out, much to their own varying degrees of chagrin. Eddie is fumbling with the strap on his guitar, adjusting the length as he scans the room with a furrowed brow – then, as he finds you, right where he left you, his face splits into that same wide grin.

Suddenly shy under the cast of his attention, you gesture to the state of the room – get a load of these guys – and give an overexaggerated shrug. He responds in kind by sticking his tongue out at you and you feel your insides go tight and squirmy.

You don’t even realize how you’ve been grinning back at him until your face starts to hurt, and as quickly as the spotlight finds you, it’s gone again when Jeff leans over to say something to Eddie, snatching his attention away and leaving you sitting there alone on your stool again.

Brimming with what you would argue is too many feelings to process all at once, you reach around to grip the bar and spin yourself in a tight circle, hoping that maybe a little gravity will help sort out those big scary emotions.

“Quit that spinnin’.” Laverne snaps. “I ain’t moppin’ your little brains up off this floor if you fall.”

“Sorry.” You say immediately, bracing yourself on the bar to stop from going around once more – tragically, it leaves you facing her and the apparent disdain she holds for you, simply by way of association.

You avert your gaze.

Somewhere, you can hear the theme to Cheers playing distantly over the muted rumbling of half a dozen conversations.

…sometimes you wanna go, where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came… 

Some less than others. 

When you work up the courage to chance a look, you find that Laverne is still staring daggers at you. More than that, a cursory glance reveals that most of the people still sitting down the length of the bar are stealing curious looks at you. 

You can feel your throat going dry under the attention of so many strange eyes. It’s not that you’re necessarily an inherently shy person, only that without Eddie to bolster you, the feeling of being somewhere you clearly do not belong is attempting to crush you flat.

You do your best to make yourself as small as humanly possible as the beginning of a beat gets thumped out on the drum set before abruptly stopping.

Soundcheck.

Your mouth is suddenly full of cobwebs, and you muster your courage to steal one more look at Laverne, whose eyes you can still feel burning holes into the top of your skull. 

You peek up at her, hoping her ire will have eased, as if miraculously in the last thirty-seconds you’d done something to earn her respect.

No dice.

“Do you think I could get a coke?” You ask, cringing inwardly as your voice wavers and cracks.

You don’t really want the overpriced, watered-down soda she’s bound to give you, but you’re willing to do anything to distract from how much you stick out among the half-drunk onlookers pressing their faces in on you like kids at the zoo.

Thank God for the shield of Eddie’s jacket, you are once again so thankful you’d foregone the tight little skirt and boots combo.

Laverne gives you a hard look, and you feel a twinge of sudden bravery begin worming its way through your midsection. This time, you stare back at her. 

Then, she throws a dish towel over her shoulder as she makes her way to you, chunky Doc Marten’s thumping hard on the spongy mat behind the bar.

As uncomfortable as you are to be sitting there under her gaze, some nagging part of you at the back of your tongue meets the annoyed twinge steadily rising in you, and together, they wish she would climb down out of your ass already.  

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she pulls the trigger on the soda nozzle and fills a dark red, textured glass to the brim – no ice.

She sets the drink on the bar in front of you with a hard thump and you watch the foam leap up over the brim of the cup and spill down the side before dissipating with a soft hissing. 

Laverne pops a straw into the cup and somehow it feels like an insult, like something Carol would have done. 

You’re supposed to inhale, Dummy! pared down to a simple gesture with that same patent disdain. 

Still, you’re nothing if not fatally imbued with unflinching manners, and the words are tumbling out over your lips before you can stop them.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and the nagging little voice on the back of your tongue cries out at your treachery. 

Laverne grunts out a response and quirks a thin, penciled brow at you. 

It takes her forever to speak, and you wish the band would just start playing already so that you would have an excuse to turn your back to her.

“The Chief’s been known to frequent this place,” she begins, and in a brief moment of deep confusion, all you can do is stare at her, waiting for her to clarify, “Of Police.”

You have no idea what to do with that information.

“Oh,” you say dumbly, “You don’t say,”

She nods.

“Might even be inclined to call him a regular customer,” 

Somehow, you can’t help but get the sense that it’s less a statement of fact than it is a threat, and if that is the case, you can’t deny that it’s more or less effective.

The last thing you need right now is to find yourself sitting, wilting under the gaze of Chief Hopper while he reads you the riot act and lists in detail everything you’ve ever done to make you such a terrible person — faking sickness and sneaking out to go and see a boy you’re sweet on in a bar you’re not old enough to be sitting in when by all rights you should be sitting on the Henderson’s couch watching He-Man.  

For lack of a better response, you twist idly on your chair, nice and slow so Laverne can see you do it and come all the way back around to the other side.

The phrase, “if looks could kill” passes through your mind for a brief, yet terrifying second – something in the back of your mind is inexorably calm as it assures you that you haven’t done anything wrong. 

You’re supposed to be here. You’re with the band, no matter how anyone may happen to feel about that.

Leaning over the bar and taking a long, innocent sip from your straw, you make a show of swallowing, smack your lips, and shrug. 

 “Funny. I don’t see him.”  

In spite of all your affected cool, you feel your guts twinge with anxiety when Laverne levels you with a hard look and crosses her thick, tattooed arms over her generous bosom. Suddenly you’re half worried you’re about to be “bounced” or whatever the official term for being forcibly ejected from a bar is – one more for the list in your long night of firsts. 

Then, in a shocking turn of events, the corner of the woman’s lip twitches in the faintest hint of a smile, violently suppressed, of course. 

You’re oddly pleased, in the way only a goody-two-shoes like yourself can be under the attention of anyone who could even remotely be perceived as a figure of authority. 

“How old are you?” Laverne demands.

Just like that, the twinge blossoms to a nagging feeling of angry defiance, lurking far in the back of your throat. 

Stupid question. You think, biting the inside of your cheek, because it’s not like you’d tried to order a beer. 

“Forty-five.” You say, matter-of-factly, suddenly unable to adjust your tone as you remember how rudely she’d spoken to Eddie before.    

She holds you in that hard, deadpan gaze.

“That’s funny,” She sniffs, “Bet your rock star boyfriend thinks you’re real funny too.” She hurls it at you like a slur and your heart spasms and lurches up into your throat.

“Oh, he’s not my—” but the bartender is already walking away, so you clamp your mouth shut and hum out your annoyance.

You swallow hard.

Boyfriend.

The word clangs around in your ribcage, and you wonder if that’s what people assume when they see you and Eddie together. 

Just like that, you’re feeling breathless again.

No wonder your teachers are all so freaked out – you don’t get the time to worry about that before Eddie’s voice cuts through the room and strikes you square in the back. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight–” he says smoothly into the microphone, “Before we start the show, we’d just like to say one thing…” 

You turn in your seat and find yourself immediately locked in his gaze. Even across the room, it sends a chill up your spine and goosebumps flashing across the expanse of your body. 

You’re gripped in the feeling that suddenly, you’re the only two people in this room, that no matter what happens next, it will be for your eyes only, and you’ll cherish that to the end of time. 

Eddie leans in, grips the microphone and looks you dead in the eye.

“This one goes out to all the ladies.”

Oh. Nevermind. 

“Oh, my God,” You say under your breath. 

Boo. Hiss. 

He’s so uncool, you can’t stand how much you like him. 

The strike of sticks on cymbals masks the agonized groan that rumbles throughout the bar and with the first few hard chords, the show begins. 

Corroded Coffin is not the greatest band in the world, but they’re also far from the worst.

It was an over-exaggeration on Gareth’s part to say that they’re terrible; they can carry a tune, they’re mostly on key and in sync, and that’s more than you can say you expected from how you’d been prepared.

You find that they mostly play covers of metal songs – the likes of Judas Priest and Black Sabbath – which garners a general disinterest from the bar, save for one sloppy drunk biker who just about loses his mind when they go into a crunchy rendition of War Pigs. 

You’re certainly losing your mind and falling a little bit harder than you’d expected you would be when you woke up that morning.

Eddie Munson in front of a cafeteria audience is one thing, but Eddie Munson on stage, a real-life honest-to-God stage is another animal entirely. As far as you are concerned, he was born and bred for the stage, and you’re enraptured, watching him move under the lights. The way he grips the neck of his guitar as he teases a melody out of the taught strings and growls into the microphone settles in your bones in a way you know is going to linger for months if not years to come.

It is mesmerizing in the most intoxicating way. If you thought tearing your eyes from him at school was difficult, you’re fairly certain you don’t blink from the start of their set to their less-than-grand finish.

They play a whopping five songs before someone unceremoniously kills the power, just as Eddie had prophesized.

“Bummer.” You hear someone groan out of the dark from the direction of the stage.

Luckily, it’s a total blackout to the whole bar, and not just the stage, saving the band any overt embarrassment in the face of their less-than-adoring public.

Your ears are ringing in the sudden absence of sound and the darkness lingers only a moment before the power comes back on again.

Loggins and Messina are back on the jukebox in an instant, the patrons turn back to their drinks, and just like that, your introduction to Corroded Coffin is cut short, one song shy of their record. 

With the lights on and free from the cloying miasma that can only come from standing in the crowd at a rock show, you manage to claw your way back to your senses enough to remember your parking lot promise.

You surprise even yourself by erupting into a cacophony of thunderous applause, whooping, and hollering just like any self respecting number one fan would do. Then again, if you’re being completely honest, and if the drunk biker hollering unevenly doesn’t put up too much of a fight, you might happily accept the title.

It doesn’t take much effort to shoulder your way through the meager crowd, particularly with the way it is steadily thinning. Evidently, the end to the show was enough to call for an end to the night for a good number of people here at the Hideout.  

You cross the room in a hop, skip, and a jump that deposits you at the foot of the bandstand, where you stand craning your head back nearly to the point of pain just to look up at the object of your affection. 

You hold Eddie’s jacket clutched reverently against your chest and imagine your steadily beating heart imbuing it with all kinds of emotion — super-charging it with what Huey Lewis and the News is now telling you must be the power of love. 

“You didn’t tell me you were good!” You cry, and are almost immediately chagrined.

You’re half deaf from the set and even through your screaming ears, you know you must be shouting. Worse than that is how you would dare to say something so incredibly awkward.

Why can’t you be cool for once in your stupid life?

Eddie is positively slick with sweat, pushing his hair back from his face and grinning again as he comes down to your level.

He drops into a squat you’re half surprised he can manage with just how tight his jeans are — the other half of you is too busy noticing how now that he’s down here, you’re almost nose to nose. 

You try not to stare at his jeans, or the sweat dripping down from his hairline to grace the curve of his cheekbones and drip off the sharp line of his jaw. His shirt has gone semi-translucent and is clinging to his chest like a lover as you force yourself to meet his honey-warm gaze. 

“You guys are great.” You try again, hoping it comes out sounding a little cooler this time around.

No such luck. 

“Yeah? Well, what’d you expect, Sweetheart?” Eddie drawls, showing you his teeth in a way that makes your insides go tight — he tilts his head over to press his ear to his shoulder, “They don’t let just anyone up on this stage, you know.”

“Yes, they do.” Jeff counters from somewhere behind him, and you watch Eddie’s brows come down in aggravation, “Remember when they let that guy do forty minutes of close-up magic?”

Somewhere, very far away, Gareth is shrugging his shoulders from where he still sits, comfortably perched behind his drumkit.

“That guy wasn’t half bad.” he posits, much to the chagrin of his bandmates.

“That dude was wearing a cape.” Eddie scoffs.

“And you’re saying you wouldn’t?” Jeff snorts.

You’re too caught up in the way your heart is beating itself senseless against your ribs to hear the back and forth continue between them because Eddie called you Sweetheart.

Normally, you like to think such a pet name would leave you roiling in disgust, but nothing about the way you feel about Eddie is normal. 

And you’re not being any shade of normal about this. Forget whatever bullshit it says on your birth certificate, forget all the little pet names anyone has ever given you — Eddie Munson reached down and christened you Sweetheart, and as far as you’re concerned, that’s your name now. 

You feel like your head is going to crack open and burst with electric light as the name rattles around and around in your skull until it finds a tight little corner to wedge itself into and stay forever. 

Sweetheart, Sweetheart, Sweetheart.

Sweetheart and Eddie.

Sweetheart Munson. 

It’s so goddamn saccharine you’re almost surprised when your teeth don’t come tumbling out of your head. 

As you get lost further down the road of delusional fancy, the band’s bickering carries on without you. 

“I dunno… d’you guys think we should invest in capes?” Adam posits, and it’s almost enough to send Eddie into apoplectic shock.

“Corroded Coffin does not wear capes!” He snarls, and an intrusive little voice can’t help but beg to differ, because to you, Corroded Coffin sounds exactly like the type of band who would come out on stage wearing capes. 

“At least he had style.” Gareth huffs, “And the crowd liked him a whole lot better than they like us, maybe we can learn something from Magical Marve.” 

“Jesus Christ, you guys — you’re blowing it in front of our number one fan!” Eddie gestures to you as he says it and you blush bright red, suddenly terrified that you’ve been caught with hearts in your eyes as the rest of the band’s attention snaps over to you — their apparent number one fan. 

In a few years, when you would read Misery, you would spend a full week brimming with resentment that Stephen King would dare to suggest that it could be anything but a term of endearment. But that was a thought for the future, and only because he wasn’t there to see Eddie Munson dub you Sweetheart. 

Right here and now, you are just happy to be included. Because it’s like Eddie said before, you're with the band… who is still bickering as they go about the quick and dirty business of breaking down their equipment. 

It takes a solid twenty minutes, even with you fumbling to try and help anyway you can. Your vision goes briefly spotty when Eddie hands you his guitar and asks you to “hold her a sec”, briefly — accidentally — hooking his pinky finger with yours in the exchange. A promise of something yet untold — his jacket, his guitar, anything he gives you, you’ll guard with your life. 

It sounds just as stupid as you feared when you can’t stop yourself from saying it this time, but the way he laughs eases the sting of your embarrassment, if only a little. 

When everything is more or less put away, moods have not yet recovered from the previous moment’s tiff, but Gareth is never one to be deterred. 

“Come on, you guys. Why the long faces? That’s the longest set we’ve played in a while!” he says, nudging you with his elbow, “I’d say that’s reason enough to celebrate.”

It’s perhaps the first suggestion that night which isn’t immediately met with a dissenting chorus of booing and hissing. 

“Yeah, what do you say, fellas?” Jeff throws a neighborly arm over Eddie’s shoulder and gives him a shake for good measure, “The Palace’ll still be open for a few hours, how’s about we order a couple pizzas, get a six pack and go for a few rounds of Dragon’s Lair? Quarters are on me.” 

It sounds about as fun as any average Tuesday with Dustin and his friends, not nearly as special as anything you would do to celebrate such a monumental night as this, but being the guest here, you defer to the group. You look to their leader to gauge the appropriate reaction to Jeff’s suggestion, and you notice with a start that he does not share his friend’s enthusiasm. 

Call it babysitter’s intuition, but you seem to be the only one who has noticed that Eddie’s mood has taken a sudden and immediate nosedive into the creaky laminate flooring.

Everyone else is too busy listening to Gareth get his feathers ruffled over the plan to notice Eddie’s exchanged look with Laverne, still tucked in at the back of the bar with her arms crossed. 

You watch all of this happen with the privilege of blessed invisibility, preserving both the excitement of the moment and Eddie’s dignity as a decision is quietly made.

He’s not going. 

Your heart sinks. 

“Oh, so you’re just gonna oh-so-graciously offer to pay for the cheapest part of that plan?” Gareth snaps.

Jeff fishes a ring of keys from the front pocket of his jeans and jingles it in the other boy’s face.

If Eddie’s not going, you don’t want to go either, but you don’t dare embarrass yourself by saying that out loud, so you keep your mouth shut.

“I’m also gonna drive. You can be a cheap prick too when you get your license, Freshman.” Jeff says with no small amount of smugness, “What d’you say, Eddie? You in?”

He does his best to approximate an apologetic smile, then shakes his head, sweat damp curls bouncing as he does. 

“Not tonight, I’ve got some stuff I gotta finish up here.”

He does his best not to look directly at you as he says it, but you’re starting to learn that if there is one thing Eddie has a hard time doing, it’s not looking at you. You aren’t sure how to process that information and for a brief yet terrifying moment, it swells inside you to the point of pain. 

“You sure?” Gareth presses, glancing less than subtly between you and stretching his words past the point of pain, “Big night. Worth celebrating.”

You level him with an unimpressed look. 

Real smooth Gareth, why not just spell it out for him?

Still, you suppose you have to give him Brownie points for trying because you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him. 

Eddie is already retreating when he gives his final answer, waving you off in a way that feels almost painfully casual. 

“Yeah, no, you guys go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”

You watch him go, and he watches you watching him. You can’t tell for certain, but it feels almost as if something significant is passing you by, a moment you’ll never be able to get back if you don’t snatch it out of the air before it’s gone.

It fills you with a stinging burst of panic, especially when Eddie turns and lets you out of his sight. 

You came here tonight to see him. You’re only here for him. 

You’re almost shocked to hear your name being spoken then, and when you snap back over to reality, Jeff and Gareth are looking expectantly at you — Adam, who could evidently not care less who comes or stays, is already halfway to the door.

They had him at pizzas and a six-pack.

“—how ‘bout it?”

You blink back at them stupidly.

“Me?”

Jeff shrugs. 

“Sure, it’s like the man said, you’re our biggest fan, you ought to share in the glory too.” 

Strange how you had assumed that invitation would not be extended to you, stranger still is how you’re suddenly considering it.

Pizza and beer at the arcade is not the worst way you’ve ever spent a Tuesday night, but there is something nagging at you, stopping you from immediately accepting. It’s that same feeling as before, opportunity slipping past you and an incredibly powerful pull asking you whether you ought to stay as you turn back to watch Laverne step aside to make room for Eddie as he rounds the bar. 

Stay? At a bar?

Where you have been so summarily informed that the chief of police is likely to pop up at any moment like a cheap jump scare in a bad horror movie?

It’s certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

It’s not even the worst idea you’ve had all day. 

“I think…” you start, “Actually, I think I’m gonna pass… it’s been a lot of excitement ...and my curfew is coming up soon.”

It’s not expressly untrue, but you feel a sharp pang of regret when Jeff shrugs and so willingly accepts your polite decline.

Part of you wishes that they would have fought a little harder to get you to come out – even Carol won’t take no for an answer the first time around – but that part of you is very quickly whipped back into shape.

You’re not here to hang out with Adam and Jeff and Gareth. 

“Suit yourself,” he says flippantly, then claps Gareth on the back, “C’mon G.” 

He doesn’t follow right away. Gareth, never one to miss a quiet exchange, remains, giving you a pointed look.

“What’s up?” He asks quietly, “You good?” 

You wait for Jeff to get out of earshot, then lean in.

“...Do you think I should stay?” You ask.

Gareth’s brows furrow in a confusion that you can only imagine must be the mirrored echo of your own previous thoughts. You can almost hear him warning you that Chief Hopper hangs around here, and then something like realization flashes across his features as he glances past you. 

You follow his gaze over to where Eddie is disappearing into the back, tying a dingy apron around his waist. 

“Yes,” He says quickly, with a wide stretch of his mouth, “I think that’s exactly what you should do.”

“You do?”

“Yes, absolutely – you stay, and I’ll see you tomorrow,”

You watch Gareth disappear out the front doors and linger a moment beneath the multi-colored lights.

The jukebox has since flipped over to play Dusty Springfield, and she is warning you that being good isn’t always easy, no matter how hard you try, and it gives you courage enough to slink back to the bar, where your soda sits long empty.

“You’re not getting a refill, so don’t even ask.” Laverne snaps, startling you. 

“I just wanted to pay for it.” 

She makes a gruff sound in the hollow of her throat and begins wiping down the bar. 

“It’s paid for.” She says reluctantly.

Before you can ask what that could possibly mean, she continues. 

“So, I reckon you’re stayin’ behind.” It’s not exactly a question, so you don’t feel pressed to answer, and when you don’t, she hefts a tub of dishes up onto the flattop. “Why don’t you take this back to Junior, since you’re so keen on hangin’ around. Save me the trip.”  

You look from Laverne to the dishes, and back again, feeling the wheels of your brain creaking under the duress of trying to see the invisible pitfall ahead of you. 

“...Am I allowed to do that?” you finally manage to ask, and for half a moment Laverne stares back at you like it was the dumbest thing she's ever heard anyone say. 

“I don’t give a shit” She finally huffs, “You do what you want, I’m goin’ out for a smoke.” 

She’s gone out the side door in a flash, and it takes you far too long to work out the pieces – Eddie paid for your drink, and she’s giving you an excuse to go back and see him. 

Boy, are you dense sometimes. 

Still, you can’t help but wonder if it’s all some clunky ploy to get you thrown out of the bar. You also can’t help but wonder who is going to watch the bar while Laverne is gone, but you decide that isn’t your problem as you seize the plastic tub and heft it down to brace against your hip. 

When you slip behind the bar and into the back, Eddie’s standing at the sink, elbow deep in suds and glaring at them like they’d personally wronged him. 

You linger in the doorway, selfishly taking in as much of this candid moment as you can steal, and scrounging around for what is left of your courage. 

“Hiya.” You say, once you find your voice. 

It startles him bad enough to send him leaping back from the sink. 

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says, stumbling over your name in a way that makes your insides go tight, “I – uh – I thought you left with the guys.”

“Nope.”

“What are you–?”

You tilt the dishtub toward him and jostle it in a way that is less tantalizing than you mean for it to be with the way the dishware shifts dangerously.

“Special delivery.”

Eddie’s brows come down over his eyes and his shoulders sag.  

“...Oh, great. Thanks,” he says, then gestures to the metal surface piled high with dishes. “Just put ‘em wherever you can.” 

The task is daunting. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen as many dishes in your life – it’s going to take him hours to get through them.

You tentatively shove the plastic bin in where you can fit it, careful not to disturb the topsyturvy stacking method that has been employed here, and linger idly as Eddie wipes his soapy hands on his jeans. 

A measured silence settles  between you, through which you can still hear the muted sounds of the bar trilling distantly on.  

“What happened?” Eddie finally asks, “How come you didn’t go with the guys?”

“Oh, well…” you start, electing to fib a little rather than do something so embarrassing as tell him the only reason you’re here tonight, “You know, as thrilling as sitting around in a parking lot drinking cheap beer sounds, I figured somebody ought to stay behind and keep you company. And I figured since you bought me a drink and all, it ought to be me.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. 

“Lucky me.” 

You try not to let the biting sarcasm of the response dig its teeth in as you continue. 

“...That was sneaky, by the way. You didn’t have to do that.”

Eddie shrugs, and rests a hand on the curved metal lip of the three-basin sink.  

“Least I could do for our biggest fan.”  

He sounds less enthusiastic about that this time around and it is enough to make your stomach clench.

“...You guys were great, by the way.” You try again, for lack of anything better to say.

Eddie shakes his head. 

“Nah, we weren’t. We were actually pretty rough, I’m surprised they let us play as long as they did … but thanks for making the effort, though.” 

“Well… you were great.” You press, folding your hands behind your back and taking a step closer, “I mean, you were pretty much the best part of the show.”

Distantly, you see his eyebrows jump beneath the sweaty fringe drying tacky to his forehead. The corner of his mouth twitches. 

“You keep stroking my ego like that and I’m gonna have to buy you dinner to go with that drink,” Eddie warns you, and something inside of you shrieks with unabashed hormonal joy.

You cannot think of anything more tantalizing than that … except for maybe one of your two fantasies from earlier in the evening, but neither of those scenarios is on the table for tonight.

At least, you’re fairly certain they aren’t. 

You thank your lucky stars he’s so fixated on washing dishes that he can’t see the way you turn bright crimson.

“I’m serious. You were great, Eddie.” 

It’s enough to finally make him look at you again.

“You think so?”

And of course, now that you have his attention, you can’t help but go embarrassing yourself. 

“Yeah, absolutely. You’re a goddamn rockstar…” 

He grins. 

“D’you kiss your mother with that mouth, Sailor?”

You curl your lips in past your teeth on instinct and drop your gaze to your sneakers as the suggestion sends you hurtling back to the picnic bench in the woods behind school. 

You’re so sure Eddie was going to kiss you out there – you watched his eyes go heavy and lidded as his gaze slid down to your lips. You saw the shift in his posture, the oh-so-subtle way he tilted forward, curling his hands into fists, moist pink tongue darting out to wet the plush spread of his lips. 

He’s not looking at you like that now, and it’s the worst goddamn thing in the world. You have to force yourself to think of something – anything else to stop it from completely destroying you as you stand there, listening to Eddie washing the dishes. 

Oddly, there is only one thing that comes to mind. 

“...Can I ask you a question?”

The lewd soapy sounds of suds on ceramic sends a chill up your spine. 

“Sure, hit me.” 

“Before you went on, when we were standing at the bar... why did Laverne call you Junior?” You ask, and the question seems to catch him off guard, so you elaborate to fill the awkward silence before it can settle between you, “She did it again just outside when she told me to bring these back to you… I was just wondering about it…”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away, and you’re just about ready to tell him to forget it by the time he opens his mouth to speak.

“Ah… hmm,” he hesitates, “… it’s a … it’s a little inside joke some folks around town like to roll out.” Eddie explains, then after a beat of silence, he gestures vaguely, “Munson Junior.”

“...Oh.” You say lamely – the subtext is not lost on you, and suddenly you’re sorry you asked.  

A heavy silence settled between you, and then Eddie clears his throat in the prelude to what you'd feared was coming all night long.

“Hey, listen … it was real nice of you to stay behind…”

Uh oh. Here comes that dreaded rejection. 

It was nice of you to stay but it’s actually super weird that you’re here at all and you should probably go home before you embarrass yourself more than you already have. 

You do your best to stamp that line of thinking out before it can settle and elect to fold your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels and doing your utmost to look carefree. 

“But…?”

You don’t care if he’s about to ask you to leave, but you hope to any God out there listening that he doesn’t. 

“But… you should probably head out.” Eddie sighs.

Okay, so you lied. You care so much, and you can feel the corners of your mouth tremble as your smile begins to waver. 

Eddie continues.  

“This is gonna take a while, Sweetheart… and I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stand around watching me play in dish water.” 

Sweetheart. The nickname fills you with foolish courage, and suddenly you’re taking another step closer. 

“Not really,” You admit, “I actually cancelled some plans to be here tonight…” 

He breathes a halfhearted laugh out through his nose.

“Betcha wish you hadn’t.”  

Oh, how wrong he is. If only he knew just how far you’d gone to make sure you could be here tonight.

“...Can I help?” You ask tentatively, forcing yourself not to look away when Eddie’s gaze snaps up and he clocks your sudden proximity with a soft, strangled sound in the hollow of his throat.

You pretend not to hear it for both your sake, “...it’ll speed things up. And... and then you can buy me dinner, right?”

You watch him stare back at you and can practically see the cogs turning in his brain, as if he absolutely cannot fathom the request you’d just made of him. When he continues to fail to answer, you try again.

“Here, let me help.” 

You reach for the rumpled dish rag, but Eddie catches your hand.

Your lungs spasm and go flat and for the brief moment you exist under his touch, you forget how to breathe. 

He shakes his head and tries to lead you away from the sink, releasing you entirely too soon for your liking. 

“No, you don’t have to do that.” he says, and for half a moment you’re afraid that nothing you say is going to convince him to let you stay. 

Then again, it’s not exactly like you’re asking for his permission. 

“I know…” You hum, feeling your tongue go fat in your mouth and taking another step toward him, “But I want to.”

Eddie doesn’t retreat from your advance, but he calls your bluff with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow.

“You wanna waste your night doing dishes in the back of a bar?” he deadpans.

Of course you do. 

You want to tell him that you want to do every trivial task under the sun if it means you get to do it with him. You’d happily sit and watch paint dry if Eddie was going to be there with you, but somehow you’re not certain that is going to do anything to make you sound cool and attractive.  

“Sure, why not?” you shrug, rolling your sleeves up as far past your elbows as they will go and sidling up so you’re standing nearly hip to hip.

Your heart is hammering behind your ribs when you dare to steal a cautious, casual glance up at him, “I don’t have anything better to do right now.” 

Eddie stares back at you, brows furrowed quizzically before he shakes his head, mutters something unintelligible to himself, then reaches into a milk crate sitting beneath the sink that you hadn’t noticed until he fishes out a pair of oversized yellow dish gloves and hands them to you. 

“Yeah, okay – since you’ve got nothing better to do – put these on. We don’t want those fingers going prune.”  

It takes you much longer to get through the dishes than you anticipated when you originally offered your services.

Two hours later, your sweater is soaked down the front, you’ve got suds in your sleeves, and you can smell the faintest hint of budding mildew wafting off of you, but you finish the dishes in half the time you imagine it would have taken Eddie to do them on his own. 

When you’re done, you bid Laverne a cheerful farewell, one she does not acknowledge, and you leave the bar together. 

Eddie has been talking animatedly about a hundred different subjects the whole time, though the last five minutes of conversation have been allotted to his guitar – which he tells you is an N.J. Warlock series, and you have no idea what that means.

You don’t mind though, you’ve been listening quietly without interjection because your newest revelation is just how much you like to listen to Eddie talk when he gets going. Not the heated preaching you’ve witnessed a hundred times in the lunchroom, but an excitable deep dive into something he is clearly very passionate about. 

In your deepest flights of fancy, you imagine him talking to someone about you like this, and as you cross the parking lot and arrive at the back of his van, it makes your insides flutter with a girlish excitement.  

Unfortunately, he mistakes your silence over the past few minutes for disinterest and grows sheepish.

“...Anyway, I didn’t mean to talk your ear off like that,” Eddie says, rolling his shoulders. “When I get going it’s hard to shut me up sometimes … sorry.” 

You shake your head.

“No, not at all! I didn’t want to interrupt your flow, I just don’t really know anything about guitars.”

A look of patent relief flashes across Eddie’s face and is very quickly replaced with something sly as he pops open the back doors to the van. Inside sits half a dozen pieces of Gareth’s drum kit, two amps, and a sleek, black, rectangular case.

Eddie rests a hand on the hood of the case with a thump and you watch his gaze slide over to you. 

“You wanna meet her?” he asks. 

You don’t respond right away, if only because you don’t know who he could possibly mean, here in this deserted parking lot, but he doesn’t give you the opportunity to linger in the limbo of that unknowing. 

He pops open the hinges and flips the lid up, revealing the angular crimson body of the guitar. Eddie lifts the instrument carefully from its crushed velvet bed and presents it to you with all the reverence of a lover. 

You reach out tentatively to trace the smooth resin of her body with your finger pads and suddenly the moment feels supercharged with something heavy. The air is thick with it, whatever it is, and it settles in your lungs with a cloying film. You can’t be certain as to why, but you can suddenly feel your heart beating in your stomach.

“This is Sweetheart,” Eddie says, voice dripping with an admiration that makes your insides clench.

The heady atmosphere dissipates almost immediately, and you drop your hand back to your side to try and mask the way it makes you flinch to hear him call the guitar that.

Sweetheart?! No, it most certainly is not. 

You’re Sweetheart. That’s your name now, remember? He only went and gave you the goddamn thing, now here he is telling you it’s just some random term of endearment he slaps on anything shiny and new that happens to catch his eye?

Fucking lame. 

“Oh. Wow. It’s pretty.” You force yourself to say, because it’s not untrue, even if you are suddenly gripped in a ridiculous burning jealousy over his relationship toward an instrument. “Really pretty.” 

And then Eddie pulls a face of sheer and total mock offense.

“Hey now,” he warns you gently, “Show a little respect for the love of my life here, will ya?” 

You glance up at him and for half a moment aren't entirely sure you’re in the mood to meet him there. But it’s stupid to be jealous of an inanimate object. That would be like finding out Eddie was jealous of your vibrator or something stupid … which also suggests he’s fucking his guitar, so no, maybe it’s not like that at all.

Still, the thought manifests an image, which immediately sears itself into your frontal lobe and sends the blood rushing to your head so quickly you’re half surprised it doesn’t pop.

“...she’s pretty?” you hum, feeling suddenly like you’re about to faint. 

Eddie gives you a satisfied smile – one you don’t see for how your vision has briefly gone spotty – and nods. 

“Damn right she is," he says, laying her back in her case and snapping the lid shut.

If you’d been looking, and not feeling a stupid sense of satisfaction to see her get so summarily shut away, you would have seen Eddie go suddenly shy as his eyes slide over to peek at you from his peripheral.

“...Second prettiest girl in the room tonight.”

It hits you like a slap in the face and is oddly grounding. Your vision clears, your ears stop roaring, and just like that everything goes back to normal. Just you and Eddie standing in an empty parking lot with the echo of his attempt at a smooth line lingering between you. 

Your mouth falls open and you choke on a loud bark of startled laughter. 

Ha! Take that, Sweetheart.

Eddie wrinkles his nose and pulls a face like he immediately wishes he could take it back, not knowing that you’d strike him dead before he would even dare. He’s a total fucking dork, and that’s yours now. There will be no takebacks. Not now, not ever.  

“Damn,” he mutters, squeezing an eye shut and reaching up to scratch at his brow, “That was super fucking corny, wasn’t it? Not my best effort – sorry.” 

You press your lips together in a tight seal in a desperate attempt to keep a hideously giddy sound of animalistic joy from bleating up out of you, and you shake your head. 

“That’s okay.” You start, dismissing the thick layer of cheese with a flippant wave, “I’m sure Laverne would be flattered to hear you say that about her.” 

It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does he snorts and rolls his eyes, mumbling something under his breath about Laverne. He doesn’t correct you, and you let the moment die with dignity because you know what matters.

Eddie Munson thinks you’re pretty, and that will forever be etched on the front of your brain, whether he likes it or not. 

“So,” Eddie begins, shutting the van up again and leaning back against the door. He fishes a rumpled pack of camels from his jacket pocket, and you elect not to say anything about that, “It’s a little late for dinner… but how would you feel about a midnight snack?”

You know the muscles in your face are going to be sore in the morning for how widely you’ve been grinning back at him all night, and you nod, hoping you don’t look too overeager, but also not giving a damn if you do. 

“What did you have in mind?”

He pops a cigarette between his teeth and goes looking for his lighter.  

“Let’s see. I think Fosters might still be open. You could get a milkshake, chili dog, banana split, – whatever your heart desires, Sweet Thing. Your wish is my command.” 

The thought of riding out to Foster’s Freeze on the far end of town with Eddie Munson is tantalizing in the best possible way. You’re beaming as you bring your wrist up to glance at your watch and try to visualize what you can stomach so late.

All thoughts of your growling stomach sail right out of your head as your heart rockets up into your throat before dropping into a free fall because it’s nearly midnight. 

“Jesus Christ!” You gasp, head snapping up to share your horrified look with the class. 

Eddie blinks back at you.

“Nope, just me–” 

“Can I see your watch?” You’re taking hold of his wrist and pulling it up to stare into the digital face of his Casio before he can answer, “Oh, God – it’s so late.”

“What’s the matter, you turning into a pumpkin or something?” He teases, lighting his cigarette with his free hand.

“My curfew was like half an hour ago,” You say quickly, dropping his wrist and nearly upending your bag in the frantic search for your keys.  

“Oh… shit,” Eddie mumbles, “Well, d’you need a ride? I’ll get you home lickety-split–” 

You elect to ignore any intended innuendo there in lieu of your mounting panic.

“No, thanks, I’ve got my car – listen, I really gotta go,” You say, “But let’s do a raincheck, okay?” 

You don’t wait for him to answer before you turn and bolt for your car shouting back to him as you go.  

“I mean it, Munson! You owe me that midnight snack!” 

You’re fumbling with your keys in the lock and whipping your door open with a harsh creak before you remember yourself and spin on your heel.  

“Oh— Eddie, wait!” He’s circled around to the driver’s side and is standing on the runner, already half way up into his seat when his head snaps up, and you grow suddenly shy, “Thank you for this, it was – I mean, you’re – I had fun tonight. More fun than I would have had sitting at home, anyway.” 

He gives you a strange look.  

“...you really mean that, don’t you?” He asks after a moment, “Truly. Dishes and all?”

You nod, and you watch him shaking his head in a way you imagine must be accompanied by a good-humored chuckle as he takes a final drag on his cigarette and tosses it.    

“Well, bless you for saying so.” He says, “Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Absolutely. I’ll do the dishes with you anytime.” Oh my God, why the fuck did you just say that? You’re cheesy and boring and stupid – just a stupid girl with a stupid crush. 

And Eddie is laughing. 

“Get home safe, Sweetheart.” he calls, “Wear your seatbelt.”

“Yeah, you too… goodnight, Eddie.”  

Despite the traded goodbyes, you both linger a moment longer, looking back at one another halfway into your respective cars and so reluctant to part despite the ticking time bomb hurtling toward you at breakneck speed.

You need to get home, and yet…?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie calls, and you feel yourself flush. 

“It’s just… you know … what Shakespeare said…”

Across the lot, he steps down from the van and nods. 

“Sure. Good ol’ Willy Shakes.” and when you don’t elaborate, he gently prompts you, “What’s Shakespeare say, Sweetness?”

The saccharine twist on your new nickname has a lump forming in your throat, one you almost don’t get the words around as it swells and threatens to strangle you.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow.” you sigh. 

It’s perhaps the uncoolest thing you’ve said all night, and you don’t even have the good sense to be embarrassed about it, because it’s also the truest thing you’ve said all night, and suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest.

You really, really have to go, but you don’t want to. 

Eddie crosses his arms and leans back against the van.

“Yeah… it sure is.” 

The silence endures, and as the seconds tick by, you continue to fail to tear yourself away. The last time you left him like this, you didn’t see him again for five days, and after tonight you’re not sure you can survive another five days without Eddie in your life.

Maybe you can stand to miss your curfew. Maybe your parents won’t notice your car is gone and won’t come to check in on you. Maybe you can sneak in after midnight or stay out all night … maybe you can just stand here saying goodnight over and over until the sun comes up and never have to get to the parting part. 

“Go home, Sweetheart.” Eddie says then, “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” 

The sentiment causes the lump in your throat to swell, and you have to force yourself to breathe out slowly to ease the pressure it puts on you.

You watch him climb up into the van and feel your heart thumping again. One of you had to go first, you suppose. Last time it was you, this time it’s only fair it’s him. 

“Bye Eddie.” You call, and when you still fail to get into your car, he heaves a long-suffering sigh, which is a little too fond to be just that.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” He asks, “It’s like I told you – lickety split.”  

Don’t make a promise you can’t keep. You want to warn him, but all you can manage is a smile.

Then you slide in behind the wheel of your car and shut the door behind you. You linger a moment longer and when you feel that lump threatening to return – one you quickly realize is the prelude to melancholy – you can’t help but steal one last look out your window, back at the van.

Eddie is still there, and better still, he seems to have had the same thought as you, because when you look, there he is looking at you again.

It fills you with a bright and warming sense of satisfaction. It's not so easy to tear yourself away, is it?

Then, as if to answer, Eddie waves.

You grin, return the gesture, and start your cars at the same time. It only takes a short dosey-do around each other to exit the parking lot side by side. You turn left, he turns right, and you watch in your rearview mirror until his taillights fade into the dark.

Yeah, you think you might have fallen pretty hard tonight, and you’re going to have a very hard time getting up again.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I want to ask your opinion on the scene in Queen Banana where Zoe tells Chloe that she loves her and will stay by her side even when everyone will hate her as she's giving her the Magical Charm in order to prevent her from being further akumatized (which failed in the long run lol), do you think Zoe lied about her feelings towards her half sister just to manipulate her into doing what she wants ? Cause that's the implication this scene is giving now considering that Zoe rejoiced with everyone else in Revolution when Chloe essentially got exiled from Paris alongside their mother.

Also more importantly do you think the writers wanted us to believe that Zoe never actually loved Chloe and only told her that she did cause it was easier to manipulate her that way or it's just bad writing that it come across that way ?

I wouldn't read too hard into Zoé's actions here as she was just quoting her lines from the movie she was staring in that episode, which makes this feel like less of a thought-out action and more like improv that you shouldn't read into in almost any story.

Movie scene:

Mylène (Destroika): You're just like them, I hate you! (Falls to try floor.) Zoé (Kreatika): You may hate me, but I love you, (kneels) and I always will, even if the whole world hates you, (places hand on Mylène/Destroika's) sister. (Mylène/Destroika looks up, and the two hug each other as the class/citizens cheer. The audience applauds.)

Chloé scene:

Chloé: (shaking with anger) Don't call her that. She's not even half of a sister, she's nothing to me! I— (turns to Zoé) I hate you! Zoé: (places hands on Chloé's shoulders) You may hate me, but I love you, and I always will, even if the whole world hates you, sister. (she hugs Chloé) Remember? We have the same mother! Look, she even gave me this gift. (reaches out the Magical Charm) Chloé: If it comes from mom, then I'm the one who gets to wear it. Give it to me! (the akuma flies into the building)

Generally speaking, I'm not sure if we're supposed to believe that Zoé loves Chloé or hates Chloé or has any deeper feelings about Chloé at all. The sisters barely ever interact in canon and it's implied that they were raised on different continents, so there's no background reason for Zoé to feel any particular way about her half sister.

While I'm not much of a Zoé fan, her actions here are hard to meaningfully criticize both because they're spur-of-the-moment and because Chloé has no reaction to the love claim. She only reacts to the claim that the charm came from their mother, leading her to steal the charm (as far as she knows). That makes it hard to see the love claim as manipulative, intentional or otherwise.

The manipulation comes from the lie about the charm's origin, but seeing as the charm immediately keeps Chloé from being akumatized yet again, it's really hard to say that Zoé shouldn't have done what she did. My criticism here is much more focused on the writing which has basically decided that Chloé is a terrorist supporter now, which is the only reason the manipulation even happened:

Ladybug: This Magical Charm can help Chloé escape Shadow Moth's influence, but I can't force her to wear it. Vesperia:(holds Ladybug's hands) I know how to do it.

So, sure, lie to Chloé if it keeps her from accepting more akumas, I guess?

It's so hard for me to take anything about Chloé's writing seriously in the later seasons. No matter how she feels about Ladybug, I have a really hard time believing that she'd want to be akumatized after it had caused her so much trouble in the past. Lila does it for a goal, so that does make sense, but Chloe has no real goal. She just likes letting this total stranger have power over her because she's that petty, I guess? But if that's what they're going with, then you'd think that she'd blame Gabriel for Miracle Queen just as much as she blames Ladybug. That would make Chloé nuanced and realistic, though, so we can't have that.

It's such absurd characterization that it shatters my suspension of disbelief every time. Chloé is so one-dimensional now that I just go, "sure, why not. Have her do that, too" when she does some new evil. Zoé has similar issues, just on the opposite side where she has no meaningful flaws. It really does feel like Chloé was split into two, extremely-lesser versions of herself. Nice, bland Chloé who loves everyone and evil, terrorist-supporting Chloé who loves no one.

[missysverse]

⛥ MY 𝓢UPERNATURAL 𝓓R ⛥

»» ───────────────── ⋆⋅☽⋅⋆ ─────────────────── ««

✧. This is the DR I’ve been trying to shift to for the longest time, and it’s likely going to be my main one!

✧. This DR has a more relaxed vibe compared to the show—nothing majorly traumatic (I've scripted most of the plot out). I’m mainly shifting for the vibe and the people, just doing cases at the moment, though there will still be a touch of drama and danger—just nothing too overwhelming. I've obviously also scripted out most of the trauma for the Winchesters (Dean is NOT going to hell idc)

✧. This DR is like a crossover with other things but I prefer to just called it my 'Supernatural' DR because that is what it essentially is

»» ───────────────── ⋆⋅☽⋅⋆ ─────────────────── ««

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

✧. 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: same as CR

✧. 𝐀𝐆𝐄: 22

✧. 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘: 14th March 1984

✧. 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: hunter (obv), I work as a bartender sometimes at the roadhouse

✧. 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: currently living at my house but soon will discover the bunker

✧. 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: 6th February 2006

✧. 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒: Obvs the Winchesters, I have also scripted the characters from TWD as hunters, like Daryl, Rosita etc (I will NOT be shifting to twd but I love the character sm), I also scripted the characters from until dawn (again I do not want to shift there so I'm adding them into this DR) as my 'high school friends', but I am still in touch with some of them like Sam,Mike,Josh (who are hunters)

✧. 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘: yalina (mother), armaan (father), zayed (brother)

✧. 𝐒/𝐎: Josh Washington

»» ───────────────── ⋆⋅☽⋅⋆ ─────────────────── ««

✧. 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄:

I grew up in a family involved with the supernatural. My father, a skilled hunter, taught me and my brother survival skills, lore, and how to fight against creatures lurking in the shadows. My mother, a kind-hearted witch with immense power, balanced the family's gritty life with her wisdom and compassion, teaching us about the supernatural's less dangerous side. She believed in using magic to heal and protect rather than harm.

The Winchesters entered my life when I was young. My father and John Winchester crossed paths on a hunt, forming a bond through mutual respect and shared loss. This brought me, Zayed, Sam, and Dean together. The winchesters are our childhood friends. This was the same case with Rosita, Daryl and Bobby who I also grew up with.

I inherited psychic abilities from my mother's lineage, further activated by the mysterious forces shaping my life. My powers (visions, telecinesis, and a heightened intuition) began manifesting in subtle ways as I aged, but I dismissed them as coincidences.

When a hunt goes awry, my psychic abilities fully awaken

𝐅𝐄𝐁 𝟐𝐍𝐃 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑: 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓

While my family life was deeply rooted in the supernatural, my time at high school allowed me to experience something closer to a typical teenage existence. Among my tight-knit group of friends were Josh Washington, his sisters Hannah and Beth, Mike Munroe, Sam Giddings, Ashley Brown, Chris Hartley, Emily Davis, and Jessica Riley.

Josh’s family owned the Washington lodge, which became a favorite getaway for our group. Though I knew my life was far from ordinary, these trips were moments where I could almost forget the looming presence of the supernatural.

During one winter break, Josh invited the group to the lodge for a week-long stay. The plan was simple: snowboarding, movies, and laughter. However, the peaceful retreat took a dark turn when the group and I began noticing strange occurrences. sounds in the forest, scratches on the windows, and a growing sense of being watched.

One night, the truth revealed itself in the form of a Wendigo attack. The creature, terrifyingly fast and hungry, cornered the group in the lodge. I remembered the lore of Wendigos—humans cursed by cannibalism, vulnerable only to fire

Josh and Mike quickly revealed their hunter identities to me who both came from hunter families. Together, the three of us managed to fend off the creature using makeshift weapons and torches (luckily Josh's dad kept hunting supplies at the lodge) while the rest of the group helped fortify the lodge. In the chaos, I experienced a strange surge of power. my psychic abilities awakened for the first time. I sensed the Wendigo’s movements and intentions, which allowed me to guide the group to safety.

The incident marked a turning point for me. it was the first time I faced the supernatural alone, relying on my own skills and instincts. It also strengthened my bond with Josh and Mike, who became my unofficial hunting partners during high school.

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓

Last updated : 29/11/2024