#also i know its whole damn nations but fuck off

[blualt]

better think quick

better save face

caught tween a rock and a hard place

whatcha gonna do

whatcha gonna do

whatcha gonna do!

whatcha gonna do now?

if you tell him no

ohhhh

youre a heartless man

and youre gonna have a martyr on your hands

if you let him go

ohhhh

youre a spineless king

and youre never gonna get em in line again!

damned if you dont!

damned if you do!

whole damnations watchin you

whatcha gonna do

whatcha gonna do

whatcha gonna do!

whatcha gonna do now?

heres a little tip

word to the wise

heres a little snippet of advice

men are fools!

men are frail!

give em the rope and theyll hang themselves

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨 ♡

Carmy x afab!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

Can also be read on ao3 || Main masterlist || Next chapter

chapter summary: You moved to Chicago six months ago. You still don’t really feel at home in a new city, far away from friends and family, but you make a new connection one night when your new neighbor almost set your apartment building on fire.

word count: 3.1k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Smoking. Angst and fluff. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Strangers to friends to lovers. Set in season one. Vague mentions of Mikey’s situation. Reader is from Copenhagen, or has at least have lived there for a longer period of time, but it isn't directly mentioned that it's her nationality, and no description of appearance is mentioned. Reader's exact age isn't mentioned either, but it is implied that she is around Carmy's age.

"My head and my heart and my hands are longing I just woke up in smoke feeling the heat coming Cause the house is on fire"

Copenhagen, six months ago 

The cool breeze from the water blows gently against your cheeks, and you can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia creeping in. The calm waters of the harbor glisten in the evening sun, casting a mesmerizing reflection on the nearby buildings. You take a drag of your cigarette, letting the smoke caress your lungs as you contemplate the big changes that lie ahead of you, the smoke swirling around you in a hazy dance. You’re not really supposed to smoke on the platform, but since the station is almost empty you let yourself indulge this one time. You’re leaving all this behind in a week anyway.  

As you stand there, watching a lone seagull glide effortlessly above the water, its wings catching the last rays of sunlight, you can’t shake the feeling of bittersweetness that envelops you. Copenhagen has been your home for so long, filled with memories and familiar faces. But now, Chicago beckons with a new opportunity, and you’re leaving in a week, and you don’t fucking know if you have made the right decision or not. 

You’re going to miss the ocean, that’s for damn sure. You take another puff of your cigarette, the brisk air mixing with the smoke as the golden sun slowly sets over Nordhavn. The colors of the sky shift to hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the water. The beauty of the moment is not lost on you, but neither is the weight of the decision you’ve made.

These thoughts swirl in your mind as you take a last drag of your cigarette, exhaling slowly as if trying to let go of all your worries. The sound of the approaching train brings you back to the present. You stub out your cigarette, before the red train comes to a stop in front of you, cutting off the view of the water.

With a deep breath, you gather yourself and step onto the train. As the doors close behind you, you find a seat by the window. The familiar rumble of the tracks beneath you lulls you into a sense of calm as the train begins to move. As the train starts to pick up speed, you close your eyes. It’s going to be hard to leave it all behind and start over in a whole new city, but you know deep down that you’re in need of a change.

· · · · ·

Chicago, present day

Carmy can feel the building pressure at the sides of his skull that indicates that a nasty headache is on its way. The wet rag in his hand is feeling mushy between his fingers as the scrubs away at the steel countertop, the rhythmic sound of Gary’s broom sweeping over the floor, matching up with the incipient throbs in his temples.

He needs a fucking break and a cigarette, but he can’t really take one now, he is the one who has been so insistent that they start to take prepping and cleaning of their stations more seriously and he can’t just, fucking, leave in the middle of it, he’ll get the bottle of tylenol in the desk drawer in his office after they’ve finished. 

“Chef, you want me to strain that oil for you?” Sydney asks, her voice cutting through Carmy’s pounding head.   

“Uh, no, no I got it. Thank you, chef.” He’ll finish his station, strain the oil, and then take a break. Unless something else comes up, which there most likely will.  

“Why am I using a toothbrush, chef?” Marcus asks from his place at the stove where he is scrubbing  the burners. 

Carmy blinks, trying to push aside the growing migraine as he explains, “It’s about consistency and being consistent. Can’t operate at a higher level without consistency.” He can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for pushing his team so hard with all these new changes, but he knows they need to seriously step up their game if this place is ever going to be just a little less of a shit show. 

“I like this level,” Richie exclaims. 

“Yeah, well, at The French Laundry you know how much time we’d spend-” Carmy begins, but Richie cuts him off. 

“Well, go fuck your French Laundry. Stupid fucking name.”

And yeah, Richie might be right, it kind of is a stupid name, but Carmy is not about to start a discussion over the fucking name of a French-Californian fusion place.  “All right, then at Noma.”

“Fuck your Noma too,” Richie retorts.

Carmy just shakes his head, deciding to let Richie’s attitude slide for now. He doesn’t have the energy to argue with him, not with the pain in his head steadily increasing. 

“Noma’s the shit, huh?” Marcus chimes in. 

“The best,” Carmy and Sydney respond in unison before Carmy continues. “It’ll teach you to operate at a level you didn’t even know you could operate at, Marcus,” he tells the baker before turning to address Richie again, “And just so we’re clear, I wanted to work here. Mikey wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh, no, no. You went halfway around the world to learn all this fancy, useless fucking bullshit. I went to West Lawrence Avenue and learned every level.” 

“West Lawrence? You’re talking about DeVry?” Marcus asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.  

“Yeah, exactly,” Richie confirms. 

“Oh, DeVry. ‘We’re serious about success,’” Marcus jokes, using an exaggerated deep voice.

“Is that supposed to be fucking funny, fucko?” Richie grins at Marcus before jokingly trying to tackle the younger man who by now has bursted into laughter. “Let me tell you something. No for real,” Richie lets go of Marcus pointing his finger in the air as he continues. “Where else are you gonna learn crucial database management specialization skills, huh? While troubleshooting a vented OptiSpark distributor in a Trans Am?” 

“I would never need to learn that,” Syd interjects, not pleased with Richie’s antics.

“Definitely not Noma!” Richie exclaims.   

“I would legit do anything to go to Noma,” Sydney says longingly.  

“And eat bugs?!” Richie teases.

Those ants had been a fucking pain to work with, but Carmy keeps that to himself, he is not about to give Richie that victory.  

“And be inspired, stupid,”Sydey retorts.

“God, and be lame.” Richie counters. 

But before more can be said about DeVry or inspiration or, fucking, bugs, Ebra storms into the kitchen, interrupting them. “The ice cream machine is broken!”

Just like Carmy had predicted, something else had come up. He turns to Richie. “DeVry teach you to fix that?”

“You know what? Actually, yes.” Richie says, swinging his dish towel over his shoulder before starting to pick up a bunch of random tools and utensils, including two wooden spoons, leaving the room to join Ebra at the ice cream machine.

Another fucking thing in this place that doesn’t work, Carmy should probably just call Fak before Richie can break it even more, but it is not like the old machine can really get much worse, it’s and old piece of shit and almost no one ever orders the ice cream anyway, so why not let Richie feel a little useful.

· · · · ·

A swirl of steam dances in the air as you trace the rim of the mug with your finger, the aroma of the tea is filling the room, mixing with the scent from the lavender candle you have lit, enveloping your senses with a bittersweet nostalgia. 

You are sitting in your kitchen, staring out of the window, another night unable to sleep. The vague sound of the city filters through the glass along with the warm glow from the street lights and signs which are the only cause of light  along with the candle, its flickering flame casting a gentle shadow upon the room.   

You take a sip of the tea, feeling the warmth travel down your throat, before wrapping your hands around the warm mug, seeking comfort in its gentle heat. The steam rises and dissipates into the air, mirroring the ephemeral pattern of your tired thoughts. Outside the window, the city continues its nocturnal rhythm, its heartbeat resonating with your own. The distant sounds of car horns, and the occasional sound of the L train rumbling by and the vocational sirens mixing together into a harmonious cacophony. 

You close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath, but you open them again quickly, wrinkling your nose. Something suddenly smells wrong… It’s vague, but it’s like burning plastic or something. You quickly look down at the candle to check if something got into it, but nothing is there. You don’t get to ponder more about it though, before a sudden, piercing sound slices through the tranquil ambiance of your kitchen. Your eyes widen in surprise as the shrill wail of a fire alarm blares from the apartment next door.

Concerned, you immediately put down your mug, while the smell of smoke starts to get more intense. This would normally be worrying enough, but what’s the real kicker to your concern is that no one’s lived in the apartment next to yours in the last four months. You stand up, stepping into your slippers while grabbing the zip up hoodie you had hanging on the back of your chair. You quickly throw the hoodie around you, slipping your arms into the sleeves and wrapping the oversized garment around you, not bothering zipping it.

You blow out the candle, as you quickly grab your phone, sliding it into the pocket of your sweatpants. You Swiftly make your way through your apartment, stepping out into the hallway, the smell of smoke now stronger. The ear-splitting beeps of the fire alarm continue to echo through the corridor as you approach the door of your neighboring apartment. You hesitate for a moment, You try to listen if you can hear anything from inside, but all you can hear is the sound of the alarm. 

Has someone really moved in without you noticing? But how likely is it that a spontaneous fire starts in an unoccupied apartment? Raising your hand you knock on the door. Nothing happens, and panic grips your chest, thoughts of evacuation and calling the fire department race through your mind, but you are pulled out of your spiraling thoughts as all of a sudden the loud beeping stops and you can now hear a vague shuffling sound from inside the apartment. 

You knock again, your heart beating fastly as you wait. There is someone in there, and you both get worried that they might not be okay and need help while you simultaneously  feel weird about someone being inside the apartment you thought was empty. 

The seconds stretch as you wait for a response. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, but in reality only is a few seconds, the door creaks open, revealing a disheveled figure standing before you, and you are met with a pair of eyes so piercing blue that it catches you off guard.  They belong to a man, around your own age if you have to guess, dirty blonde curls framing his face in a messy, yet oddly charming way. 

He is wearing a white t-shirt, which you can’t help but notice is hugging his biceps extremely nicely, with tattoos scattered across his arms and hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a look on his face that screams of pure exhaustion, yet his eyes are wide and alert, like someone who has just been woken abruptly.

“Hi,” you stammer, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the man. “I heard the fire alarm and smelled smoke, I just wanted to check that everything was okay, I-I live next door,” you say, sheepishly pointing in the direction of your door. 

“Oh, hi,” the man replies, his voice slightly hoarse and rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in a while, yet soft. “I-I’m so sorry if I woke you. I… I accidentally burnt some shit, I’m sorry,” he says a bit bashfully, his cheeks turning slightly pink. A short moment of silence hangs between you both as you process the situation. 

You can see the genuine embarrassment in his eyes, which brings a sense of ease to your worried mind. He seems harmless enough, just a regular person who made a mistake. You decide to let him off the hook, even though his explanation doesn’t quite match up with the intensity of the burning smell that fills the air, offering him a supportive but also slightly shy smile. “Accidents happen, don’t worry about it. I’m a terrible cook too,” you say, trying to lightning the mood. 

“Well, I’m actually a chef,” he says a little awkwardly. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mea-”, you stammer, trailing off as you realize your unintentional insult, but he cuts you off in the same sheepish tone as you.

“No, no, it’s fine I didn’t mean…” he begins to say before shutting up mid sentence, and the two of you share a brief, awkward but understanding laugh before another silence settles between you. 

Now that you have been made sure that nothing urgent is going on you take a second to take him better in, and you can’t help but notice how attractive you find him, captivated by the piercing blue eyes and intrigued by the subtle tattoos that peek out from under his short sleeves, now realizing that several of them are kitchen themed.

“So, everything’s under control now?” you ask, tearing your gaze from his arms as you realize that you had been staring for a little too long, glancing past him into the apartment. The lingering scent of smoke still hangs heavily in the air.

He nods, running a hand through his rumpled locks. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine now,” he reassures, but the smell of smoke still hangs very heavily in the air.   

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not to invite him into your apartment while his gets aired out. You don’t know him, and inviting a stranger into your apartment in the middle of the night isn’t really ideal, but something about his tired eyes and disheveled appearance tugs at your heartstrings, and you can’t shake off the feeling that he might need some company. And with the tired, almost haunted look in his eyes you also can’t help but be reminded of Michael.  

Michael had lived in the apartment next to yours when you moved in six months ago. You did not know him well, but he had always been friendly when you talked to him. He seemed like the type of guy who is friends with everyone, despite it being clear that he was dealing with some internal shit. 

One night you had encountered him in the hallway and he had seemed off. You were on your way home, and he was on his way out. He appeared caught off guard by your presence, and after you greeted him, he had just turned around and walked back into his apartment instead of leaving the building like he was supposed to. Little did you know that it was the last time you would see your old neighbor. A week later, you learned that he had tragically taken his own life on the State Street Bridge, just five days after your last encounter in the hallway.

You have thought about it a lot for the past four months: how he might have planned to go to the bridge the night you ran into him in the hall, and how, if you had done the same just a few days later, things might have turned out differently for him. 

You don’t want to assume that your new neighbor’s situation is as dire, but you also don’t want to underestimate the impact a small act of kindness can have and now, seeing this man standing before you with a similar look of exhaustion and vulnerability, you can’t help but feel a sense of responsibility to offer him some support.

“Hey, um... I know this might sound a little strange, but if you need a place to stay while your apartment airs out, you’re welcome to come to my place,” you offer, your voice filled with genuine concern.

The man’s tired eyes widen slightly, clearly caught off guard by your unexpected invitation. “That’s incredibly kind of you, but I wouldn’t want you to lose any more sleep because of me,” he responds, his voice filled with gratitude and a hint of hesitation. 

You are quick to shake your head, realizing that you never told him that he didn’t wake you. “Oh, you haven’t made me lose any sleep, I was already awake, so please don’t worry about that.” The man’s shoulders relax a bit, a little of the tension melting away. He takes a moment to consider your offer, his gaze flickering between your face and the open doorway of his smoke-filled apartment. The exhaustion in his eyes is undeniable..

“No pressure,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “But, seriously you are more than welcome, I can make some coffee, I got both normal and decaf, or some tea. I also have some leftover takeout in the fridge, I could need some help to get eaten, if you’re hungry.”

The man’s hesitant expression softens, and he offers a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “I don’t want to impose, but coffee does sound really good.”

You nod understandingly. “Of course, no imposition at all.”

“Okay, thank you. I’ll just get some of these windows cracked open then,” the man says, stepping back into his apartment and disappearing from view for a moment. You hear the sound of windows being opened, the crisp night air filtering in and mingling with the heavy aroma of smoke. 

You turn your head, for some reason you feel a little rude to stand staring into his apartment even though you just invited him into yours, your eyes landing on the nameplate next to the door. Berzatto. It has not been changed since Michael. 

After a few moments, the man reappears at the doorway, now holding a light jacket under his arm, and his keys, phone and a pack of cigarettes in his hand. His disheveled appearance remains, but there’s a glimmer of gratitude in his tired eyes. 

“Ready to go?” you ask, offering a reassuring smile.

He nods, stepping out into the hall with you. 

“You know, uhm,” you say, pointing at the nameplate. “You can talk to the resident manager.” His eyes following the direction of your finger. “He’ll help you get your name up.”

“Oh, no that’s… that’s me,” he says, sheepishly pointing at the nameplate. “Well, it’s also me,” he explains, a little clumsily, before turning to you again. “I’m Carmen… Carmen Berzatto.”

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡

@wittyno

[14th-century-verona-queer]

Sokka Headcannons

pt 2!

As always i remind you all that I’ve not watched atla in genuine years, please correct me for any wrong information

On to the hc’s!

he’s secretly a VERY good singer. Kya used to teach him how to sing when he was younger in order to do simple prayers and rituals asking the spirits to keep Hakoda safe and bring back a successful hunt. Sokka would sit next to her, looking up starry-eyed at the beautiful melodies that would come out of his mothers’ mouth. He would spend all day practicing, humming the tunes to himself, trying to get them perfect, and at night would run up to his mother with a hushed “look look mom! Listen to this!” And sing it right, note for note. And she would smile and say “very good, sokka. You might even be better than me some day!” And sokka would always grin at the thought of finally, I did something right! And now mom’s proud of me. After Kya’s death, he spent months without singing. He would train all day and almost all night to try to be better, be faster, be stronger. One day after he finished his night training, he heard Katara wake up and screaming from a nightmare. He pulled Katara onto his bed, lay her head on his lap, and stroked her hair while he sang softly to her. Kya’s lullabies one of the few things that he remembers about her, and it’s the only thing that would calm Katara down. He’s still sort of embarrassed about his singing voice, so no one but Katara knows how good of a singer he is until one day Zuko wakes up from a nightmare. He put’s Zuko’s head in his lap, just like he used to to Katara, and starts singing a low, haunting melody in his native language (more on that next), and Zuko looks at him suprised, but then slowly relaxes and falls asleep with a smile on his face. After that night Zuko begs over and over for Sokka to sing for him some more which is rare because Zuko isn’t usually very pushy. I guess he liked his singing. It’s mostly because of the look on Sokka’s face when he sings and how pretty he looks and how well he sings and wow hes just really pretty oh my god and it makes zuko lose his fucking mind. Eventually the rest of the Gaang finds out (after a very very long time), and sometimes certain words, (or even just randomly he’ll remember) will remind him of a song and he’ll just quietly hum or sing and everyone stops and stares for a second cause damn sokka thats rlly pretty youre acc rlly good

(Ive seen this headcannon that all the nations have their respective native languages, and then a universal language used for trade and all that, so this stems from that ) Sokka slips back into his native language a lot and switches between his native language and the universal language a lot (kinda like Spanglish lol). Bc of this everyone in the Gaang knows enough of the language to have a conversation (especially Suki and eventually Zuko because teaching people he dates his native language is just?? Rlly important to him? He wants to share everything about their culture and teach his partners about how see this word actually can’t be translated to Universal Language, but its really versatile and here’s the whole history of how this word was created. He really loves language and learning so he wants his partners to enjoy it too) he mostly slips back into the language out of force of habit, but also makes a conscious effort to speak it to make sure he doesn’t forget his culture and remind people that the water tribe’s aren’t savages, they have genuine spoken languages and converse like normal people. Whenever he and Katara are fighting they’ll fight very fast and unintelligiblyin their native tongue so everyone else is just kinda trying to figure out what they’re arguing about lol.

after everyone made fun of his art skills you know DAMN WELL he learned how to draw after that. Brother was up at DAWN learning the basic elements of art so he could show up with a Mona Lisa next time the Gaang got together and wipe the smirks off their faces (and ofc Zuko hung up every single one of his drawings, no matter how messy or fast or bad, in the palace)

HE BUILT A STATUE OF KATARA. SOMEWHERE. (I haven’t watched LOK but ik that there are statues of the Gaang around!) if there’s one thing that that man loves, its his sister. He will CONSTANTLY remind everyone. “UHM YEA, ALL YOU WOMEN TRAINING IN BATTLE IN THE NORTH POLE??? DONT FORGET WHO YOU OWE THAT TO. YEA. MY WONDERFUL BEAUTIFUL AMAZING (but dont tell her i said that abt her) SISTER DID THAT. AND DONT YOU DICKWADS FORGET IT”

And yea, thats all i got for now lol

You can find part 1 here (cause its been a month since the first one): pt1

[thebreakfastgenie]

https://www.tumblr.com/thebreakfastgenie/774602874887995392/do-you-think-biden-was-genuinely-exemplary-for-any

Diff anon, but my initial reaction to him was more of a "okay, he's probably gonna be boring but it's still vastly preferable to a wannabe dictator". He managed to demonstrate that he was more than that, what with frankly doing his damnedest to right this ship into something after the colossal evils of his predecessor, and also put some serious holes and cracks in the arguments of his critics and detractors (especially as the latter started demonstrating their own serious myopia and flaws with their downright abominable behavior). That said, he's more of a mixed bag on the foreign policy front, as there's a number of points where I think he didn't push as hard as he could have in regards to Ukrainian aid (because honestly Russia getting its ass kicked and forced to give up would have really helped us all out in the long term, even if it didn't stop our own idiots from swallowing the lies and voting back Hair Fuhrer), and the whole situation with Israel and Palestine was, quite frankly, a giant clusterfuck that was more the fault of the two leading governments of those nations intentionally making things worse for their own agendas, mixed with copius amounts of people losing their fucking marbles and becoming open antisemites that I'd have hoped we would have grown past than necessarily anything Biden did wrong.

But as a whole, he did a damn hell lot better than people gave him credit for, and sadly was just held back (and his many warnings ignored) constantly by a perpetually dishonest and backstabbing media, apathetic and ignorant voters who unfortunately just weren't paying any attention because they didn't understand anything other than "borger slightly too expensive", and a multitude of assholes right and left who constantly swallowed radical-sounding propaganda without digging any deeper and treated Biden like he was the greatest villain of all time while blithely ignoring the actual villains in the room, and royally fucked over his intended successor in the process.

I honestly cannot ever forgive the media and the idiots who got us to this point in the first place, and if we make it out of here in some kind of pieces, this man honestly deserves the mother of all apologies and a fairer evaluation, instead of the blind and self-serving demonization he actually got.

Yeah I think he similarly exceeded my expectations but I will say that I didn't really have expectations about whether he would be boring or better because by 2020 the only thing I cared about was beating Trump. I filled out a poll at some point during that election and when I was asked what issue was most important to me I chose other and wrote in "the removal of Donald Trump." I approached the 2020 primary thinking exclusively about which candidate I thought was best equipped to win the general election and I was (and remain) pissed off that so many Democrats decided to run, most of them with no serious chance of winning, because I felt it was important for the party to be united and to unite quickly so we could begin the campaign against Trump as soon as possible. Once Biden was elected and I was able to pay attention to other things again, I was pleasantly surprised by a lot of choices made by the Biden-Harris administration, which is not to say I loved all of them. Foreign policy is definitely a weak point, but it's also the area I know the least about (I find the moral dilemmas so frustrating I deliberately chose to focus on domestic policy when I was doing my degree, lmao) and also an area where there just are no good alternatives in American politics.

I share your anger. I do believe Biden, along with Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris, will be vindicated by history. But that's cold comfort to those of us living through it.

[c6jpg]

natlan 5.0 brain dump

i did this in a lot of small chunks so i already forgot all of my detailed thoughts so i'm gonna try to keep it brief

general environment/exploration:

first off music and scenery is 💯💯💯

i particularly like how much wildlife there is and i really love the saurian gameplay (for me its hydro > dendro >>>> geo)

i feel so awful every time i accidentally kill a capybara they should be immune like the rhinos

it makes sense that there isn't "one huge city" like the other nations since natlan is composed of tribes, and each tribe looks like it gets a decent amount of attention, but i was still kind of disappointed by how small the stadium of the sacred flame feels in comparison for being the "main" area. i feel like they could have done a lot more with it

archon quest:

tldr; it was... not good? or at least very underwhelming? especially coming off fontaine/sumeru which had incredibly strong opening acts

act 1 was particularly like. whatever. felt more like a kachina story quest that rolled right into a mualani (but npc-focused) story quest

like for how important the pilgrimage is it just felt so. underwhelming and anticlimatic. yes yes i know kachina is precious and everyone loves her but i wish we spent less time doing kachina support group and focused more on the pilgrimage itself like can we at LEAST see some of the other playable characters participating instead of just hearing about it in passing

literally was soooooooooo fucking annoyed with the entire atea plotline. i wrote a whole rant in my first write up but basically that entire arc only existed so that they could bring back the purification plot device which WE HAVEN'T SEEN SINCE MONDSTADT

i was just incredibly annoyed with how that was all handled lol atea is also just such a non-character how am i supposed to care about her. she didn't even die in the end!!!

also mualani's tribe's whole thing being super stereotypical hawaiian tourism left a really bad taste in my mouth i wanted to get out of there as fast as possible

act 2 was weird because like. i felt like they were saying a lot of things that were like "this is a serious national crisis" but it didn't... feel that way? and a lot of the lore itself was pretty glossed over

i think a problem with the natlan story is that you need the first acts to set up the stakes but we just spent the first act gallivanting around with kachina/mualani and then when they DID get to the "main problem" in act 2 it just info dumped so hard to the point that i. didn't care?

pacing in general just felt all over the place

the only investment they gave us is through caring about kachina and i guess hating the abyss/not wanting a nation to be destroyed on principle but idk. especially with the "nah we gotta wait for the last 2 heroes first" the stakes are Not there for me

reminded me of when nahida was like "yeah i needed you to figure this out for yourself bc if i told you directly your head would explode." but at least that one was fun/could just chalk it up to nahida being cheeky and didn't like. prolong the plot for too long

SHOW US DON'T TELL US DAMN IT. i might just have recency bias but i genuinely feel like natlan might be one of the worst cases of telling and not showing as far as archon quests are concerned

also capitano's appearance felt so random LMAO he really showed up, said some cryptic shit, got his ass beat, and then left. at least the cutscene was cool?

chasca girl i'm shaking crying throwing up somebody get that girl a full pair of pants and brown contacts PLEASE

i find it interesting how detailed/fleshed out chuychu (chasca's sister) is, both in terms of design and personality/character. it kind of felt like they originally intended for her to be playable but turned her into an NPC instead

also citlali is definitely some kind of faruzan situation where she's old but young looking

night kingdom was cool i guess nothing really to say here. i am very interested in the wayob lore though especially in regards to how it ties into the rest of teyvat/why natlan has particularly weak leylines

i feel like mavuika's younger sister might also become relevant in the future... in a bad way. like the insistence to not being forgotten/seeing mavuika again, the fact that mavuika doesn't "really" know what happened to her. also she also got a pretty unique npc model. or maybe she won't be brought up ever again idk

in general that whole reminiscence sequence with mavuika was like. fine but again you just info dumped the shit out of me i have no emotional attachment to feel anything about whats going on right now???

also we all know that was fucking ororon at the end with capitano like lmao come on. but im willing to bet both he + chasca are the last two heros bc like. who tf else do we have left LMAOOO

capitano was supposed to be cool but he's just giving goofy villain right now. sorry capitano fans they flopped so hard with him in this act

[burst-of-iridescent]

Oh, thank you, my day is good, but after your message it got even better! I really found solace on Tumblr, which I could not find either in these terrible comics or in LOTR. To be honest, I hardly mastered the latter at all, literally forcing myself to watch series after series, searching in vain for the former depth of characters and conflict. In my opinion, LOTR is a complete failure on all fronts, with the exception of high-quality drawing. If it's about comics, it's an illogical development of events, which, unfortunately, is laid down in the last series. I wanted to ask you -how do you feel about Ursa's line? I was offended by her decision to leave the children (of course, it happened against her will, but still -to change her face and personality, forget about her beloved son and lead a happy life with an old lover?! Don't get it wrong, a woman should suffer for the rest of her days because of a failed marriage, she should not give up happiness if fate sends. But in the context of this story, in your opinion, does it not look like a betrayal, first of all of herself (Ursa?), and of course her children. She couldn't help but understand what kind of hell they got into, first of all the son, after her disappearance. And if you also disagree with this "canon", what would you see the fate of Zuko and Azula's mother? (sorry for such a long letter!)

hi again! thank you, you're so sweet!

i 100% feel you on both LOK (i'm guessing LOTR is a typo?) and the comics. it's so disappointing because both the show and the comics have some great conceptual ideas, and in the hands of competent writers, could've been excellent continuations of ATLA and worthwhile successors... but instead we got a flaming pile of garbage that deserves to be at the bottom of the sea.

the search isn't the worst atla comic imo (that honour goes to the promise) but it's definitely doing its damn best to earn that spot. i hate so many things about that comic: the outdated, insulting depictions of mental illness and mental healthcare in azula's story, zuko getting a "replacement sister" in kiyi as a fix-it bandaid, the fact that it becomes a whole gaang adventure when the correct narrative choice would've been for zuko and katara (and maybe azula at most) to take this trip together as a full circle from the southern raiders, katara and sokka's only role in the story being to foil zuko and azula and nothing else, and of course... the complete annihilation of everything ursa's character was set up to be in atla.

i agree with you that it is very much a betrayal of ursa's character for her to willingly lose her memories. she knows she's leaving her children in the hands of a dangerous abuser, one who's already molding her daughter into a lethal weapon and was fully ready to murder her son, who has proven his willingness to sacrifice his children without hesitation if it benefits him. but despite this, despite the fact that she committed murder, accepted exile and even risked her life (for she had no way of knowing if ozai would simply let her leave peacefully) to protect her child... suddenly she's willing to throw all of that away and fuck off with her childhood lover at the first opportunity?

it baffles me why bryke didn't at least make ursa's memory loss an accident, which would've both explained her absence and why she never went to look for her children without committing character assassination in the process - but that's probably expecting too much logical writing from those two.

i'm actually planning a post-canon book 4 zutara fic that would include a rewrite of the search, where ursa didn't just fuck off to do nothing, but actually had a redemption arc very similar to zuko's after secretly fleeing to live in the earth kingdom and seeing the damage the war had done. she takes it upon herself to right the fire nation's wrongs, and grows particularly invested in air nomad culture, seeing it as her duty to try and bring back some of what the genocide had destroyed. shortly before zuko's banishment she sets out to find the remnants of a people long believed to be gone - and finds that maybe they're not entirely gone after all.

i won't spoil the rest, but i think it'll both explain why ursa never went back for zuko and azula while still giving her a meaningful story that didn't involve just swapping one family for another. if only we'd gotten something similar in the comics but alas... bryke gonna bryke.

thanks for the ask! no worries about it being long, i thoroughly enjoy reading your thoughts <3

[randomvarious]

Today's mix:

Metro Tech 7 by DJ Marinho Fischetti 2001 Euro House / House / Trance

Took a trip down to early 2000s São Paulo, Brazil today with this very ephemeral dance mix that was put out by the city's Metropolitana radio station as part of their very own Metro Tech series. Never once in my life have I ever ventured into any of this locale's dance stuff before, but if this set is really truly representative of what was flowing throughout São Paulo at the time, then I guess I was expecting it to be a whole lot more Brazilian than it actually was? 🤷‍♂️

I mean, outside of the total banger that is Fogo's "Another Star"—which interpolates Stevie Wonder's own late 70s song of the same name, and is also therefore very similar to another Brazilian-sounding Bob Sinclar-produced house track by Salomé de Bahia called "Outro Lugar" that interpolates that very same Stevie song—the vast majority of the rest of this is just purely unremarkable trash that's been imported from mainland Europe; basically a bunch of songs that aren't Kernkraft 400's "Zombie Nation," but are just as janky and soullessly goofy with their rote and formulaic combos of things like squelchy bass vibrations and big and stupid, blaring melodies that are more fit for drunkenly chanting along to at soccer matches and hockey games. Não gosto!

But still, standing out from all of that transactional, mindless muck are actually a couple house gems here that don't have any of that cheap Euro-stink on them at all, like this release's final song, "Camels," which is actually a bonus track that falls outside of the mix itself, and is by a prolific Italian guy named Santos, who, from the looks of it, may actually have more aliases under his name than he has bones in his own damn body—and I'm assuming that his body is one with an amount of bones in it that most people would consider to be pretty normal!

"Camels" is a thumping, turn-of-the-millennium filter house delight that fronts with a lovely pair of dramatic and cinematic bits of orchestral string, along with a little piece of guitar funk as well, and then calms itself down with some distorted guitar synth fuzz on its bridge 🤘.

But the thing about that particularly terrific piece of sunshining dance bliss glitz is that you can find it on *plenty* of other releases; a song that I *definitely* can't leave you all today without mentioning is one that I don't think has ever appeared anywhere else besides this very Metro Tech 7 mix itself: a thing called "My President" by La Cubanita.

Now, to be honest with you all, I have no fucking clue who La Cubanita actually is. Discogs links them to a New York Latin house musician by the name of DJ Lucho, but I doubt that Lucho would exclusively release a song like this on some random-ass São Paulo radio station mix; because, really, if he did that, I think he fucked up big time—this song would've absolutely been his calling card.

See, what's so wonderfully odd about this very song appearing *exclusively* on a Brazilian dance mix from 2001 like this is how totally unexpected it is. This is a tune that stars a sexy-voiced, Spanish-speaking Latina who goes by the name of Mónica, and she gets passionately dicked—or perhaps cigarred?—down by none other than American president Bill Clinton himself, with pleasure-filled moans induced from her and all 😂. And normally, I really don't tend to enjoy the particular brand of tribal house that's on display here, but I think you can understand why I make such a big exception for this one. And of all the places to discover it too; like, what an absolutely ridiculous find here!

So, once again, never shut anything off, folks, because you really never know when you might come across an exclusive and exceedingly rare house track about a former American president's sex scandal on a mix from a country on a different continent that was most likely released when that president's successor had already taken office! 😊

Listen to the full mix here.

Highlights:

House of Glass - "Disco Down" La Cubanita - "My President" Fogo - "Another Star" Santos - "Camels"

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 33: The Dark Waits

Here be spoilers! Not just spoilers for this whole book (they don't resolve every conflict in this one) but spoilers for the whole damn book series (at least some characters are definitely alive or dead by the end). If anything more explicit than my entirely unsurprising parentheticals would bother you, go read the books and then come back!

This chapter has another heron-marked sword icon, which is rather interesting this time around! Rand's sword is primarily a liability this time, something he keeps hidden from prying eyes now that he understands just how much it makes him stand out, but it's also something he won't let Mat take from him out of fear he'll lose his connection to Tam.

Maybe they were all townsmen and local farmfolk. Does that make any difference?

Rand is definitely succumbing to the paranoia of the situation. I wonder if the little tastes of the taint he's been getting are helping him along on that front, or if it's purely a natural reaction. It certainly is understandable either way.

Mat turned on the seat beside the farmer and leaned back until he found Rand’s eyes. The scarf that did duty for dust, when need be, shaded his own eyes, folded over thickly and tied low around his forehead.

God these scarves make everything confusing. So, chapter 31 started at the end of this three chapter sequence but Rand reflected on getting the scarves. We then jumped back to the immediate aftermath of Whitebridge when they did not have the scarves and continued forward in time through chapter 32 to the escape from Four Kings. Then (now) we've jumped a little forward, to when they do have the scarves, and will shortly be jumping back to where chapter 32 left off. They'll get the scarves then. At the end of this chapter we'll catch up to... *drinks*... the start of this chapter, and then we'll skip ahead to where 31 started the flashback.

I hope my explanation made sense of the chronology for anyone still confused though I fear the reasoning for this bizarre presentation of events in an order that Homestuck author Andrew Hussie would call "fucking needlessly convoluted" is lost to time if it ever existed at all.

“Queen’s Guards,” Master Kinch said around his pipe. He kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Won’t go much further than Breen’s Spring, ’less they’re called for. Not like the old days.” He sucked on his pipe, then added, “I suppose, these days, there’s parts of the Realm don’t see the Guards in a year or more. Not like the old days.”

Understatement of the year. Master Kinch wasn't even alive the last time the Guards might have been in the Two Rivers! His grandpa may not have been alive then.

Rand wondered what Master al’Vere would say if someone told him the Two Rivers was part of some Queen’s Realm. The Queen of Andor, he supposed. Perhaps the Mayor did know—he knew a lot of things that surprised Rand—and maybe others did, too, but he had never heard anyone mention it. The Two Rivers was the Two Rivers. Each village handled its own problems, and if some difficulty involved more than one village the Mayors, and maybe the Village Councils, solved it between them.

Some - like myself - would argue that if the Two Rivers is so completely divorced from the realm that it is completely oblivious to its status, receives no benefits from it, and avoids the cost, that they aren't part of the realm, no matter what any old map says. They absolutely deserve their independence and it's a travesty they didn't get it. And yes, I'm going to complain about this every time it even tangentially comes up.

Makes me wonder though if there are corners of the other nations that are as oblivious as the Two Rivers to external affairs. I mean, Altara is obviously a state in maps only, but what about the others? Will they ever get their independence, or did the Dragon's Peace damn them to eternal bondage under monarchies that don't give a fuck?

“How would you know what Darkfriends look like?” Mat demanded. He backed away from the cart, and his hand went under his coat. “What do you know about Darkfriends?”

Finally, Mat's showing some paranoia that's actually alarming.

“Rand,” he said, “you won’t leave me, will you? If I can’t keep up?” His voice quavered. “I won’t leave you.” Rand tightened his grip on his friend’s hand. “I won’t leave you no matter what.”

Rand and Mat have a better-written romance than virtually every other couple in this series. Change my mind!

When he turned back, Ba’alzamon’s outstretched hand had become a fist. “You are mine, youngling, alive or dead. The Eye of the World will never serve you. I mark you as mine.” His fist opened, and a ball of flame shot out. It struck Rand in the face, exploding, searing.

I think on my earliest readings I assumed this dream of Rand and Mat's was supposed to line up with Perrin's somehow, but chronologically speaking it absolutely does not. Perrin's been captured at this point. I wonder if he is getting a dream at this point, or if his close association with the wolves led Ishy to rule him out.

“My eyes! Oh, Light, my eyes! He took my eyes!” Rand held him close, cradling him against his chest as if he were a baby. “You’re all right, Mat. You’re all right. He can’t hurt us. We won’t let him.” He could feel Mat shaking, sobbing into his coat. “He can’t hurt us,” he whispered, and wished he believed it. What protects you makes you vulnerable. I am going mad.

F- f- f- foreshadowing! Also more on the Rand/Mat front. These two boys are practically closer than Frodo and Sam.

“If I was a good man,” Mull said, “I’d offer a couple of lads soaked to the skin a place to dry out and get warm in front of my fire. But it’s hard times, and strangers . . . . I don’t know what you’re running from, and I don’t want to. You understand? My family.” Suddenly he pulled two long, woolen scarves, dark and thick, out of his coat pocket. “It’s not much, but here. Belong to my boys. They have others. You don’t know me, understand? It’s hard times.”

Damn these scarves. They're so poorly knitted they tangled up time itself!

The innkeeper was as clean as his inn, with a gleaming white apron around his bulk. Rand was glad to see he was a stout man; he doubted if he would ever again trust a skinny innkeeper. 

It's true, if you're skinny and in hospitality you're clearly evil! Or at least your establishment serves shitty food, and in a way, isn't that the same thing?

“Hey,” Mat exclaimed, “I can see!” He sat up on his bed, squinting around the room. “Some, anyway. Your face is still a little blurry, but I can tell who you are. I knew I’d be all right. By tonight I’ll see better than you do. Again.”

Enjoy it while you can, Mat, because you're ironically setting up your own injury later down the line.

Light, when I see Moiraine again, I’ll kiss her!

Ah heck, I'll ship this too. Rand's already canonically an easy lay, I'm just widening his net to obscene proportions.

“My name? My name. Ah . . .  call me Paitr.” His eyes shifted nervously. “Ah . . .  this is not my idea, you understand. I have to do it. I didn’t want to, but they made me. You have to understand that. I don’t—”

Paitr isn't quite the poster child for why being a Darkfriend doesn't pay, but damn if he's not going to be an effective demonstration. He's also not remotely competent, is he?

Paitr seemed to take the threat seriously. His face grew pale. “I . . .  I heard what happened at Four Kings. Some of it, anyway. Word travels. We have ways of hearing things. But there’s nobody here to trap you. I’m alone, and . . .  and I just want to talk.”

Dana from the TV show is kind of a mishmash of every antagonist on the road (especially since it's really clear that they'd hoped to have another episode for the travel but couldn't get it and had to trim even further). Where Paitr only hints at it, Dana's much more explicit: orders are being transmitted through the World of Dreams.

Maybe Paitr already knew about it; maybe Gode had told Ba’alzamon, and Ba’alzamon had told Paitr; but he did not think so. He thought Paitr had only the vaguest idea of what had happened in Four Kings. That was why he was so frightened.

In particular, I think Rand's suppositions aren't quite true here. Gode is dead and so not a useful informant; he's nowhere near connected enough to offer anything more than a few parting words on his way out the door. But I don't think all of Gode's men died and I do think they were all Darkfriends, so Ish was able to get a barebones account from somebody. However, either the witnesses wouldn't be able to explain much and Paitr is thus left with only vague impressions or Ish was able to piece together that Rand was channeling... leaving Paitr genuinely concerned for his life.

Images spun in his head. The Trolloc, Narg, leaping at him in his own home. The Myrddraal threatening at the Stag and Lion in Baerlon. Halfmen everywhere, Fades chasing them to Shadar Logoth, coming for them in Whitebridge. Darkfriends everywhere. He whirled, his hand balling up. “I said, leave us alone!” His fist took Paitr flush on the nose.

Rand's already got that tasty, tasty PTSD. Poor boy.

Twenty Darkfriends had held a gathering in Market Sheran. Men with twisted bodies, and the women worse, all dirty and in rags. They could make your knees grow weak and your stomach heave just by looking at you, and when they laughed, the filthy cackles rang in your ears for hours and your head felt as if it were splitting open. He had seen them himself, just at a distance, far enough off to be safe. If the Queen would not do something, then somebody ought to ask the Children of the Light for help. Somebody should do something.

It's terrifying that the tale grew this much in the telling and genuinely sad that the wagonwright is the sort of guy who would lie about being an eyewitness and want the Children to step in.

It's also funny because the Queen absolutely won't do anything about Paitr and the Children do.

From the way the serving maids scurried between the tables with harried looks—and the landlord, too—it was a larger crowd than they were used to.

Okay I don't wanna mention Jordan's gender norms every time they come up but in every town since Four Kings it's been serving maids and landlords. No dudes waiting tables on the road at all, nor ladies running the establishments. Not very equal! (At least the cooks have some variety; in Four Kings it was a lady but the one in this inn is a gent).

“Not a bit of it,” Mat said. He was trying to sound cheerful, but Rand could hear the hidden worry. “He was scared the other folk would find out there was somebody sick in his inn. I told him if he kicked us out, I’d take you into the common room. That’d empty half his rooms in ten minutes. For all his talk about fools, he doesn’t want that.”

This chapter shows what a beautiful friendship these boys have. They're all kinds of traumatized, including supernaturally, and here's Mat refusing to leave Rand's side or let him be denied shelter anyway. And since Rand's having his channeling chills just a couple days later, we're very close to his internal death clock going off - and frankly I'm not at all sure when he resolves it. No later than Asmodean's tutoring, I would say, but it's possible he'd figured himself out by Tear.

The night deepened, and the stable shifted in the flickering lantern light. Shadows took shape and moved on their own. Then he saw Ba’alzamon striding down the stable, eyes burning, a Myrddraal at either side with faces hidden in the depths of their black cowls.

Moiraine doesn't explicitly mention crazy hallucinations as part of the sparking process. Are they common, something unique to Rand's situation because he's sparking in such a miserable state of affairs, or something that's relatively common to dude sparkers because they're reacting to the taint on top of everything else? Is Ish reaching into his mind again? This is the first time that Rand hears the term "Black Ajah" - Elyas mentioned it once to Perrin, but otherwise the only color he's heard discussed is red.

“There’s nobody but us,” Mat said. “Here, let me take that.” He reached for Rand’s sword belt, but Rand tightened his grip on the hilt. “No. No. I have to keep it. He’s my father. You understand? He’s m-my f-father!” The shivering swept over him once more, but he clung to the sword as if to a lifeline. “M-my f-father!” Mat gave up trying to take it and pulled the cloaks back over him.

Mat must be so hella confused but he's just helping his buddy.

But the worst was Tam. Tam stood over him, frowning and shaking his head, and said not a word. “You have to tell me,” Rand begged him. “Who am I? Tell me, please. Who am I? Who am I?” he shouted.

This is more proof to me that Rand's in denial about his circumstances, with the fever dream showing his true state of mind. He knows he ain't Tam's biological son.

She was about the same age as Nynaeve, he thought, but she was no village woman. The pale green silk of her dress shimmered as she moved. Her cloak was a rich, soft gray, and a frothy net of lace caught up her hair. She fingered a heavy gold necklace as she looked thoughtfully at Mat and him.

You can tell that Mili isn't an Aes Sedai despite Rand's uncertainty by the way that she isn't wearing black despite being a Darkfriend. Made her very unhappy, not being able to channel.

Licking his lips, Rand stared at the tableau above him. Even if he had not been so weak, he did not believe he could have moved. Then his eyes fell on her dagger, and his mouth went dry. The wood around the blade was blackening; thin tendrils of smoke rose from the char.

So what's up with Mili's dagger? Is it a power-wrought weapon of some kind? I don't think it comes up again - the wiki doesn't mention it on Mili's page nor does it include it in a list of items with articles in the page for chapter 33 - but weird shit like this is supposed to be hella rare! I want to know more... I just doubt I will. Can anyone with an extraordinary memory for trivialities fill me in if I'm just blanking?

“She tried to kill me, Rand. She’d have killed you, too. She’s a Darkfriend.” Mat spat the word. “But we’re not,” Rand said. The woman gasped as if she had just realized what Mat had intended. “We are not, Mat.”

Mat being so blase about killing a woman must be the dagger's influence in much the same way that Rand's madness will lead to him killing that Darkfriend gal on the road in a couple books.

Also, while like most people I hate the "If you kill me you'll be just like me," trope, I'm absolutely here for the "If we kill them we'll be just like them" variant.

The man blew a streamer of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Going to Caemlyn, are you? Was your age, I expect I might be off to see this false Dragon myself.” “Yes.” Mat nodded. “That’s right. We’re going to see the false Dragon.”

Funny how it's a lie now but won't be a lie for Rand by the time all this is done.

In any event, this is another chapter done. Chapter 34 will finally have us resuming linear time, thank goodness. Damn those scarves!!!

[pseudowar-archived]

HEADCANON / META DROP ; NIKOLAI

history. so either a. activision can't math, b. they expect us to believe nikolai is in his 60s, or c. the timeline for the rebooted series is different than the real world. seeing as point b is a literal fucking joke, i just want to put a few things out there about nikolai and his history that will always remain true regardless of point a or b:

in his youth, nikolai was a soldier in the russian army. while he was stationed as a guard in the russian embassy in copenhagen, the west learned of his 'dissatisfaction' with his country and it's policies, and made efforts to recruit him - but it wasn't until he was reassigned to the embassy in london that MI6 got their hands on him.

after this, he became an intelligence asset to MI6, and a confidential source for the british SAS. he was accused of being an informant at one point in time, but these accusations went nowhere except a small beating (or so he claims).

sometime during this time, he met and forged a lifelong friendship with jonathan price.

later, he left the military, and acquired a new identity. there are no records anywhere of his birth name, his origin, or anything of that matter. he simply goes by 'nikolai', which was the code name given to him back when he was an informant.

he is now a 'fixer' and the head of a private military company named chimera. for the right price (and cause), he can get you anything you need. weapons, information, people - it's all at his fingertips. (that being said, he loves his people, and he will not give them as fodder for any kind of situation.)

nationalism. and here's the tricky bit. nikolai is proud of his heritage and country, he loves being russian, he loves his culture and all things good associated with it - what he is not proud of is the current actions of his country and its literal war crimes and actual genocide. i know people go to rp to escape the real world, but i just wanted to put this down - nikolai is a proud russian and always has been, but he is also anti-putin and all of his policies, so please don't get it twisted, in this house, we love and support ukraine.

sexuality. it is illegal to be anything but heterosexual in russia. between that, and the fact that he is an incredibly busy man, nikolai doesn't really date, or do relationships period. his life is so very, very complicated and dangerous, and he doesn't care to put people in the line of fire, or open himself up to being blackmailed. that being said, nikolai is definitely on the demisexual spectrum. when he loves, he loves someone completely, regardless of their gender identity.

relationship with the 141 & associates. task force 141 - he will (and has actually done so before) drop anything and everything to help the one-four-one. he loves that task force with his whole damn chest, and every member of it is dear to him. (gaz is his favorite.) kate laswell - he loves kate, anytime she pulls him into things they get messy and fun - and he loves messy situations. on a personal note, he really does enjoy kate's company, and likes that she will sometimes team up with him to poke fun at price. he sends flowers all the time to her wife because he's a gentleman and knows that, more often than not, his involvement in things makes kate's job difficult, and sometimes keeps her late at work for long hours.

the captain situation. okay, the section most of you have probably been looking for - the section on captain price. i'll try to make this simple: nikolai loves jonathan price. he always has - in fact he doesn't really a remember a time where he didn't love him or some aspect of him. he is hopelessly devoted to that man, and if john asked him to do anything, he'd do it. immediately. however, that doesn't really mean much in their lines of work when it comes down to it. do i hc that they've probably been on and off with a relationship that's not necessarily physical and probably mostly emotional for literal decades at this point? yes. but do i also believe it to be an incredibly messy thing, where both parties know they can't really be together-together because of their lines of work and home countries? also yes. (do i think that they probably make the one-four-one exhausted with their constant 'will they, won't they' shit? fuck yes. gaz has a betting pool, it's up to 500 quid.) their kind of love is complicated, and yes nikolai is a big dumb romantic but he's also a realist. price has a calling, a duty (lol), a need to save the world - and nikolai sees that, and refuses to get in the way of it.

[rulers-of-hungary-tournament]

ROUND 3, MATCH 1

Admin's commentary: See what I mean by plot thickening? This is the kind of Sophie's choice for the whole Hungarian nation (and all of the other nations of former kingdom of Hungary) that I made this bracket for.

***

I.István (Štefan I.) 1000-1038

unifier of the Magyar tribes and first crowned king of Hungary (the damn crown is named after him for fuck's sake)

a literal saint - though not because he was particularly nice, mostly because of the fact that he was the first Magyar leader to be a proper Christian (unlike his dad Géza, who did get baptized, but still retained some of the pagan customs); plus he actively spread Christianity among Magyars (founding of the first Hungarian bishoprics, the one church for every 10 villages rule etc.), for better or for worse

created the basis for later Hungarian administration, including the minting of first Hungarian coins and the first law code in Hungarian history

helped Byzantines conquer Bulgaria

infamous for imprisoning and blinding his cousin and successor Vazul (chronicles blame his wife's influence, but they're probably just being sexist)

@biksarddedrak said about them: "The only thing, what you actually need to know is he was crowned on 25. of December year of our Lord 1000. The absolute unit of this man managed to haggle the pope to elevate whole Panonian basin on the most easly memorabe day. (...) I. Istvám defended his right to rule from several pagan lords who wished to deposed him in the beginig of his rule. And he did it from glorious city of Nitra."

I.Lajos (Ľudovít I.) 1342-1382

ruled for the impressive 40 years and spent 30 of it in war - around Neapolitan succession (don't ask, it's High Middle Ages, Angevins are EVERYWHERE), invasion of Wallachia, against Venice, crusade against Lithuanians, fending off Mongolian invasion of Moldavia

but I guess that's what happens when you have a country at its peak - you can afford to go to wars; to be fair, his dad already took care of the whole "consolidation" part of the process, so he could get into the expansion, during his reign Hungary at its peak extent territorially

founded the first Hungarian university in Pécs

made some minor provisions to the Golden Bull, namely forbidding the kidnapping and forced relocation of peasants by nobility

made important administrative reforms, like founding of the Secret Chancellory

also king of Poland, @rulers-of-poland-tournament said about him: "Lajos, or Ludwik Węgierski is often held responsible as the ruler who begun the tradition of Przywileje Szlacheckie - those being economic or judicial privileges of the nobility granted in exchange for loyalty. in the long term they led to drastic inequalities and ineffectiveness of royal power, but of course, Ludwik could not have known what he was laying the groundwork for"

@majowajutrzenka said about them: "He recognized his daughters as heirs to the thrones. He also have nickname the great. He wonderful king, son, husband and father. He familly dude. Lajos declared war on Charles of Luxembourg, when he insulted his mother (Elizabeth of Piast, big sister Casimir the Great)"

[beaniehasapoliticalviewpoint]

An Opening Statement:

When impressing myself into the world of politics as a kid, I always thought I’d be the cool motherfucker that’d band people together to fight against an oppressive government and liberate the minority. And then, I realized that

1. People don’t like to listen to other people

2. It’s really hard to get America to stop being lazy

3. There’s more countries than America out there

That third one is a big one, I’d say, and it defines a lot of what makes the world what it is.

“American Exceptionalism is the belief that the United States is either distinctive, unique, or exemplary compared to other nations.” - Donald E. Pease (I think, that’s what Wikipedia said they got the quote from)

You see, I live in a country that loves to suck it’s own dick, and pass around the fruits of that labour by spreading its seeds of “democracy” and “freedom” onto other countries that did not ask. Now, I love my country, I think US propaganda does a great job of making even the most US hating individual feel proud to love this country, and I do in fact feel wonderful every single day knowing I’m a citizen of the country that loves to spout off how free it is. I’m also not blind, it’s also a damn shame what the country looks like now. Shit, let’s be honest, the American government is an absolute cesspool of old dudes jerking each other off and making fuck tons of money doing it, which, by the way, could very easily be cut to go into our economy, but I digress, the American government is at core the fault of our country, and by god thank you for letting us see that, and giving us the option to vote them out- except we don’t. Because no one votes. And when they do, it’s always “vote blue no matter who” or “trump is the best”, stupid shit like that. The solution? Simple. Hell, let’s cut this whole chapter down to two simple words. “Start. Reading.”. It’s that simple. I mean, we literally have the biggest goddamn treasure trove of information ever held accessible to the common man, and y’all motherfuckers use it to argue whether or not trans people should get rights. They should by the way. Because they’re people. Expanding off that, I’m not saying I’m not guilty of the same stupid shit. My heart strings soar when I see some dumb shit confederate get clowned on online. But none of it means anything. I can talk smack all I want on this earth but it’s not gonna make it any greener. We’re members of a generation capable of making the most change, and we have been given the greatest informative platform to do it on. Stop staring at the next controversy when they made Ariel black; who the fuck cares if they removed a gay character from a show. While y’all weren’t looking, they let Florida allow first responders to legally deny medical care at their own whim, based on their beliefs. Imagine if you pissed some motherfucker off in 8th grade when you snitched on him for passing notes in class, and then 10 years later you go to a specialist, the same guy, and he denies you care because he’s a salty motherfucker, and you DIE. Who let this law pass? Certainly not the citizens of Florida, you guys are fucking awesome, but can’t see the obvious issues here.

We, as citizens of the United States, are held victim by our own beliefs and emotions. We impose our own restrictions on ourselves, by acting like the differences in the world is because one side lives a different kind of life. We draw so much attention to the smallest of differences, the pigment of our skin, who we love, who we want to be, and we miss the big picture. It’s not republicans Vs. democrats, the gays Vs the church or the north Vs the south (god forbid that shit happens again), it’s the fucking people Vs the goddamn government, and it always has been. Every distraction from our common goal of uniting against corruption gives more power to the corrupt, and they fucking LOVE it. And no, this isn’t me saying if you think gay people are inherently evil or some shit that’s ok. It’s not. You’re weird. Weirdo. This is me saying theirs a far larger issue at hand that could kill us all, and both of y’all need to shut the fuck up and look around you.

So yeah. I’m trying to be the cool motherfucker that bands the oppressed together against a common enemy. I wish I could. I’d be lying to myself, and you, if I said something like, “I’ve grown”. I haven’t. I’m no better than the person next to me, no greater than the young child behind me or the older folk in front. We’re all equal in a struggle against power. (And NO this isn’t some Marx shit, the economy is a joke and I’ll get to that later) All I’m saying is, we could do with a lot more loving in this world, because shit, that would make me feel a helluva lot better, and I’m sure you would too.

Remember when I said that thing about American Exceptionalism? Promise I didn’t forget about it while I ranted about America. Because it’s wrong. We aren’t special. We’re one empire in the long line of many, not the first nor the last. The entire world is out there, billions of people, millions of cultures, thousands more being made. Many suffering a helluva lot more than my upper middle class in college ass. Many living a lot more luxurious than I am too. Despite us all being the same species we manage to become so different, global divisions of “countries” and “nations”. I can’t speak of the minds of everyone, because I’m not everyone. I can’t say that every single person should act some way, because I didn’t grow up in their shoes, in their home. Everyone lives different lives, everyone lives differently. So why the hell should my country pretend to know what’s best for them. American “global security” is an authoritarian grip on the less fortunate, for our benefit. And only the people can fix that.

[abimee]

Endwalker is a dangerous topic of music. Because I think Endwalker has the greatest soundtrack of all time

I say this all the time but when i first heard this i cried like a baby and every time after has brought me to tears. It's such a perfect song for what it represents and how it's one of hope but with a sad tone to it, and the swell of the marching drums like a funeral march but with the violins of a triumphant swell of emotion.... literally no other ff14 song can compare in how perfect Dynamis is as a song. I dont think any other video game will beat out a song like this for me for a long time

i dont think i have anything to say about close in the distance. its a song that lacks the ability to be described because every time it plays i stop and stare at the sky (literally) and just have to let it take me through the motions. the ending keys ending on an uplifting note is literally so fucking perfect for where the song ends during The Walk.

I was a hater about Flow for a long time because i didnt really care much for it as like, a venat song. but when i was turned to the idea of it being an AZEM song? thats when the deep seated problems set in. but we've already seen me talk about that and for every reason people know

CRADLE OF HOPE [explodes] I really really enjoyed this one. the entire Omicron questline was so good and i still think about N-7000 and calling them N-TY as a nickname because it sounds like Entity, related to the whole beast nation quest of discovery and purpose. I think when we first birthed Elysion and walked in and heard this music it was like taking a breath of fresh air after a scary thunderstorm, or coming out of the shelter after a tornadoa, and looking up at a clear night sky and feeling the breeze on your face

also i dont give a damn what anybody says I am obsessed with Dreamwalker. Literally it works so well for the Lopporits as people meant to bring hope and a sense of comfort to the peopl eof Etheryis cause i could be having the worst day ever and I walk into Hoper's Hold and hear this stupid chiptune EDM and see the Lopporit Coachella DJ'ing and i get such a goofy smile on my face. Can't describe how much time i spent hanging around hoper's hold just for the music and how much i was schmoving in my seat to it. I love that Endwalker mixed in a sense of humor with the loporrits and i never considered them a ''time waster'' filler unlike other places i can mention (looks over at garlemald). Cause it feels in line with their story that they dont take things too seriously. But also this beast nation questline Did make me cry and i still think about the radio broadcast and sob

also im putting one amongst the weary here instead of fleeting moment cause while fleeting moment makes me sick i am literally up all hours of the day thinking about the fucking chimes in this song. i feel like a very confused drunk person at an indie music show where i dont know how im supposed to dance to this song but im trying my damnest

and a special mention to Ancient Shackles because thats MY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also becayse this song also makes me feel like im running a fever. the harspicord coming in randomly before disappearing makes me feel like im in a haunted house catching chunks of music playing from the nearby other attractions but then they get cut off as i walk down another hall. the most Song ever?

anyway thats my ff14 bangers list. i like a loty more music from this game than this but these are the songs that crop up when you pout a gun to my head and ask me to list favorites

(manifets at your door) hi bestie talking abt xiv music. what would u say are the bangers of all time - either by expansion or in the game as a whole

hold on i want to do best songs per expansion cause i got a lot to say about soken and co's discography of the game but i have to start out of order to let everyone know i think Wayward Daughter is a mediocre track and the actual best Stormblood track is Seven-Hundred and Seventy Seven Whiskers FOR GOOD REASON

Seven Hundred and Seventy Seven Whiskers stands out amongst every song in Stormblood to me purely because of the Namazu themselves --- the Namazu 777 Festival is obviously based on the Obon, and the music that plays is meant to be music played during the Bon Odori/Bon Dance, and you can even hear the sound of the Namazu dancing to it in the song with the squeak of their feet :]

But what makes this so special is just the story of the Namazu, how their people lost their way and culture and how after one sees a vision of their people being destroyed unless they hold a festival and how everyone involved seems genuinely invested in reconstructiong their culture and being a ''people'' with rituals and beliefs again, rather than simply chasing coin like a lot do when you first meet the Namazu. And when they come to the Azim Steppe to make a spot for their cultural festival, they take the time to learn about the Au Ri cultures around them, and even though its often shown that the different Au Ri people consider the Namazu odd, them wanting to learn traditions from the different clans and incorporate them into their own festival is never framed as a greedy or ignorant ploy, but the Namazu genuinely wanting to learn and understand these traditions. The Namazu are even incredibly respectful to the Uyagiri people, where when they hear that they refuse to come to the festival due to their own religious beliefs about indulgence, the Namazu never berate them or say they should ''just leave their cave'' like other clans on the Steppe do --- instead, the quest is that you make a very simplistic offering, a doll iirc, to give to the Uyagiri as offering since they cant come. The Namazu genuinely try and even though theyre often played off as being stupid and for slapstick theyre never played off as like, ''oooh look at these fish disrespecting a culture because they wanna mimic it haha!"

And its really sweet with the fact that the Namazu story itself is about finding meaning and religion in what you do, and even if others see your beliefs and traditions and habits as ''uncessary'' or ''unworthwhile'', if it means something to YOU, if doing it makes you feel closer to your people or your religion, then it is worthwhile --- they see the festival as worthwhile, as crafting and gathering as worthwhile, and in reconnecting with their traditions they do avert a genuinely life-threatening future of mass exctintion, not because they actually appeased some sort of god threatening them, but because these traditions were grounded in a sense of preservation, that though they seem silly to others they were how the namazu lived and thrived!! and now to mention how the Namazu story touches on the concept of sort of recognizing that the God you worship isnt real with the fact that the Great One is sort of just implied to be not real, just Earthquakes in the ground, with not only it being based off a real legend but also the fact that the Namazu can't/dont summon a primal of it. And once again wrapping back around to the concept of religion always having been a means to self preserve, and whether a god truly exists or not is not what matters, but the community and safety and preservation that comes with religious worship and rules and etc etc. Anyway the Namazu are really good i think they steal the show for best track in stormblood ✌️

ANYWAY. A REALM REBORN. DREAM'S ALOFT genuinely one of the first MSQ songs to hit me in the gut. As a Kingdom Hearts fan and not an ff fan hearing this song did in fact make me feel like i was in Traverse Town again and meeting Cid highwind from my childhood. But also meeting Cid while this song plays and we're up in the airship really did feel like one of the first ''big moments'' in this game to me, so whenever I hear this song I think of my sprout days and how simply being up in the air felt like the most magical thing ever

second to it HAS to be Edda's theme. No reason for ARR to randomly scare the shit out of me with a cool and emotional side story. I think FF14 does really good with brief moments of horror, cause Edda's plot really did chill me to the bone but it didn't overstay it's welcome or become ''too much'' --- which is where I think ff14 begins to fail in its ''scares'' sometimes. This game does best with like, Halloween campy spooky bullshit and nothing genuinely meant to be ''horrific'' and i think it needs to return to Edda-esque side quests more.

and Through The Maelstrom for third place. If you dont think the buildup to Leviathan in ARR and the sound of the guitar kicking in after that first slapdown was the coolest, most ''oh shit this is REALLY dire'' then you can get the hell out of my house cause this was when the game hit that OH SHIT factor for me. Scariest and Coolest Primal to date fuck everyone else

other notable mentions: Oblivion ofc, Limsa Lominsa's day music and Ul'dah's night music, and Camp Bronze Lake's music :]

my pick for Heavensward makes me sad cause finding out they took out Steps of Faith and therefore nobody gets to experience Faith in Her Fury to the most dreadul march of your life is so sad to me. I can't even tell you why Faith in Her Fury sticks in my mind to the point I recognized in EDW, I think it's just a really good introduction piece to Heavensward and made for a good backing track to a fun marching fight

number 2 for Heavensward has to be Slumber Eternal. I've described this as ''music they'd play in a period movie where a fight breaks out between union busters and coal miners where people definitely die'' and i mean that in a complimentary way. This song really does make you feel like you're fighting up a literal fucking mountain and everything is trying to stop you and i think this was a cool as hell dungeon. I listen to this on repeat so often its not even funny

also shoutout to Painted Foothils because they share the same tune. Leiftmotif and all that

Alexander. Rise. Everyone agrees. it has a fucking time stop mechanic built INTO THE SONG!!!

other notable mentions; Baelsar's Wall music Another Brick is good dont let the haters tell you otherwise, Locus, Heroes Never die, and Relics

Stormblood :/ Omega has bangers in it at the very least i know mags already heard me say it but the music that plays before you fight M/F is literally the most ''final fantasy music'' music ive ever heard

WAIT back up. Soken's stolen beat is really good also. thank you soken for stealing this

I have to put The Twinning here somewhere because this is literally the song that made me play this game. This is what made me download this game after months of going ''ill get a better computer and then download it''. When they refferenced a version of the meme at Fanfest i scrummed

Amaurot.

theres a 10 video limit on posts but you know im not fucking finished so ill be back

[youkaigakkou-tl]

Chapter 97 Extended Translation Notes

first off here's the spread without the text at the top. the stuff at the bottom, well..... see if i feel like it

this is mostly just unorganized thoughts nothing like my analysis posts

(future op after writing the whole post: this got kinda long lol)

ok now that im hidden in the readmore i can act insane. RAHHHHH AMAAKI ON THE COLOR PAGE RAHHHH WAHOOOOOO WOOHOOOOO BIG WIN FOR AME NATION ok got that out of my system im normal now

Rain or shine

In case you forgot, ame = rain, haru = sunny. I lose my mind every time this is relevant, like the ending of renren arc.

Whose mom is this

the other 3 are pretty obvious, but the 2nd one isn't immediately recognizable.

(also, 2 checks for "the couple's parents are meeting" for fujiogo and momo and gida)

just for fun, i process-of-eliminationed this

(cover page of chapter 57 my old friend)

everyone greyed out's parents statuses are confirmed, (other than akibe and koizumi, but given the physical features...)

though, i say i did this "just for fun", because i already kinda knew who's mom it was

(from this tweet)

it's mujina's mom. she's beside tamao's mom, the appearance matches, it makes sense.

Haha Sano what the fuck does this mean

the japanese says he "分からん" (wakaran), meaning "i dunno", and the chinese translation outright says "i don't have parents" which SEEMS to be what the jp is implying anyway

sano get back here you're not dunnoing your way out of this one

Also renren realised they don't share a surname. ebisu explain that you're not :>ing your way out of this one either

Shrines, huh

the plate over the torii just says "abe shrine" back in chapter 9, but given my google street view sleuthing and like, story details, even if its not the big fancy one in kyoto it is still an abe no seimei shrine. so on some level, haruaki, you're the god! what a coincidence, the "gods" are exactly as shocked as you are!

Tale of the bamboo cutter

This page was a damn nightmare to translate. (Mame's mistakes, not the actual story in grey. it's a well known classic that's been translated, no need to reinvent the wheel)

I tried to get the "hamuhane" part exactly like the jp, but mame's mistake on the 3 "sun" big child in the first 2 panels is a little different

He interprets "なる人" (naruhito) as "成人" (also naruhito); "hito" means person, the first "naru" means grow (like a plant) or contain (i think), the second one means "adult person".

I suppose I could have also went for "grown" person vs "grown person", but in any case, haruaki's explanation for what a "sun" is on the bottom 2 panels is almost exact, and i thought the "soon" comparison was a good way to get across that's how "sun" is pronounced

(also here's my "hamuhane" tl note)

anyway. nightmare page. looking forward to how the official tl does it when it comes out in (checks watch) like 2 years?

Ame and Ebisu interaction real

dunno if it gets across, but I think he has a height complex...

pretty weird thing to say, huh, Ebisu? to someone you just met? how do you know that anyway?

the only times Ame appeared has been ch8 when the gang went to Haru's house, ch23 when he pretended to be Haru (the rest of the class should be none the wiser) ch39 in the hospital (none of the class was there to see)

and then Ebisu gets introduced in ch 53, after that he hears firsthand that Haru has a twin in ch58, and then Ame is there in renren arc and outright says he's scared of youkai in ch76

Notice how Ebisu wasn't present for any of Ame's appearances prior. he wasn't involved in renren arc, and the person i think is his spy was turned to stone on the ground floor while the reveal on the roof happened.

of course, this could just be a combination of him projecting on Ame, and seeing him visibly scared of youkai a few pages prior. but "hate" is a fairly specific and strong word to use, and i also think he's too smart to not know Ame hates youkai, just a matter of where he got the info from.

The person I think is his spy

after doing some thinking (furigana reads: seeing this post), I think there's someone who's fairly likely to be the spy.

observe, the chart for "people who we've seen the parents of" and "people ranmaru might have seen in ch62"

we've narrowed it down to one man. (ok well there's a few in common here, but satsuki doesnt get screentime ever and ogata twins are too obvious for how much emphasis the ranmaru scene was given)

the kudan, Kurahashi.

but wait, you say, we know he's a youkai. he's got horns. we've seen him use his abilities.

but consider everything else. how often he interacts with Ebisu. how often he sticks his neck out for Ebisu

(i also have a lot of Thoughts abt the part timing incident, specifically his prediction

in his first appearance, he mentioned he couldn't see Haru's future well (because of his exorcism power, which, mind you, still don't know how that works exactly)

wouldn't be a stretch to think that his prediction wouldn't/can't take a god's interference into account. the thug was going to say "the customer is god" either way, but there's also the possibility that the moment kurahashi stepped in, his prediction of "toubyou get punched" couldn't play out exactly so the totally different thing of Ebisu stepping in happened. anyway)

it's not like any individual event incriminates him, rather how frequently it happens. in fact, kurahashi has been involved almost every time Ebisu appears. (put it another way, Ebisu's only major appearances where Kurahashi wasn't involved in some way was this chapter, and the youkai train)

adding on to that, we don't have any info on what his personal life is like, odd considering the amount of screentime he gets. (all of this is relevant to this chapter bc this would have been the perfect opportunity to show his parents, IF HE HAS ANY) the only things we know about his personal life is he's in the basketball club??? and that he was "raised to help people in trouble" whatever "raised" or "help" or "trouble" means

and now, the final nail in the coffin: this alternate cover that came with the 2021 december gfantasy issue

(oh yeah its also my blog header)

none of the official images of it included the flap with ranmaru, and previously i was willing to believe it's just a coincidence for 4 characters related to gods and kurahashi to be on the back cover together, but now that i've seen the whole thing, i feel like ranmaru being there seals the deal that it's intentional

count em, 5 whole characters, basically every major character that is/was a god, and one kurahashi yuuta, who we know nothing about despite his frequent appearances? kinda sus

and now, to return to the first question, isn't he a youkai? horns and youkai powers and all?

and to that i say: he could be another creature. we've just seen an example of this, suzaku, divine fire bird, becoming a tengu, which is also a bird

looking up kudan, it has been theorized that it's based off another mythical creature: the Bai Ze (or Hakutaku), a divine cow-like beast from china, who shares many characteristics with the kudan, only difference being it's associated with good luck instead of misfortune

ok this is kind of a nonsense theory but can you imagine. at the very least, theres a lot of very sus things about kurahashi specifically regarding ebisu. on the off chance he is a bai ze, it would make this image very funny

beniko the zashiki warashi, an auspicious youkai; sano the god of pestilence, but as a person brings haruaki good luck; and then kurahashi, whats his deal man?

thats all i have to say! lemme paste this into google docs for a word count-

oh. oh no. what the fuck how did this happen wasnt this a tl note

anyway hope u enjoyed this tl-note-turned-ebisu-kurahashi-analysis post! there's still way more i could analyse of ebisu and i'll probably do that someday. i could pick apart every word he says and still not know what his deal is

[spohkh]

the unmapped places [steve/eddie]

Eddie confesses. Steve, amazed, confesses back.

Read on AO3

“Okay, Harrington,” Eddie says suddenly, pushing himself up from his slouch against the couch cushions, “what are we doing?”

“Uh,” says Steve, glancing at Eddie, then at the TV across from them, then back to Eddie, “we—are—uhh, watching… a movie?” They are, right? The movie’s playing right there on the TV, right now, but the look on Eddie’s face is really making Steve doubt himself. “I mean, I am,” he corrects, and looks pointedly down at the book held in Eddie’s hand. “You’re reading a book like a total nerd.”

Eddie sits up further and turns fully toward Steve. His knee, bared by the rip in his jeans, presses into the side of Steve’s thigh, and his shoulder brushes against the arm Steve’s had flung across the back of the couch. Steve makes himself keep still. “Oh,” Eddie says haughtily, “excuse me, my fucking liege, for seeking a little entertainment outside of whatever—” he flaps a dismissive hand toward the TV “—this is.” 

“What? It’s National Lampoon! It’s hilarious, come on!”

Eddie scrunches a sarcastic smile at him. “Uh-huh,” he says, not buying it at all. “You could stand to intake a little more literature, my friend.”

“Excuse me, my fucking liege,” Steve mimics, making Eddie snort, “did I not read The goddamn Hobbit for you?” It had taken him a goddamn age—seriously, how did Eddie sit down and just turn pages for hours on end, for fun—but he’d done it. And, to his own surprise and Eddie’s extreme delight, he’d enjoyed it. Enough to push into the bigger books? Yeah, no—though, admittedly, Eddie’s earnest excitement about the whole thing had made Steve waver for a brief second. So maybe he would, someday. Maybe. But come on: credit where credit was due.

Eddie leans back a little, his expression losing its mocking edge. “Yeah, alright,” he concedes. He smiles. “Fine. I’ll give you that.”

“Well, thanks for the charity,” Steve replies dryly, but smiles back, poking Eddie’s shoulder. He lets his fingers hang loose, close, skimming lightly against the soft fabric of Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie just looks at him like that for a second, all quiet. Then that familiar glint catches in his eye, and Steve braces himself. “But—”

And here it comes. “No.”

“Come on, you said it was good, so why not­—”

“No!”

“—just keep the story going! It’s an epic, sprawling world of adventure and magic, The Hobbit was but a mere taste, a tease of—” He presses forward into Steve’s space as he keeps talking, gesturing wildly. Steve catches his wrists to avoid getting smacked in the face with Eddie’s book, or his rings, or just his big hands. Those things can do some real damage, Steve knows. Nerd that he is, Eddie has a lot of power in his hands. A lot of strength. Ridiculous reach, too, his knobby fingers long and tough, calloused from his guitar’s strings. But they’re better suited for—just about anything other than fighting demon alien creatures. Playing guitar and rolling die, rolling joints, holding books, holding Ste—

Steve quickly tunes back in, lifting his focus back to Eddie’s face. “—journey of multigenerational fucking implications, man! It would expand your worldview like crazy." Eddie’s hands flex and dance in Steve’s grip, clearly wanting to make broad, dramatic sweeps. "And also you’d get, like, way more of my references.” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s what it’s really about; multi-whatever be damned, you just want me to catch all your dorkass trivia when you drop it into conversations.”

 Eddie scoffs. “Uh, oh-kay, I mean it’d be a definite bonus!”

“It’s not happening, Munson!” Steve says, laughing as he pushes Eddie back and releases his wrists. “Call me when the movie comes out.

Eddie slants a coy look at Steve, tapping his book against his mouth. Then he points the book at Steve. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says.

Steve shrugs and says, “Fine. It’s a date.”

Like a light switching off, all of the humor drains from Eddie’s face. He stares at Steve for a long moment, his dark eyes unwavering. It’s like he’s looking for something, but Steve couldn’t possibly guess what. Even after all this time they’ve been spending together, he could still be so, like—fathomless, or whatever. Insanely hard to read.

Then Eddie sighs, deep and loud, thunking his head back against the top of the couch. He drops his book open on top of his face and holds it there.

“What is it?” Steve asks, instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?”

 "What are we doing, Harrington?” Eddie says again, his voice muffled by the book.

 “Wh—huh? Eddie, are you okay? Seriously, man, look at me. Come on.” Steve reaches over and gently pulls at the book until Eddie lets it go. Steve puts it on the coffee table. When he turns back, Eddie is just staring up at the ceiling. “Hey. Eddie, come on, talk to me.”

Eddie finally sits up again. Something about his expression makes Steve straighten, giving Eddie his full attention. And for the third time, Eddie says, now in a voice that sounds almost desperate: “What are we doing, Steve?” His eyes are huge, imploring.

“I— I don’t—” Shit, his heart is hammering hard all of a sudden. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “I’m, I don’t understand what you mean, can you…?”

Eddie groans roughly, irritated. “Y’know, usually I find your whole ‘lost puppy’ thing very…” He trails off, eyes floating all around the room for a moment. “But right now, it’s really—” He laughs a little, but it doesn’t sound amused. He cuts his gaze back to Steve. “Look, man.” He sighs. Steve frowns, wondering how to get back Eddie’s easy, bright smile from moments ago. “I am frankly losing what’s left of my goddamn mind here,” Eddie says, “so I’m just gonna shoot you straight,” and then after a slight pause, a loud laugh startles out of him, making Steve jump. “Sorry, uh, wow, terrible choice of words.”

Steve wants to say something, probably ask if he’s okay again, but he just sits there silently and waits and watches. Watches Eddie take in this huge breath and shut his eyes, like he’s about to belt out the opening notes of a ballad. Watches him release that breath slow. Watches him opening his eyes again, landing his gaze square on Steve.

And he opens his mouth and says in a rush: “I like you.”

And Steve keeps sitting there, waiting. Because there has to be more. –but we should probably stop hanging out, maybe, or at least, –but isn’t hanging out almost every day, like, kind of overkill? which it probably is, but Eddie hasn’t said anything about it and Steve keeps hoping he won’t say anything about it because he really doesn’t want to stop. But Eddie’s just looking at him now—also waiting. And Steve thinks, hold on, is that really it? Because that can’t be it. Because if it is— But it can’t be.

“What?” is all he manages to choke out, voice strangled thin.

Another long, tense silence. Steve is hyperaware of how close they are: Eddie’s bare knee digging into the side of his leg, their hands resting scant inches apart. What is happening here, he thinks, couldn’t possibly be what appears to be happening—because, in Steve’s experience these past few chaotic years, it never is.

But, jesus christ, the longer Eddie sits there, just looking at him, letting his warm proximity wash over Steve, his words settling so solidly in the air between them—the longer this moment unfurls into the space, the more this incredible lightness grows in Steve’s chest. It’s a lightness that Steve only just recently realized Eddie always puts there. And one that, even more recently, Steve has been making a concerted effort to shove down into a secret box inside himself. It doesn’t really work. But he’s been trying, for both their sakes, for the sake of the easy friendship they have that Steve has come to rely on.

But now, it feels like, maybe—

Eddie abruptly jumps to his feet. He loudly smacks both palms over his face and grumbles, “Ho-ly shit, man. I really— This is— Why did I— Haha! Oh, god.” He starts walking loops beside the couch, then expands his track to include the coffee table, muttering to himself. Steve gets the impression that he’d be climbing on top of the table if he felt like he was allowed to. Steve almost wishes that he would, if only because it would mean Eddie felt comfortable enough in Steve’s house to be his usual audacious self, and then Steve could scold him for it, and maybe that would calm them both down a little.

Eddie pauses his nonsensical mumbling, pivoting to cast an accusatory finger at Steve. “And you know that Robin— Robin said—” He cuts off, raggedly shaking his head as he starts to pace again.

“Wh— Robin?” Steve asks, bewildered, heart racing. “What did Robin say?” But Eddie either ignores him or doesn’t hear him, already lost in some other internal tangent. He’d been talking to Robin—about Steve?

With a sudden jolt of alarm, Steve realizes that Eddie’s widening orbit has gradually brought him close to the threshold leading out to the hall, and if the frazzled look in his eye is anything to go by, he’s just about ready to bolt. Steve is standing up and crossing the room before he even processes the thought fully, reaching out to grab at Eddie—before pulling back at the last second, not wanting to spook him with an unwanted touch.

Eddie freezes, knowing he’s been caught. He presses himself back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes stuck to the floor.

Steve stands before him, hands spread wide, watching. When it seems like Eddie has no intention to make a break for it, Steve takes a slow step forward. “Hey,” he says, taking another step. “It's okay. You're okay." Another step. He gently lays a hand on Eddie's arm, just above his elbow. "It’s just me, right?”

Eddie's laugh is brittle and shaky. He leans his head back against the wall, turning his face away. “It’s because it’s you,” he says dully.

It eats at Steve to see him like this, shrinking into himself. Especially since it's because of Steve. Eddie has proven himself to be wildly courageous and inconceivably brave time and again—brave enough to fight Vecna, sure, but what impresses Steve the most is his bravery in everyday ways. The courage it took to finally graduate high school, and to be himself loudly and without apology, and to say all of this, now, to Steve. He's ashamed to have, literally, pushed Eddie into a corner

Now Steve can see why Eddie had to take in that huge breath. The words are rattling around inside his stomach, but they're going to need to be pushed out. On his exhale, Steve says, “Me too."

And Eddie replies, “Huh?”

“I—" Another jittery breath in. Another exhilarating breath out. "Eddie. I like you, too.”

Eddie stares at him, expressionless. Then he narrows his eyes. “Bullshit.”

An icy shock pools in Steve's stomach at that word. Bullshit. This, again—but no, no, it's not. This isn't like then at all. Eddie isn't Nancy, and Steve isn't the Steve from back then. He isn't hopelessly trying to convince someone to love him; he just needs to convince someone who, apparently, already likes him that the feeling is very, very mutual.

"I'm being serious," he insists. 

But Eddie just shakes his head. “I don't think you're understanding me, Steve. I like you,” he repeats, harried. “As in, like-like. As in, long strolls under the moonlight holding hands-like. Doodling your name in my notebook-like. I am into you, okay? For fuck’s sake?”

Steve knows Eddie is really fucking stressed out right now, but the ligthness in Steve's chest grows warmer and brighter and fuller with every word Eddie says. "Yeah— Eddie. Me too." He moves closer, shifting his hand up to Eddie’s shoulder. "I like you exactly like that." He puts his palm to Eddie's cheek.

Steve watches Eddie's dark eyes slowly come to life with realization. “Steve,” he says. His tone is the same fragile and vulnerable thing Steve had once heard, so long ago now, sitting on the sticky tile of a mall bathroom floor. 

“Yeah,” he replies, keeping his voice just as soft. He will try to be worthy of the trust being placed in him now, the same as it was back then. He gently pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair, curls catching at his nails as he tucks the strands behind Eddie’s ear, exposing the two little silver hoops he has in. Steve remembers the first time he caught sight of Eddie’s ear piercings, normally hidden by his hair. They’d been talking about movies; Steve recalls that specifically because at some point Eddie had said, I’m a goddamn film connoisseur, and swept one side of his hair back over his shoulder, like some lofty high-society madame. And Steve, for the briefest moment, had seen the glint of his earrings. He’d felt consumed by the desire to see them again, this part of Eddie that was usually out of sight. For days afterward he would find himself staring at the side of Eddie’s face, hoping. He’d only stopped when Eddie called him out on his “frankly kinda creepy stare”—but no, he hadn’t actually stopped. He’d just managed to be a little more discreet about it, which was how he found out that it wasn’t just the one ear that was pierced but both

Now, Steve touches his thumb to the hoops, that questing beast of desire finally satisfied after all this time. He savors the feeling of the delicate skin of Eddie’s neck under his fingertips. These secret and soft parts of him. Steve wants, so badly, to take care of him.

Eddie’s eyelids slip closed. “Don’t…” 

Steve immediately freezes. “Don’t?”

Eddie breathes out a slow breath. When he opens his eyes, he whispers, “Don’t do something that you’ll regret."

Again, for a moment, they watch each other. Eddie’s dark eyes are depthless. Steve could fall into them, probably, which is a stupid and absurd thing to think. It’s an even stupider thing to hear. You’ve got eyes a girl could sink into, Steve Harrington, a girl he’d been seeing once told him. He remembers wondering what the fuck that meant, and why someone would even want to do that. But now, suddenly—Steve understands that old cliché phrase, “to get lost in someone’s eyes.” Maybe not lost, though. Maybe, in Eddie’s wide, brown eyes, it’s just the opposite.  

So Steve says, “Okay,” and leans in and kisses him.

When he pulls away, Eddie looks so shocked that Steve can’t help but laugh. He feels impossibly light. “You kissed me,” Eddie says blankly.

He sure had. Finally. And, damn, does he want to do it again. “Yeah, well, uh. You—you said not to do something I’d regret,” Steve tells him. “And I would’ve really, really regretted not kissing you.”

Eddie just gapes at him. It’s so rare that he’s at a loss for words; Steve is absolutely, unashamedly making notes. “King Steve,” he says eventually, his voice awed. A slow grin grows over his face, his cheeks so beautifully pink. “Smooth as fuckin’ glass.” 

Steve is glad he’s making that impression because he's just bumbling his way through this whole thing. Steve Harrington, the king of cool, known for his casual come-ons and easy charm, thrown completely off-kilter by Eddie 'the Freak' Munson's big brown eyes and teasing grins.

Well, in for a penny, in for a dollar, or however the hell that phrase goes. He pulls Eddie back in. Eddie sighs softly against Steve's mouth, his kiss gentle, almost hesitant, but still so warm and wanting.

When they part, Eddie presses his face into the slope of Steve's neck. "Is this for real?" he whispers. Steve can hear the question under the question, the genuine, gut-deep fear beneath the regular doubt. It pains Steve that they — that all of them — have had simple trust burned out of them. Like anything too good might be a trick or a trap or some kind of illusion.

Steve puts both arms around Eddie and holds him close. "Yeah, Eddie. It's real; I'm here, and you're here, and this is real." Eddie says nothing, only twists his hands into the back of Steve's shirt. Steve rubs a slow hand along Eddie's shoulder blades, soothing and grounding them both. This is real, this is real.

Eddie lifts his head, his hands sliding up along Steve's back to his shoulders, then coming to cup his face. There are no other colors in Eddie's eyes, Steve notices. Just the same deep brown throughout, framed by his long dark lashes. He has faint freckles and old acne scars, crinkles by his mouth and eyes. He's magnetic without even trying. Eddie leans in and closes his pretty eyes and kisses Steve, and Steve melts against him. He can tell he's already getting hooked on kissing Eddie, hooked on the rub of his stubble, the tickle of his long hair, how he tastes like the beer they'd been drinking, smells like the joint they'd smoked together earlier, the undeniable strength in his shoulders and his hands, how wide he is, how solid, how warm, how real.

The parting of this third kiss is slower. They linger close, foreheads pressed together. "You okay?" Steve asks quietly.

"Yeah." Eddie breathes out. "Yeah, I'm good." He leans away so they can see each other fully again. "You?"

Better than good. He's never felt so lit up. "Yeah." He drops his hands down to hook his fingers in Eddie's beltloops. "But, um. Do you want to, like. I don't know. Go home, or…?

Eddie's face collapses. "What? Why— Do you… Do you want me to go?"

"No! I don't. Sorry, I meant, like, if you maybe needed some space or something. Like, to—I don't know—process, or whatever. I don't know." Christ, why is it so hard for him sometimes? "I just don't want you to feel, y'know. Overwhelmed or trapped or anything.

"Oh," Eddie says, the distress gradually melting away. "That's really thoughtful, but with all due respect, uh, fuck no. You're gonna need a crowbar to get rid of me now, Harrington."

Steve scoffs a laugh, trying to hide his relief. "Good to know," he says. "Then, do you—" He rocks back on his heels, pulling at Eddie's beltloops. "Should we…

Eddie smiles, bemused. "Steve, if you're oh-so-smoothly asking if I'd like to sit back down with you, then please." He takes one of Steve's hands in his. "Lead the way."

He shakes his head, but leads the way. Steve Harrington has been on, like, a million goddamn dates, all involving varying degrees of handsy-ness, but somehow loosely holding Eddie Munson's hand as they make the short walk back to the couch together is the most nerve-wracking thing he's experienced. 

They sit. Eddie brings one leg up onto the couch, once again pressing his bare knee into Steve's thigh. It feels suggestive in a way it didn't before. The air between them is heavy with expectation. What should they do now? Steve is, admittedly, still reeling from the fact that his feelings are now not only out there but are actually reciprocated. 

He suddenly bursts into loud laughter. 

"Whoa! What is it?"

“‘As in, like-like,’” Steve intones seriously, then laughs some more. "Holy shit."

“Wh— Dude! Shut the fuck up!” Eddie starts jostling him. Steve just keeps laughing, letting himself get pushed around.

He's about to ask if Eddie really has been doodling Steve's name in notebook margins when another part of the conversation comes back to him with a jolt. He grabs Eddie’s arms, stilling him. “Wait, were you gonna— were you gonna say you find my ‘lost puppy thing’ cute?” 

Eddie cuts him an unamused look. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”

Steve laughs, stupidly pleased. "How could I not? Eddie Munson thinks I'm cute. Stop the presses."

"Oh, fuck you, Harrington, it's not news if it's just, like, a commonly known fact of life."

"So you do think so."

Eddie squints at him. "I can see where Dustin learned his egomania from."

Steve laughs again as he brings his hand back up to Eddie's face, lightly running a thumb under his eye. "Yeah, okay, well. How 'bout this? I think you're cute, too." With his doe eyes and his laugh lines, his curly bangs, his barely-there freckles—how could he not be? But, man, no. It's more than that: "Actually, I think you're beautiful. And I've kinda been dying to tell you that," Steve adds, breathless from how long that thought had been living inside of him, how he finally gets to say it out loud. "Like really, incredibly beautiful."

Eddie seems to be literally stunned into silence. His cheeks are all pinked up. Eventually, he says, "Oh, jesus, I forgot about this."

"What?"

"King Steve's infamous alter ego, Boyfriend Steve," Eddie announces, like he's presenting a new villain to his D&D campaign, "whose powers include: truly offensive amounts of PDA; constantly talking about his partner, to the absolute detriment of those around him; donning matching costumes at Halloween parties—yes, I did hear about that—; and, most noteworthy, being ridiculously over-complimentary." Eddie sighs dramatically. "Bodes extremely ill for someone who is pathetically weak to compliments."

Okay. Breathtakingly gorgeous he may be, but Eddie Munson sure does know how to take the mood in a whole new direction. There are a metric fuck-ton of things needing to be discussed there, like. Seriously. But Steve's mind snags on one word in particular: "Boyfriend?"

Eddie's eyes fly wide, his affable smile dropping away. "Uh— N-not that— I mean, uh—"

"Is that what you want?" Steve asks evenly, doing his best to affect calm, despite how his heart is, once again, galloping in his chest. "For me to be your… your boyfriend?"

"We— You—" Eddie stammers. "You don't, I mean, it's like, we just—"

"Because I—" Steve cuts in. "I think— I want that." There's no way Eddie isn't hearing how loud Steve's heart is beating right now. He takes a steadying breath. Then he takes Eddie's hand in his, which steadies him further. "I want that," he says firmly. "I want to be your boyfriend."

"Oh," says Eddie. He starts blinking rapidly, and Steve is momentarily afraid that he's about to cry. Tenderness wells up inside of him, making Steve afraid that he's about to cry himself. "Yes. Fuck. I want that, too. Like, so badly, Steve. Fuck."

Steve has barely started leaning in when Eddie's eyes fall closed, his face tipping up. A warm affection rushes through Steve at how Eddie has already come to expect being kissed, and he smiles against Eddie's mouth. He doesn't seem that offended by Boyfriend Steve's supposedly infamous PDA.

Eddie's expression is serious when he draws back. He chews on his lip, hesitating before speaking. “Why didn’t you—say anything? And, like, how… how long…”

“I…" Steve sighs. Two very good questions. He looks down at their hands, tangled together, Eddie's blocky rings fitted against Steve's knuckles. "Honestly, man, at first I didn’t, like—know. Like, I’d never had a close guy friend like you before – christ, that sounds so lame, but it’s true – so I didn’t really, like, it didn’t click for me that something was… That my feelings maybe weren’t entirely…" He glances back up at Eddie. "Capital-P platonic.” 

Eddie’s biting his bottom lip, obviously fighting to keep down a smile. He loses the battle pretty quickly, a goofy grin lighting up his face. Steve watches the way his lip changes color as the blood rushes back in; they’re close enough that he can make out the faint indentations made from Eddie’s teeth. “Oh, you never had dude friends who you cuddled with on the couch before me?” Eddie teases. “Honored.”

“Stop, god, I know, okay. In hindsight it’s so obvious.” He rubs his free hand over his forehead, feeling pretty stupid. “But then, when I realized that I, y’know… really, really like you, in a super not platonic way—” Eddie’s teasing smile turns down into something softer, more tender, and Steve has to touch a hand to his cheek “—I almost said something, but… I didn’t want… I didn’t wanna risk losing the, uh, one good thing that happened to me because of Vecna. Or, like. One of the best things. That’s happened…” One of the best things that’s happened, if he’s being totally honest with himself, since the demogorgan. There have been a lot of best things that came of that—the kids, especially Dustin; getting to be close to Nancy in a more profound way; the unexpected best friend he found in Robin. But Eddie is a different sort of best thing completely. 

“Did you, um.” Eddie’s voice is so quiet. Not whispered, or mumbled, but quiet like the words are barely able to make it out of his mouth at all. He swallows. “Did you just say that I, um. Am one of the best things that’s… happened to… you?”

Steve smooths his hand over Eddie’s unruly, incredible hair. “Yeah,” he says, his throat thick. “‘Cause you are.”

Eddie pulls the ends of his hair in front of his mouth, ducking his head. “Oh, shit,” he mutters.

“What?”

He looks at Steve from under his lashes. He drops his hair, revealing a huge smile. “I’m, like, stupid fucking happy right now.”

Steve cups Eddie's face in both his palms. “I’m really sorry it took me so long.” He thinks about the kickstart of this conversation, Eddie asking what are we doing?, and feels sick with having made Eddie confused because of his own inaction. Steve is always seen as the one to jump in feet first, regardless of the risk, but in this… when the stakes were losing Eddie, he couldn't. He wishes he had, though that's pointless now. Eddie, as usual, impresses Steve with his courage. "And I'm, like, really fucking grateful that you said something."

"I mean, I am not exaggerating when I say that I, like, physically could not keep it in anymore," Eddie says, "but I'll take the praise regardless." 

Steve is moved by the thought that Eddie's feelings were too intense to hold inside. Oh, shit—this guy is his boyfriend now. Holy shit. He swallows past the emotion tightening his throat.

Eddie asks, “So what did make you realize?” 

“Oh—ugh. God, it’s so embarrassing.”

“Dude, I just fuckin’ straight up, like, full-on eighth grade schoolgirl confessed my feelings for you. Basically handed you a note that says ‘Do you like me? Mark YES or NO.’ So, come on, spill it.” 

YES, Steve thinks, stomach doing flips. YES YES YES. 

He says, "Fine, okay. It was… I don't even remember, like, a couple months ago maybe? We had all been hanging out here—you, me, Robin, the shrimps. I had to go drive Robin home, and when I got back, you were, like, coaching the kids on how to headbang. You guys looked so fucking dumb.” He laughs, thinking of them sitting on the ground, all of them whipping their heads up and down to the music. “But they looked so happy. And you—you just had this huge grin, y’know, like so proud. And I could tell that making them happy was making you happy, too. So. Yeah, that’s when it sort of clicked, I guess.”

That’s not exactly true. His real moment of clarity came when Eddie had noticed Steve, standing in the doorway watching them. He'd stuck out his tongue and thrown up a hand symbol that one of his favorite musicians likes to do—index finger and pinky up, thumb crossed over the middle two fingers. Then he put his hand down. And he'd smiled. And, out of nowhere, one of Dustin’s five-dollar words had popped into Steve's head: resplendent—shining brilliantly, gleaming. Bright and beautiful as the morning sun. 

It was that smile, in that moment, in that room, surrounded by people they both love having fun, that made everything fall into place inside of Steve. The surprise blitzed through him like a flashfire, quickly replaced by something like relief. Oh, he'd thought, so that's what it is. It was as if he'd been steadily, but randomly, putting a puzzle together, and it was only when the final piece was in place that he was able to see the whole thing for what it was.

"Watching me headbang was your a-ha moment? Jesus, you're right," Eddie says, "that is pretty embarrassing." And then there it is, that smile. Resplendent. 

"God," Steve mutters, then leans in to kiss Eddie again. 

"Man," Eddie says dreamily as he opens his eyes, "I could really get used to this." 

"You better."

"Wait— So are we, like, on a date? Like, right this second?"

No—sitting at home watching a movie is not a real date. Yes—doing anything anywhere is a date as long as it's with Eddie. "Do you want to be?"

Eddie pulls his hair in front of his face again. "Yes," he mumbles shyly. 

Steve's going to pull a muscle if he keeps smiling like this. "Okay, but we will go on, like, an actual first date. Y'know, if— if you want."

"I want," he says with an immediacy that Steve is frankly flattered by. "I'm ready to be wooed. Give me the Boyfriend Steve special. Even if it's totally lame, I promise to pretend that I'm extremely impressed, because that's how much I like you."

Steve is absolutely fucking floating right now. "Gee, you're a real catch, Eddie Munson."

"Don't I know it, Steve Harrington! How lucky you are to be dating little ol' me."

I really am, he thinks, and then thinks, oh, wait, and says out loud, "I really am."

Maybe Eddie was right in saying that being over-complimentary is an unfair power, but if it surprises him like this every single time, Steve is going to be stupid not to use it.

Then Eddie gets that old familiar mischief in his eye. And Steve, as always, braces.

He starts: “My first decree as your boyfriend—”

“Wh— Decree?”

“—with whom you are so lovingly on a date right now, so you have to be nice to me—”

“Do I, though.”

“—is that we put on an actual good movie. Honestly, I’m trying to forget that we had our big gushy feelings moment to the soundtrack of goddamn National Lampoon.” Eddie starts pushing at Steve’s shoulder, who just looks at him flatly. “Chop chop!” 

“What am I, a goddamn serf?”

Eddie has the audacity to bat his eyelashes at Steve. What’s worse: it actually works.

Steve shakes his head. “Yes, Your fucking Highness,” he sighs, getting up to go root around in the cabinet under the TV. As he's sifting through the movies he has, he becomes certain that his collection is about to receive a real overhaul in favor of someone's more eclectic taste. But he's not so much resigned to that fact as he is, like, maybe actually looking forward to it, all the little ways Eddie will keep making a place for himself in Steve's life.

Eventually, he finds one that he thinks will pass judgment. He holds it up, looking over at Eddie for his verdict. 

After a tense moment of scrutiny, Eddie waves a dismissive hand. “I will allow it,” His goddamn Majesty declares.

Steve rolls his eyes and goes to eject National Lampoon and put the new movie in. “Christ, if this is what it’s like dating Eddie Munson," he laments as he sits back on the couch, "I don’t know how I’ll last.”

Eddie curls up against him and pats his chest, looking smug. “Be strong, soldier.”

Steve slings an arm around Eddie's shoulder, then sneaks a hand up to tweak his ear. Eddie makes an extremely unflattering noise and glares at him. Steve snickers and pulls him in closer. Fuck, he's on a date with his boyfriend right now. Of all the things to happen to him in this goddamn town, this is easily the most incredible.

There's a beach fight happening on screen when Eddie says, "Okay, Johnny Lawrence: yea or nay?"

"Yea or nay as in, like, what?"

"As in, do you think he's hot."

"Uhh." He considers the character in question as he moves around the screen, taunting the protagonist: blond, strong, flashy. A truly impressive nose. "Yea, I guess? Like, objectively, isn't the whole point that he's hot? So, sure, yea." 

"What a perfectly diplomatic answer."

Steve wonders if Eddie meant something more, like maybe he's trying to suss out if Steve has taste in guys beyond him. "But he's kind of a huge douche, so not, like, I wouldn't date him."

"Yeah, okay, but by the end, there's, like, a glimmer of something under the douchebaggery. The way he's practically crying—god, it's so pathetic, it's beautiful." He hums, like he's mulling over a thought, then says, "Maybe I have a type: reformed douche."

"Oh, gee, thanks." He pinches Eddie's cheek. "Wait, you've seen this before?"

"What? Come on, of course I've seen The Karate Kid. Snatch my anti-conformity card away, but not even I am immune to some pipsqueak beating the shit out of a bunch of bullies." Eddie grins toothily up at Steve. "Living vicariously and all that."

"Okay, yeah, I can see that." He doesn't point out that Eddie really doesn't have to live vicariously through fictional characters to get that kind of wish fulfillment anymore. He's strong and tough and smart enough to fight for himself, in real life. A wave of pride washes over Steve, gratified by how far Eddie's come.

"You're way hotter than Johnny Lawrence, by the way," Eddie tells him. "Just to be perfectly clear."

"Oh, great, good, thank you. I'm so relieved that I'm not gonna have to, like, fight this guy for your hand or whatever."

"But you would though."

This is such a stupid conversation. Steve is loving it. "Duh."

Eddie beams at him, so openly delighted. Then he says, “It was actually before all—that." He doesn’t need to clarify what he means by all that. “Me being interested in you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like, witnessing you being a big damn hero was a clincher moment, certainly. And demobat was when I kinda realized, like, oh, okay—Steve Harrington is super fucking hot. I get it now, it’s true, awooga, etcetera etcetera—”

“—uh, yeah, please never say ‘awooga’ again—”

“—but it was actually way back – oh, Stevie, come on, we just established this, you’re very awooga—”

“Stop!”

“—it was actually when you were working at fuckin’—” Eddie cuts himself off with a snorting laugh. “Fuckin’ Scoops.”

“Holy shit.” Oh, no. “What?” Steve’s face is burning. “No. No no no.” 

“Oh yes yes yes,” Eddie says, gleeful. “Dude, there I was, minding my own business, going to the pathetic little record store they had in the mall, when I look over—” 

“Oh, god.”

Eddie is full-on giggling now, which would be cute if Steve weren’t too busy being mortified. “I look over! I look over, and who do I see in one of those dashing little blue sailor outfits—"

“Christ.”

“—but King Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington himself. Oh, you could not imagine the—" Eddie grips one hand into a fist "—absolute vindication I felt in that moment. How the mighty have fallen! I thought. The big man on campus, reduced to slinging sweet treats at the goddamn mall?" He laughs again, clearly reliving the euphoria he felt back then.

"O-kay, man, jeez—" Steve literally just moments ago made this guy his boyfriend. Unbelievable.

Eddie, shameless, presses on. "Needless to say, I was intrigued. In retrospect, one may even say entranced—nay! enamored. Ye of the perfectly popped polo collar—"

"Wow."

"—brought to such aesthetical lows. Steve, put simply, the sight was so goddamn ridiculous that it awakened an absolute burning curiosity inside me.

"Well," Steve says, honestly at a complete loss with how to respond. "Whatever works, I guess."

Eddie's face is glowing with humor, and Steve finds that he doesn't mind at all that it's at his expense. Okay, maybe he minds, like, just a little. But the glitter in Eddie's eye is worth it. “Did they let you keep the outfit though? Because, man, I will admit it,” Eddie says with a saucy grin, “those shorts were really doing it for me.”

Nevermind, not worth it. “You need to stop. Please. I am begging you.”

Eddie tips his head back to laugh loudly. Steve takes in the long arch of his neck, the chaotic fall of his dark hair, the glimpse of the black cord from his guitar pick necklace. All these little details that make Eddie so addicting to look at, so interesting. “Make me,” Eddie tells him.

So Steve does what he gets to do now: he kisses him. This is quickly becoming a default move, which clearly neither of them mind. 

Eddie pulls away just a little, murmuring against Steve's mouth, "You really like my piercings, huh?"

Steve hadn't even realized he'd been rubbing his thumb over Eddie's hoops again while they kissed. "Yeah," he says softly, pushing Eddie's hair fully out of the way to show off the cut of his jaw, his pale throat. He leans forward and touches his lips to Eddie's earlobe, feeling the hard metal of his earrings. He opens his mouth a little, just enough to catch the hoops between his teeth for a second, before letting up and pressing a kiss behind the ear. Eddie makes a sweet little noise that has Steve kissing down his throat, wanting to pull it out of him again.

Eddie’s breath hitches when he makes it down to his collarbone. "Jesus, Steve…" he sighs, carding his hands into Steve's hair. Steve hooks a finger into the collar of Eddie's ratty band tee and pulls it down so that he can put his mouth to the peek of the tattoo there. He's never seen the whole thing and he really fucking wants to. He wants to see what other tattoos Eddie has hidden away; he wants to be allowed to know every secret part of him. 

Steve slowly makes his way back up to Eddie's mouth. The easy, eager way Eddie opens up to him floods Steve's entire body with heat. Eddie's rings snag at Steve's hair, pulling lightly at his scalp, sending little electric shocks zipping down his spine. He slips a hand up the back of Eddie's shirt and spreads his palm wide, soaking in the warmth of his skin.

When Steve presses closer, Eddie lets out a low, throaty moan, and they both freeze, startled out of the moment. Steve pulls up a little, realizing that, at some point, he had pushed Eddie down against the couch and laid himself over him. One of Eddie's feet is planted on the floor, his other leg bent at the knee and bracketing Steve's hip, pulling them flush together.

"Um," says Eddie, blinking his glassy eyes back into focus.

Steve immediately backs off. "Sorry, uh." It takes a lot of willpower for him to take his hands off Eddie—sliding one out from under Eddie's shirt, untangling the other from his hair—but he manages it, scooting back across the couch. His whole body is thrumming, one big heartbeat. "Shit, sorry, I got a little carried away, uh—"

Eddie clears his throat, pulling himself back upright. His face is a deep, soft red, his hair all fluffed up. And his mouth—Steve tears his gaze away, heart thumping. "What? No, Steve, it's— it's cool, I wanted—"

Steve flushes when Eddie straightens out his shirt. Jesus, when was the last time he'd blushed? His palm is hot with the memory of Eddie's bare skin. "God, I'm sorry—"

"Dude, stop, I want it, like, seriously, I really, really do—"

"No, I get it, yeah—"

"—maybe, just, you know—"

"Absolutely, yes—"

 "I guess we should, like… Let's…"

"Yeah," Steve agrees, "no, yeah, let's… Let's. Yeah."

"Yeah," says Eddie, "okay. Cool."

There's a beat of quiet before they both laugh sort of bashfully. It's been a long, long time since Steve has experienced this… shyness, this almost giddiness, with a partner. Maybe not since the very first time he kissed someone. It could be because this is his first time doing all of this with a guy, but he honestly thinks it's mostly just because it's Eddie. Everything feels bright and new and curious with Eddie. It's really nice. He'd almost forgotten what nice even felt like.

Steve runs a hand over Eddie's hair to smooth out the mess he made of it the best he can. He tidies Eddie's bangs and, because he just can't resist, tucks some of his hair behind his ear so the little silver hoops are showing. Those things are going to get Steve into a lot of trouble, he knows, and drops his hand away before he starts getting into more trouble right now. 

Eddie reaches up like he's about to pay Steve the same courtesy, but instead starts aggressively ruffling Steve's hair. "Dude!" Steve knocks his hand away, pushes against Eddie's chest, who just laughs and laughs. "You are so annoying."

"Yeah, but you like it."

God, he does, and it's proving to be very bad for his health. Or his hair hygiene, anyway. "Just shut up and watch the movie."

"Aye aye, Sailor Steve."

"Holy shit, Munson, I am warning you, do not start with that."

"Too late, Popeye! It's started, and it's not ending."

"I swear to god—" Steve starts dancing his fingers along Eddie's sides, remembering a few weeks ago when Dustin had accidentally discovered Eddie is hilariously, disastrously ticklish. It only takes a couple seconds for tears of laughter to start streaming down his face. Steve's heart swells, so incredibly charmed. He can't believe he was ever able to box any of this away. 

He lets up when Eddie chokes out uncle! uncle! in between breathless laughs. "You seriously just tickled me into submission. I'm in awe, Harrington."

"And I will goddamn do it again. Eyes forward."

Amazingly, Eddie actually listens, settling down against Steve again. (Tickling and compliments are powerful tools against his boyfriend. Important to note. His boyfriend, Eddie Munson. Also important to note.) And despite having seen it already, Eddie seems fully engaged with what's going on in the movie. Certainly more than he was with National Lampoon. Steve still can't believe the guy was really sitting there reading—and how can someone even read with stuff going on in the world around them? Though Eddie's always telling him that a good book can pull you in, distract you just as much as music or movies. And I don't mean your Sound and the fuckin' Fury here, Steve, he'd said once, as if that meant anything to Steve at all, but he'd known better than to interject as Eddie started listing out examples of 'good books', each with a premise more nonsensical than the last. 

Steve pokes Eddie's shoulder to get his attention. “What were you reading, anyway?”

Eddie tips forward to grab his book off of the table. "The Light Fantastic!" he says, presenting the cover. 

"Jesus christ," says Steve, physically recoiling when he sees it, because jesus christ, what a cover it is. There's a wizard and some—gnomes? dwarves?—riding on top of a treasure chest in mid-air, and what the fuck, the chest has feet. A lot of feet. A green woman in a skimpy outfit is hanging onto the wizard's robe, and a grey man in an even skimpier outfit is hanging onto the treasure chest. There're birds. There's a troll. "Uh. Wow."

"Your face," Eddie says, "is absolutely fucking priceless."

"I'm scared to even ask what it's about."

"But you know I'm gonna tell you anyway, right?"

"Obviously," Steve says, settling in to be regaled. This time, he doesn't interfere with Eddie's exaggerated gestures. He just keeps his arm slung around Eddie's shoulder and lets himself be pulled along the thread Eddie spins.

He's amazed at how this night began and how it's now ending. It's true that, ever since that night with the kids, Steve had been aware of his wanting. Looking back, though, Steve knows now that it actually started the day that they defeated Vecna. Eddie had found him on the battlefield and launched himself at him, and though the hug had been a brief, bright, streaking comet of a moment, the weight of him had burned an imprint against Steve’s body.  

It's clear now that Steve had been searching for a way back into Eddie’s arms all along. He'll try not to fault himself too much for not getting here sooner. Because, in the end, finally, here he is. Exactly where he wants to be. 

[1kook]

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags;  jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either  the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away.  His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

Copyright © August 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[eligaxy]

Wind

☆ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 : Venti x gn!Reader

☆𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 : near death experience, you’re confused asf about everything, bad writing cause i suck, spoilers for the we will be reunited quest!! And also for venti’s backstory, venti is serious for once (yes it’s a legitimate warning🤚)

☆𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 : Some angst, some fluff? Idk bye🤨

☆𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 : "It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask." (2.8k words)

♪𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 : i’m an idiot simp, i did this in one sitting and half asleep, english isnt my first language BLA BLA IM SORRY FOR MY POOR WRITING BUT HAVE THIS

basically you don’t know if you can trust venti or not, head says no, heart screams yes

Also, I was listening to stormterror’s lair ost while writing it, just because its fucking amazing, you might wanna listen to it too

I’m nervous to post this?/&:! This is the second fic i’ve ever finished in my whole life

i love venti and he’s hot in his god outfit i don’t make the rules

KAY ENJOY <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

Saying you were exhausted would have been an understatement. After reuniting with your sibling, you had been frantically searching for clues about khaenri'ah and ways to Inazuma. With no luck, you couldn't find any traces of Dainsleif or of your twin. The ruins had been sealed and you had no idea what happened to the inverted statue or the corpse you had found there. Desperately, you clung into every little information you had, you would have turned every rock on this archon damned continent if you had to, which is what led you into those ruins near Guilli plains.

Walking along the destroyed buildings your eyes caught sight of a dandelion and you froze. You missed them so much, why couldn't they go back home with you? All you ever wanted was to be by their side why, why were they running away from you?

You remembered your travels, the moments you shared together, their protectiveness over you, the fondness in their eyes when you smiled at them. You remember the times you got hurt and healed one another with your now missing powers. You remember sleeping by their side and being grateful to the universe to let you keep your ray of sunshine everywhere with you. How ironic.

What had they meant 'once you reach the end of your journey' ? What does that even mean? Stupid twin, if they knew you were here the whole time, why hadn't they come to you? Why were they always leaving just when they were within your grasp? Why? Did they know how much you missed them and how much your heart broke when you finally saw them? Did they?

You only realized you were crying when a small gust of wind had your wet cheek react to the cold, breaking your train of thought. Wind.

The wind is everywhere, you think, free as a bird, always accompanying every citizen of this world, never truly alone. With this in mind, you resumed your exploring, slower this time.

A sigh escaped your mouth. You didn't want to admit it, but the wind did comfort you a little. Almost as if he was here. God of freedom and of the breeze, he was more a singer than a protector and you couldn't bear to think about him. Was it true? What Dain said... Did he destroy this nation? Was he the cause of the scenery that still haunted your nightmares up until 500 years later? Your brain simply couldn't accept that Venti, your Venti, you catch yourself thinking, could have made such an act of wrath. He was the epitome of freedom, why would he take the very thing he based all of his existence on from mere mortals? Barbatos simply couldn't be afraid of being overpowered, he didn't even care about power. All he wanted was freedom and happiness for his people. Surley this couldn't be right?

But then again, who were you to deny the wipe out of an entire nation? The gods did it. They were afraid that Celestia would be overthrown by the pride of humankind, the destruction of khaenri'ah by divine beings was a fact. There was no misunderstanding about this. That was the one thing you were sure of. So why did you feel like crying even more now?

The mere thought of a gentle soul such as Venti committing innocent people to an eternity of suffering didn't sit right with you. Even when his dearest friend Dvalin had turned against him, he didn't try to stop him, didn't even ask the dragon to save him. He healed and helped him, gave him a choice.

'What is freedom if demanded of you by a god?' was the same person that asked this question the same one who committed mass murder? Genocide?

Did the little wine-lover bard you had grown fond of destroy all hopes and light your kin had?

You remember that night when he freed Stanley from his burden, freed his and his friends' spirits. You had marveled at his action, in that instant he was a god, and he definitely hadn't struck you as a murderer. You remember that look of silent pain and grief in his eyes when he sang the tales of the nameless bard he had taken the appearance of. You knew he trusted you enough to share his story, something so personal, you could almost feel the war that took down the tyrant of Mond. Oh how much you cherished that evening, treating him to some well deserved dandelion wine afterwards, his favorite, and asking him to sing you more about the time where was nothing but the spirit of a breeze.

Your heart broke a little, remembering his rosy cheeks and drunk smile, you wish you could talk to him, ask him what happened. What did he do, was he really as dangerous as you had been told? If so, then why did you feel so good around him? Why did you feel like you could give hi-

You stopped walking upon seeing a ruin guard up ahead in the distance. You're so stupid, you think. Feeling this way is not gonna get you anywhere, especially with how the bard had been missing for a few weeks now. Ever since you had last seen your sibling.

Where was he, where was he wandering off to? You walk towards the disabled ruin guard, not really paying any mind to it, still thinking about the god you longed to meet with. If you could see him, what would you even say? Would he even answer your questions? Why did your stomach feel so light and funny when you thought about seeing him, why aren't you angrier?

You're almost at the killing machine's level now, so lost in your thought you don't notice the five other similar robots hidden behind a wall next to it. You notice them only when it's too late and you've already turned them on while thinking about examining them and collecting their serial numbers. When you hear the familiar tick of the mechanism turning on, you internally panic and think about running away only to calm down moments later and think to yourself that you can simply beat it and take what you came here for. Even if you are emotionally and physically tired, you can manage, you think.

That was before hearing five other consecutive ticks right after it, and all around you.

Turning around, your gaze falls upon the small army of field tillers. Fuck.

Paimon wasn't with you today, you had asked for some time alone which she hesitantly accepted, so you couldn't ask her to go fetch help. You would have been worried if you had all your capacities but with the state you were in, you were wondering how you were going to survive this fight. You were alone, none of your companions with you, and deeply weakened by the busy day you had and the few hours of sleep you had managed to steal away from the night. Was it today you would meet your doom, with all your questions and uncertainties unanswered?

You tried your best to fight with the strength you had left, but quickly grew desperate after what felt like hours of efforts to swing your blade and being able to only take one monster down out of the six. It didn't help that you got injured along the way, their blows becoming harder and harder to dodge. After being thrown on the grown for the third time, you understood you had at least two broken ribs and that your shaking legs would soon fail you as well.

Fear crept upon you, you would die here today, alone. Alone. You couldn't talk to your sibling after all, couldn't understand. You didn't even get to talk to him one last time. Him... You would die without the knowledge of the truth about your bard. You would die alone. You didn't want that, you couldn't look death straight in the eye.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

In Mondstadt, there was a musician, a weird singer everyone had heard about at least once. He lived off of his songs and was mostly known for having a great story-telling and being an alcoholic.

The number of people who knew the true nature of his identity were few and he was perfectly content with that. He didn't wish to be a god anymore, his gnosis had been taken away anyway and it's not like he had any power over the city of wind nowadays. Even if his people still worshipped him as Barbatos, it didn't sit right with him to be called a god anymore. It actually never did, he thinks to himself with a smile, he never really took any responsibilities that came with the divine title which is why he was so weak today. But it didn't matter to him, his smile turns into a soft giggle.

Sitting on a mill that was once born from his steps he looks fondly over the city he founded. Even if they were godless, the citizens were still thriving and free. He cared oh so very deeply about the place even if he rarely, if not never, showed the affection within his heart. He remembers the day he grew strong enough to dispel the storms over his actual Mondstadt, and made the weather gentle enough so that there was no need for fireplaces. Nowadays, he loves watching birds nest into the chimney tops and seeing them found their own home. It gave him a sense of belonging like no other, not above his people, but walking among them and watching them nest into this cocoon he created. He was proud of what happened to his land and would do it all over again if he had to.

Especially since it led to him meeting you. This thought doesn't catch him off guard, you often roamed around in his mind after all, and it's not like he didn't write at least three songs about you and your feat, your smile, your courage...

Ah there he goes again, rambling about you in a whisper. He turns around to the statue of him his people erected in his honor, chuckling at how they never made the connection with his signature braids. His, but not really his, since he had stolen this form from someone who was much more deserving of this power than him. Seeing his friend being honored with the statues of the seven around the land made him happy, he hoped that it was a good enough thank you gift in return for everything that the bard whom he couldn't even remember the name of anymore did for him.

Upon gazing at the statue, he remembered telling you of his long gone friend. It was the first time he had talked about him to someone else, he didn't even mention it to Venessa, she who made him believe in himself again. He could ask himself why, but he simply knew that you had something different, more than meets the eye. Perhaps it was because you weren't from Teyvat, or perhaps it was just you being as simple as your natural self but he was simply and utterly captivated by your being. You inspired him to no end, at first he thought it was because he had never met someone like you and he loved new things! But as time grew and he got to know you, he understood quickly the meaning and depth of his passions. He thought of it with a light chuckle, content with your presence alone. He really did need and want you around.

So why did he purposely avoid you like the plague?

The wind had brought to his ears that you had met with Dainsleif.

And your twin.

His first reaction was to search for you, talk to you, he wanted to be here to know what happened! You had searched so long, he couldn't contain himself, still listening to what the wind told him, he started running with excitement but... But wait, Dainsleif was... He told you what?

Oh.

So you heard about Khaenri'ah. He had stopped dead in his tracks and turned back, only sending a warm current of wind your way, hugging you from afar.

He wasn't ready to talk about this yet, not ready to face you and absolutely not ready to answer your questions. He was a coward, he thought, running away like that but what else could he do, really. It was only natural for him to be as uncatchable as air.

A sorry excuse to avoid the fact that even if his past had marvelous story like the one of the nameless bard, it also had its share of darkness, something he wasn't ready to dive back into. Especially not now when your arrival has been shaking this world up like it hasn't been since at least 500 years.

But oh, how he longed to see your face or to hear your voice. So he asked a breeze to report to him what you were up to, and where you were. Just in case! he tells himself, what if you needed help ehe? But he knows you're competent and you won't need the help of a weakling coward like him anytime soon. Or so he thought.

Because when the breeze only gives him a few words back, his blood runs cold.

"Please, anybody... Just help me."

-

As you murmured these words in your desperate state, not really for anyone but yourself as a last resort, a prayer of some sort, you tried to stand by leaning yourself on your sword and failing miserably. You didn't dare look up as you heard the loud footsteps of the metal giants coming your way. It was over, and you barely managed to accept it.

As you rested your forehead against the cold handle of your sword, you closed your eyes, tears starting to make their ways out of your closed eyelids. All you could feel was remorse.

A soft breeze moved your hair slightly and your chest felt like a black hole had taken place where your heart used to be, regretting to not have been able to meet him under the tree at Windrise one last time.

The breeze quickly grew stronger, until it felt unnatural and you looked up from the ground, only to close your eyes again immediately when you realized the wind was too powerful for you to keep them open. If you had struggled to see though, you would have been blinded by the white light that soon illuminated the whole ruins. You didn't have enough time to register the situation when you felt a hand being laid atop your shoulder, snaking around your collarbones and pulling you back into... nothing? Another arm circled your weak form and a voice you immediately recognized said

"I've dealt with things worse than you, now crumble."

You realized that if you couldn't feel a chest behind you while still being embraced by his arms, it was because he was floating above you, and not standing behind you. A look in his direction confirmed your suspicions but what stunned you wasn't the fact that he was flying, but the attire he wore. Barely covering his body, a white set made of materials that seemed like clouds and liquid gold contrasted perfectly with his regular green clothes. His hair was glowing green and his eyes that were focused on the ruin guards up ahead had a marvelous shine that you had never seen before. He had that same aura he did the night he freed Stanley, but there was also something different about the way his hands gripped you a little too tightly or the way his voice sounded.

"Venti.." You muttered his name, relief and affection flooding you all at once, in his presence you felt as if nothing bad could happen to you. How foolish could you be, just a few hours ago you were speculating wether or not he had wiped out an entire civilisation and now here you were, being saved by him and feeling safer than you had in months.

"Close your eyes, I don't want give you a headache" he said, slowly floating legs first towards the ground. His unusually serious voice surprised you (and him) but you did as he told you. Letting go of your sword and leaning back into him, you let him deal with the monsters ahead of you.

"It's okay, it's over now" he kneeled to be at your level, his arms still wrapped around you, and you didn't have the energy to fight your urge of nuzzling into him. "I'll always be here for you, wherever there is wind, remember I'm here too. You only need to ask."

Being protected by a god really didn't feel that bad. Especially when you were in love with said god.

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Thank you so much for reading whatever this is until the end :’)

Don’t hesitate to comment or reblog, tysm <3

Ps: venti loves u and so do i do pls take care of urself mwah