#and be more than just The Church(TM)

[temtamtom]

Ever since he went from being the Papal States to the Vatican, Pietro has thrown himself fully into religious study and practice. But sometimes I wonder if he misses the days where he could be more than that- when he had land beyond the Holy See, when he could be a diplomat, a politician, a scientist- or a soldier, even (among other jobs and roles). Back when his whole identity wasn't solely tied to the Catholic church, and he had a bit more flexibility.

I'm sure he misses those days (though he doesn't say it), and I'm sure he takes trips out to old regions or cities that were once a part of him to satiate that nostalgia.

[hua-fei-hua]

at church reading the hymn lyrics like "hey i learned that word from genshin!" and "hey i learned that word from genshin!" and "hey i learned that word from translating song lyrics so that i could write genshin fic!" and "hey i learned that word from genshin!" and finally "omg i learned that word from the king's avatar"

[ysali]

since im in a complaining mood

i wish anders fans didn't claim his actions at the end of the game were righteous and justified rather than the selfish acts they actually are

it's one thing to enjoy a character in spite of their flaws. and it's another altogether to actively make other fans uncomfortable by claiming the bombing of a religious building is actually justice

White liberals whose only view on religious institutions is people protesting against gay rights your experiences are NOT universal. the vast majority of violence against religious buildings is rooted in white nationalism and colonialism. it is violence against black churches, against mosques, against synagogues that actually happens in the real world

and even if someone bombed a white church it still wouldn't be justified.

your favorite character is allowed to do things you don't necessarily agree with and still be your fave. that's what's great about fiction. it's not real.

anders was hurting and he was spurred on by the spirit of justice entwined with his sense of identity. during the game you see him nearly lose himself and attack innocent mages because justice has become more reactionary and more violent.

just because anders says that the spirit inhabiting him is justice doesn't make his actions just. everything he did he did it for himself and was not thinking about The Cause(tm) nor was he thinking of other mages when he did it. when you unironically go around saying that all anders actions were justified you're throwing real people under the bus.

[cyber-corp]

Another smash out of the park!

Here are some of my favourite moments from the 2023 Doctor Who Christmas special, The Church on Ruby Road. Spoilers ahead!

15 serves all cunt anytime he’s on screen. He wears kilts at the club, he flirts with a grandma, he sings to goblins. The sluttiest Doctor yet.

Ncuti and Millie’s chemistry is infectious in the best way. Anytime they’re on screen together they create the same sort of sparks and 10 and Donna or 4 and Romana. Can’t wait to see more of their Bart/Lisa sibling dynamic in the near-future.

Furthermore, Ruby and the Doctor’s connection as orphans. The Timeless Child is once again mentioned as the Doctor says he “just found out recently” and it once again creates more growth and emotion than whatever Chibnall tried to do with the idea.

Also, the Doctor just straight up says “I don’t have anyone” without hiding it!!! He’s slowly growing as a person!!!

Everything about the goblins. The musical number, how they’re manifested through coincidence and bad luck, their love of eating infants. The monsters of all time.

The Sundays’ neighbour is brought up as a very intriguing character right at the very end. Why does she know what a TARDIS is, and where has she seen it before? I smell a plot point….

The intelligent gloves are the best gadgets since the psychic paper. Love how they’re introduced and how they’re utilised when the Doctor yanks the goblin ship from the sky

“I AM TRYING TO LEARN THE VOCABULARY OF ROPE”

The commitment of the mavity bit

The final bit where Ruby walks into the TARDIS and Ncuti says The Line(TM) fully convinces me we are all in for a new era of Who.

I reckon this is one of the best overall Christmas specials yet in Doccy Who, up there with The Christmas Invasion and Twice Upon A Time. There were a lot of unwrapped plotholes I feel, but RTD will probably expand upon them in Season 1/14. And I cannot wait!!!!!

[bipedalembarrassment]

This entire Mays mum forcing inspections of the Turners etc plotline is so fucking stupid and annoying

A) We've been through it before, its boring twice, get a new plotline. I know period dramas love to put the Good and Perfect (TM) family through various trials of victimhood (see The Bates in Downton Abbey lol) but at least keep it interesting and don't recycle plotlines over and over (see The Bates in Downton Abbey)

B) It doesn't even make sense like sorry historically even white children were adopted out and handed around to whoever would take them with barely a check in from any governing body (quite famously the WW2 evacuations which saw children STILL displaced as late as 1948).

Brittain and other Western countries are infamous for their horrendous treatment and handling of BIPOC children, including rampant child theft through "adoption" and white supremacist assimilation programs (Eg. Canadian residential schools, Australian stolen generation) where western churches & organisations (most often the Catholic ones) had SO MUCH agency and power over these children that they could literally kill, abuse, torture and mistreat THOUSANDS of them without an eye being batted. This included also essentially being able to SELL and give them away to white families, who often exploited and abused them because assimilation with a white family was seen as a bettering of their situation for them. MANY of these issues and their legacies are still impacting BIPOC folks in these countries to this day.

My point being in this overwhelming historical context of BIPOC children being mistreated horribly by western entities I'm supposed to suspend disbelief enough so as to imagine that a single* Chinese woman who was (or is, its unspecified) a heroin user would have this much agency over an adoption/fostering arrangement of her child and that all these white child welfare workers would side with her over a white, upper middle class nuclear family of a Dr (extremely respected profession in those days, even more so than today) and his nurse/ex nun wife who both have close ties to local religious organisations.

Like sorry its just completely and utterly ahistorical . Even if the storyline weren't boring and over done it's just annoying to watch as someone whose always appreciated CTMs historical accuracy, particularly regarding bigotry and inequalities of the time.

* Its also made even worse to me by the fact that as far as I'm aware (haven't watched the show for some time and only just picked back up on S13) Mays mother is single. Which like, the show has spent thirteen seasons at this point repeatedly and accurately showing us how little agency single mothers of the time had. Including how callous and violent child "protection" and adoption systems were (& still are in many places) at the time towards them.

Like sorry you're showing me single white women having their babies forcibly taken from them by governing agencies with no recourse (& often punitive consequences) if they attempt to even contact them, let alone get them back, purely because they are unmarried , in one episode and in the next episode you're trying to convince me that these same systems and agencies give a single shred of a fuck about how Mays unmarried, heroin using, mother feels about her life with the respected white upper middle class family that adopted her.

Also I'm confused about the entire "adoption" process of May. I had thought that she couldn't be in "foster" long term and that all the original fuss with her foot and that had meant she'd finally been officially adopted by the Turners but it seems not?

Which adds just another layer of disbelief for me because the likelihood that the adoption wouldn't be completed by now is so slim and like even if it were still a fostering situation in that era you would fully expect that Mays mother would have been forced or coerced into signing a document she likely couldn't even read (if they'd even bothered with the facade of legal consent), May would have been taken by the religious order and her mother would have never seen or been allowed to hear about her again.

Idk if its a later seasons thing or if I just didn't notice it my first watch of the show but I'm definitely noticing a running theme in the show of like "bad" or "unkind" characters often being people who in reality would be extremely disenfranchised. Like obvs Mays mother is a glaring example but I've mostly noticed this regarding class, like the lower class women/men are often the antagonists.

I was rewatching an earlier season the other day too and there was literally a storyline where an upper middle class woman left the clinic before her appointment because some lower class scum woman bullied her and then she died of eclampsia later on.

Ridiculous.

Anyway sorry to the CTM fandom, thats my angry "A period drama is being ahistorical" rant for the day.

[lumeha]

❤💛💚 for three houses!

❤ : Which character do you think is the most egregiously mischaracterized by the fandom?

... I mean, beside Rhea, because we all know Rhea is my answer for FE3H because god damn it people love to mischaracterise Rhea in all possible ways because she just doesn't deserve to have her full character appreciated ?

.........

Gilbert. Which. I almost said Felix, but you know what, fuck it, it's Gilbert, when people dare to give him any attention, 90% of the time, it's to characterise him solely as a deadbeat dad who doesn't care about his family, and who cares more about Chivalry TM than anything else. And it's just. So fucking frustrating.

Because Gilbert is not just... See, that's the thing, I think Gilbert is an excellent character in the sense that he is, in fact, not just defined by being a parent - he is a father, and the truth is, yeah, he's not a great father, and he knows it. Because he's heavily burdened by guilt. A guilt that comes directly from his own role as a knight who was unable to save his king and his fellow knights. The man, canonically, prays every. evening. in the cathedral. while reciting the names of all the knights who fell during the Tragedy.

He never even pretends that hiding as a knight was a good thing. But he also doesn't ignore that he was in such a place that he found no other escape from his own guilt, to the point it was affecting his relation with his family, and he feels like he doesn't deserve them because they are a good thing in his life and he doesn't deserve good things. THAT is the only reason why it's easy for Gilbert to go help Dimitri and impossible to go up to Annette.

Because Dimitri is duty.

Annette... Annette is not duty. She's important to him, and he loves her, and because he loves her he cannot let himself have her in his life because he feels like he doesn't deserve to have anything positive because he failed his king, failed his duty, and failed his fellow knights. It's the same for his wife.

The man's stuck in a spiral of guilt !!! this isn't about him being deadbeat or prefering Dimitri over his daughter !!!!!! I don't mind when people don't like him because of that but I hate that so many people seem to miss the obvious thing that's at the core of his character !!!

... I didn't expect to say that much about that but you know what fuck it I have feelings about Gilbert lmao

💛: What is a popular ship you just can't get behind, and why?

Edelgard / Byleth

... Mostly because I really didn't like the way Edelgard acted around Byleth in CF, it felt just really kind of. off-putting. Not even talking about how I felt like the game was trying to force my hand with some of the scenes, there's just something I find off about the dynamic in general ^^;

💚: What does everyone else get wrong about your favorite character?

:3c do we have three hours (joking)

Main one that I am forever annoyed that everyone else gets wrong about Rhea is that they somehow miss that... she cares. She cares a lot, actually.

It's not an act. She cares. That's why there's cats and dogs in Garreg Mach, that's why she gives you herbs for your students, that's why she opens the door of Garreg Mach to the Remire refugees, and why so many members of the Church of Seiros have stories about her helping them directly. That's why she transforms into a dragon to save people from the Imperial Army. That's why she gave her blood to save a young Jeralt.

That's why she couldn't bury Sitri. That's why she can accept that Byleth is Byleth, and not an amnesiac Sothis, despite how much she wants that to be the truth. That's why she stopped the Apostles from killing themselves to bring Sothis back.

She's not... someone who doesn't give any thoughts about the people. She's not someone who hates humanity. She cares.

I think that's the biggest thing a lot of people get wrong about her - and the worst part is, I think it would be easy to make the way she cares terrifying, if one wanted to. But they usually don't. It's easier to make her character cold and uncaring.

Except she's not. She's just not an approachable character. But she cares.

[dabblingreturns]

A lukewarm defense of Kristen Applebee's.

I'm on fantasy high junior year episode 5 and things are not going well between Kristen and her godess.

And I'd love to say that it's because Kristen is a selfish dirtbag who doesn't know how to have a healthy relationship. But that wouldn't be fair.

I think the issue is a twofold.

One big issue is expectations.

Cassandra used to be a major diety. With thousands of followers and cults of mysteries before she was betrayed. She is used to reaching out and always finding a follower who is overjoyed to be touched by the divine.

Kristen on the other hand spent 15 years as the favorite Cleric of Helio. And was praised by her comunity for being the one that Helio talked to directly. As It that was an honor. But Helio had other followers he could tap, it wasn't just Kristen. The amount of worship Helio needed from Kristen was relitivly low. She was a long term investment for him. Helio was able to subsidize Kristen's power for a year after she left him, just in the hopes of getting her back. But circumstances have changed.

Both Cassandra and Kristen are used to working with excess resources but now neither of them have those resources that they used too. But they both still act as if they do.

And this is the problem. They keep not providing what the other needs because they can't, but are then suprize when the other also let's then down for the exact same reason.

Kristen isn't thinking and communicating with her godess 100% of the time because she is a highschool student who is busy saving the world and dealing with drama and being a dumb teen and sleeping. And that is normal behavior. She doesn't feel that checking in with Cassandra every five minutes about how every decision in her life might effect Cassandra is a reasonable thing to do. Because it's never been nessasity before and is a massive inconvenience in combat. Cassandra asking for updates while Kristen is in combat might get Kristen killed.

And Kristen not being able to provide the worship and attention is activly harming Cassandra even at times when Kristen can't provide attention. (Kristen should be providing more worship than she is, but I don't think she can provide as much worship as Cassandra needs)

But both Cassandra and Kristen keep treating the other as if they have limitless resources and thats not true.

The second issue is a fundamental misunderstanding how how Kristen liturgical nature.

Kristen is a really particular kind of saint. She's a Heroic Saint who does big miracle and has Revelations (tm) and changes the face of the world.

But Kristen is NOT a evangelical Preacher (tracker is but that's a differnt post) or charismatic leader. She doesn't have the skill with words or psychology or organization to create a church and recrute people. She has no talent for missionary work.

200 year from now she could become a great saintly example as a vessel through whom Cassandra saved the world. But currently she is a hot mess. (Heros often are).

But Cassandra is expecting a missionary, not a hero. So Kristen keeps failing in her eyes.

And Kristen is messing up and missing opertunities.

Kristen messed up by not going on social media after the Night Yorb and sighting Cassandra as the major diety involved.

Being the ASB president at Aguefort Adventuring Academy doesn't sound like it should help Cassandra but if Kristen played it correctly it could. Other students looking for a new diety might pick Cassandra if Kristen remembered to mention her more. Kristen could be a godly influencer. But she's so all over the place she doesn't.

Basically Kristen Applebee's could be doing better in a task where she has been set up to fail.

It's shitty for everyone, but if Kirsten could sail though this smoothly, she would gave to give up everything that makes her Kristen Applebee's.

[k-kizkhalifa]

I KNOW I KNOW YOURE ALL SICK OF SEEING ME.. but i just need to let it out. sue me.

okay okay ep 10. (i have some time right now and watching a few) boyyyyyy the absolute gold(excuse my pun) of this episode. victor narrating *chefs kiss*

we start with the “L Words”: Life and love. Here we go, if we hadn’t guessed it already, we’re knowing it now. Yuuri is Victors love. We knew Victor was Yuuri’s love, he done told the whole world in that press conference and on the ice but baby we knoooooow Yuuri is Victors love.

Chris scenes… if you follow me you know I love me some Chris. And just the shopping, is perfect, not only do we see some domestication there (eyyyyy) we get the rings. The church, the choir, the gold rings… is there anything better.

My point is this: Yuuri is soooo soft, almost too soft, but then we see this fire in him. He buys the ring, he takes Victors glove off (swoooon) and he places that ring on his finger. He owns it, and him, in that moment. Baby we need this Yuuri, but we wouldn’t have had this Yuuri if Victor had not entered his life.

Dinner with the boys(tm). Haha at Yurio looking at Otabek saying, “how much do i have to pay you?” Also, aweeeee at Victor getting them all together for Yuuri’s family/friends.

But, Chris, “what’s with the rings?” And Phichit, “my friend got married!” Okay, hold up, first off can we just enjoy how perfect it is that their friends don’t give a shit. “They got married. Obvs.” As if there was anything else that could have happened??? No. That is soo perfect. I mean makes my gay heart hopeful for the day, my guys. But more than that, Otabek clapping. He ain’t even know these ppl and he is FOR IT.

And Victor, oh him and those “L Words” “no, this is an engagement ring.” Boy I see you. Play that card, baby.

But, still my favorite scene is Yurio and him at the ocean. Yurio kicks him in the back bc he is dramatic (tm) and we see a side of Victor we hadn’t really got to glimpse. “You wanted to compete against me?” Hm… Victor doesn’t mention that often, huh? He uses it at what he thinks is motivation at times but this time we see it as a hurtful remark: you wanted to compete against the best. How many times this whole show we watch this man ignore and walk away the moment it is brought up, the moment it’s brought up about him returning to the ice. TONS. But then? I can only assume it’s because Yurio is insulting Yuuri, and their love. And Daddy Victor is saying: “try me again mfer”

Alright I’ll stop myself from this ted talk.

And leave it as this: “BE MY COACH VICTOR” Half naked Yuuri, dancing with the fkin looooove of his life and Victor, darling, he blushes.

oh ps victor didn’t sleep in that bed once BYEEEEEEEE

[denim-mixtapes]

Aren't We All Sinners? - Vol. II: People Write Songs About Girls Like You

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader Word Count: 10.4k Summary: It's a night full of firsts, and new feelings for Eddie start to surface when you go to see Corroded Coffin perform. After some less than stellar news from your mom, Eddie cheers you up with a late night call and your very first orgasm. Warnings: 18+ ONLY Heavy sexual themes + Explicit smut. Chapter specific: Alcohol consumption, drug use mention, Making out, reader insecurity, more in depth discussion of faith/loss of faith, more of Eddie being a Thigh Guy (TM), Phone sex, Guided Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Eddie's disgusting overuse of pet names (Specifically: sweetheart, angel, and baby).

[Series Masterlist] [Mixtape Playlist] <- This playlist, aesthetically, is NOT Eddie-centric. Ignore that. I was going more based on themes than the actual music genre.

You aren’t entirely sure how you got here. 

Lying has never really been your strong suit, obviously, but with a thinly veiled half truth about going to visit with your college roommate, Veronica, at her family home in Muncie and a promise to call as soon as you arrived, you were set free for the night. It cost extra volunteer hours at church, a promise to start coming to choir practice again, and what feels like your sanity, but you’re on your way to Muncie. 

In reality, it wasn’t entirely a lie. You are meeting your roommate at the bar, but the couch she offered you for the night was that of her boyfriend who you hadn’t yet met. You aren’t too keen on staying there, but the curiosity to see Eddie’s band and excitement to see your friend after weeks apart won out in the end. 

The Phoenix is a larger bar than you’re used to seeing in Hawkins, obviously built for live music and an expansive crowd, but still small enough to host local bands. After making your call home from the pay phone out front, you make your way to the door. House music and the sound of a crowd seep out from the open door as you approach, floating alongside the haze of cigarette smoke, and a large stoic bouncer stands just out front. When he asks for your ID, you panic, but a commotion from inside commands his attention and he waves you through without looking before walking away to break up the fight. 

Your arms wrap around your torso uncomfortably as you weave through the crowd toward the bar, and you breathe a sigh of relief when Veronica calls out your name and waves you over, happy to see a friendly face. 

“Ronnie!” You shout back, a bounce to your step now that you’ve seen her, making a beeline in her direction.

A quick hug, an introduction to her boyfriend, and then she’s in full judgment mode, scrutinizing your outfit. 

“The hell are you wearing, girl?” She giggles, already tipsy, holding out both of your hands to take a closer look at you. “You know you’re at a rock show, right?” 

“My parents thought we were going bowling!” You exclaim, embarrassed, “this was the best I could do if I wanted them to let me leave the house.” 

It’s not a completely hopeless outfit, you don’t think, a baggy pair of overalls over a long sleeve white ribbed tee and a pair of All Star sneakers. Nothing revealing, but nothing too church girly either. Clearly, your friend does not agree. She takes your hand and drags you to the bathroom and pushes you into a stall. 

“Trade me,” she says simply. You try to stutter a response, but she’s already throwing her black polyester miniskirt over the stall wall. “Keep your shirt, we’ll fix that next.” As you reluctantly strip your overalls and pass them to her over the stall, she adds, “If this boy means enough to you for you to drive out to Muncie and lie to your dictator parents, then you better look hot for him, that’s all I’m saying. How do you know him, anyway?” 

You huff in protest, pulling the skirt onto your hips with a wiggle and a jump and slamming the stall door open to meet her out in the main bathroom. “He doesn’t…mean anything to me. It’s not like that. He works at the record shop and has been showing me new music. That’s all this is, just another new band. It just happens to be his.” 

“Sure,” she scoffs, rooting in her purse to retrieve a pair of manicure scissors. She doesn’t even ask before she starts butchering your shirt, cutting off the bottom hem just above where the waist of the skirt sits and pulling, twisting, stretching it until it rolls. “The shade of red you’re turning right now suggests otherwise. Is he hot, at least?” Next, she snips the collar off of your shirt, leaving a raw edge, the same at the cuffs of your sleeves. You try to protest as she reaches to keep cutting but she bats your hand away, cutting a “V” into the neckline to reveal a little more of your decolletage. Thankfully she stops before anything too damning is revealed. 

“He’s…” you trail off. You’ve never called anyone hot before. It never felt fitting. But Eddie is decorated in too many tattoos and piercings, too much darkness for you to want to call him handsome. So you relent. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Yeah what?” 

She’s having too much fun trying to get you to admit it. 

“Yes, he’s hot, okay? Really hot.” Now that you’ve started you can’t stop the words from falling from your lips. “He’s got these eyes, gosh, they’re the most stunning thing you’ve ever seen. He has this way of speaking that just captivates you. And Ronnie, his hair. I just want to run my fingers through it.” 

She giggles, handing you a dark, brick red lipstick from her bag and urging you to put it on. “Jesus, even when you’re hot for someone it’s rated G.” 

You mumble a soft “shut up” and throw the lipstick back at her. You try to push past her to get to the door, but she grabs your shoulders and focuses an intense stare into your eyes. 

“You look sexy,” she says, reaching up to pull the scrunchie from your hair and muss it up just enough, “own it. Forget your parents for a night and show that rockstar what you’re made of.” 

It’s with all the love in your heart that you say, “you’re so lame.” Both of you laugh and make your way back out to meet her boyfriend at the bar. You order a water, much to her chagrin, and twist around in your seat excitedly when an emcee takes the stage to introduce the band. 

Three band members take their place and start playing, a long, slow build of music that introduces the first song. From somewhere off stage, a guitar riff sounds, and you perk up, eagerly waiting to see your friend (could you call him a friend?) take the stage. 

When he makes his entrance, Eddie is breathtaking. His staple black, ripped denim adorns his lower half, handcuffs locked at his waist to hold them up. Other than his battle vest, his torso is bare, a smattering of tattoos you’ve never seen before on full display under the harsh stage lights. A black bandana is wrapped around his forehead, holding back those enticing curls, and the same guitar from the flier hangs heavily on the strap across his shoulder. You can’t take your eyes off of his fingers as they glide up and down the fretboard, a speed and a talent you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing live. 

Not only does he look good, but they sound incredible. You can feel the bass in your chest as they play, and before you know it, you’re abandoning your post at the bar and joining the crowd that gathers in front of the stage. You feel electrified, not a drop of alcohol in your bloodstream but you’re drunk on the atmosphere, swaying with the beat and grinning stupidly up at the man who has yet to notice you. 

When he does, when his eyes lock on yours, it only amplifies the adrenaline in your system. As he strums the final, lasting note of their first song, his eyes meet yours and you forget how to breathe. 

Eddie isn’t so sure it’s you at first. You’ve never looked like this before. Plush thighs on full display in a skin tight mini skirt, torn tee shirt exposing your midriff, a brick red stain on your lips in lieu of your usual clear gloss; but your smile is wholly you, and the tiny, shy wave that you give confirms that this is real, you’re here, and you look like you were ripped straight from a wet dream. Silence overtakes the crowd. Eddie forgets that he’s supposed to speak, supposed to be putting on a show. He’s distracted at the first glimpse he catches of you in the crowd. Gareth gives two kicks of the bass drum to snap him back to reality. 

Your trancelike eye contact is broken when the drummer snags Eddie’s attention back and he introduces the band to the crowd once again. 

They put on one hell of a show. Not that you have much to compare it to, but the way your body is buzzing, moving with the crowd, prickling with excitement all night, you know they’re good. Toward the end of the show, there’s a song that showcases every member individually with a solo, a little bragging right for each of them. When it’s Eddie’s turn, he power slides to the edge of the stage, where the crowd has pushed you to the very front. He’s knelt in front of you, eyes wound shut in concentration and fingers playing at the strings sinfully. His tongue pokes between his lips, and that's when you find yourself screaming along with the others in the crowd. At the sound of your voice his eyes fly open, a cocky, sly grin gracing his face as his solo comes to an end. A guitar pick is flicked your way, and when you catch it, he shoots you another wink before standing back up and moving on with the show. 

The rest of the night is vibrating floors and sweaty bodies and ringing ears. The push and pull of the crowd around you, and a giggle caught in your throat when Eddie takes a dramatic bow at the end of the set. Your cheeks sting from smiling, and when you make it back to the bar and order another water, it’s the most refreshed you’ve ever felt in your life. 

Conversations swell around you, the hum of a satisfied crowd and the rattling of ice in cocktail shakers. You spot your friends at a table in the corner and wave, but at the same time, Eddie is pushing through the saloon doors to the side of the bar, denim vest now exchanged for a cropped muscle tee, and his eyes are locked on yours. He’s headed straight for you, so you stay put. 

“Hey!” He shouts, all of his excitement and a post-show high poured into one little word. Without hesitation, arms wrap around you, pulling your frame into his. One of his hands tangles in your hair and the other rests on the small of your back. You breathe him in, the acrid stink of pot and sweat masked by cheap bathroom cologne and leather. You should be disgusted, but you can’t be bothered. Pulling back to gauge your reaction, he holds onto your elbows, making sure not to let you get too far. You grip his forearms in return. “What did you think?” 

“Eddie!” You shout, at a loss for words but praise dripping from your tone. “So good! You guys killed it!” 

Speaking to your lips now instead of your eyes, he rolls his own bottom lip between his teeth, breathing, “fuck yeah we did.” The bartender stops in front of the pair of you. Eddie greets him by name, because of course he does. “Hey Joe, give me a PBR, and…” he trails off, looking sideways at you and dropping a hand to your waist with a squeeze. Your skin shouldn’t be tingling where his palm rests against it, but it is. “What’re you drinking, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. 

“Oh, uhm, just water.” 

SweetheartSweetheartSweetheart.

“Fuck that,” he laughs, “we’re celebrating! C’mon, it’s on me.” He narrows his eyes at you, calculating, before looking back to the bartender. “Give her an Amaretto Sour on the band’s tab.”

When the bartender, Joe, you assume, turns his back you widen your eyes at the man beside you. “Eddie! I’m not drinking-” 

“Shh,” he insists, holding a finger to his lips. “You’ll love it, I promise…and if you don’t, you don’t have to drink it. I’ll give it to Gareth, kid’s a bottomless pit.” 

He’s right, you suppose. You’ll be 21 soon enough anyway, what’s a few months?

When the drinks are passed across the bar, Eddie presses the cold glass of light amber liquid into your hand. The coolness is a reprieve against your warm skin even if you don’t end up drinking it, but you do give it the tiniest taste at the eager prompting of the man beside you. The sweet, nutty drink is nothing like what you expected and goes down easy, but you still nurse it slowly as Eddie introduces you to his bandmates, chats about the set and asks you which songs were your favorite. All of them, you want to say, but manage to recall a couple of titles. 

When your drink is almost gone, Ronnie approaches you, boyfriend in tow. You introduce them all, they praise the band on a great show, and your roommate pulls you aside. 

“So, we were thinking of heading home,” she says, looking from you to Eddie and back, leaving her statement open ended. 

“Oh…” You look over at Eddie yourself, liquor and adrenaline clouding your judgment. He’s talking to Jeff animatedly with his hands and smirks over the other boy’s shoulder when he catches you staring. “You know what, you guys go ahead. I’ll hang out for a little bit.” 

“Are you sure?” She asks, gripping your shoulders, “Have you had anything to drink?” 

“Just this one,” you say, “I’ll be fine, promise. I’ll stay a while and I can just head home. I’ll tell my parents I wasn’t feeling well if they ask.” 

“Okay,” she nods, “just be safe, and call me tomorrow to tell me everything.” Wrapping her in a tight goodbye hug, you promise to do so, and when she pulls from your embrace, her focus is behind you instead of on you. “I think someone else wants your attention now. Bye, Eddie!” She’s gone with a flutter of her fingers. 

Turning on your heel you find Eddie just behind you, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. He nods toward the door he came out of earlier. “Wanna go somewhere a little more quiet?” 

You only nod in response, and he grins victoriously, guiding you toward the back exit of the building with a commanding hand on the small of your back. 

He tries not to crowd you, he really does, but your skin is warm to the touch, soft where his fingertip slips beneath the hem of your shirt. You’re here, and you’re dressed so differently than you usually do, and he can’t help but wonder just what else you might do to rebel tonight. He only hopes he’ll be lucky enough to find out. 

Stepping outside into the balmy night air, he takes you past the band’s van being loaded up with their equipment and toward another slightly smaller van. You hesitate when he opens the back door and holds it open for you, but the laugh lines that crease around his eyes when he offers you an encouraging smile are enough to get you moving. As you climb in, his hand never leaves the small of your back for support, and you can practically feel the way his eyes linger on your backside, but aside from the rush of heat to your cheeks you don’t react. 

It’s clunky and awkward, getting yourselves situated in the back of Eddie’s van. Where he falls gracelessly into a pile of blankets with an air of confidence only Eddie Munson could manage, you’re still tripping over your own feet and hunching to accommodate the low ceiling, unsure of where to sit. He grins up at you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he found your anxiety amusing. His gaze is fixed on your skirt hem where your fingers idly fiddle with it, a glint in his eye and heave in his chest from where he still can’t catch his breath after an exhilarating show. 

“C’mon,” he murmurs, the word hanging quiet in the dusty air. He pats on the worn out, threadbare bean bag chair beside him and unsuccessfully tries to stifle his joyous laugh. “I won’t bite, sweetheart.” His smile flashes with mischief and it’s only when you give in and settle into the cushion next to him that he leans in closer and adds in a breath, “unless you want me to.” 

You pretend not to hear him.

“You guys really did kill it tonight,” you compliment instead, grinning and nudging his bent knee lightly with the rubber toe of your sneaker. “I don’t…I mean I guess I don’t know what the standard is, since this was my first concert and all, but it was seriously so good.”

“No fucking way,” he exclaims, savoring the way you blink involuntarily when he swears. Reaching out to catch your ankle before you can withdraw it, he squeezes gently and grins up at you. “You’ve never been to a show before?” 

A shrug. The press of your knees tighter together, hyper aware of your skirt riding up in this position. “Not unless you count the church choir’s Christmas performance or Worship before Sunday service.” 

He only manages a soft chuckle and another thoughtful, “no way,” when he releases his hold on you, playfully dropping your foot. A few moments of silence pass, interrupted only by a ruckus outside, two men arguing and then the slamming of car doors. When it passes, Eddie speaks up again. “So you’re really into all that, huh? Jesus and whatnot.” 

You can’t stop the giggle from coming out at his phrasing. “I guess, yeah?” You shrug again. “Although, I used to say I enjoyed worship because I could feel God moving me through the music…but now I’m starting to think that might just be what live music feels like, because I got the same rush in there as I used to during worship…maybe better.”

Eddie tries to not let it go to his head that you basically just equated him to God.

“You guess? You don’t sound so sure there, sweetheart..” His eyes fall from your own and trail downward, lingering on the crucifix around your neck before continuing on. You shy under his gaze, skin warming under his attention as you wrap your arms around yourself again. “But you still wear that cute little thing, so I’ll believe the good girl act for a while longer. ” 

He knows it’s not just an act, that you truly are as innocent as you seem, but there's curiosity and drive behind your eyes – a hunger to learn more and be more than just the church girl, and so help him, he’s determined to help you reach that potential.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, shrugging. Always shrugging. You fear you might develop a hunch from it. As you continue talking, Eddie leans across the front seat to turn on the radio, turning the volume down to a more appropriate background level. Still, you don’t miss the way he stiffens in reaction to your next sentence. “My dad is a pastor, so it’s kind of all I know. I grew up in the church, went to catholic school, the whole nine yards, so it’s just been kind of drilled into me.” 

“Seems like a good reason to believe in something, just ‘cause others told you you should.” He says, voice dry but not cruel judging by the hearty smile on his face. This time when he plops back down, it's on the beanbag beside you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” You try not to focus on the fact that the dip in the cushion has rolled your body in toward his, or on the way that his thigh presses into yours, or the heat that lingers there. “When I moved out for college, I kinda got the drift that things weren’t as black and white as I was raised to believe. Like for example,” nudging his shoulder playfully with your own, “not all secular music is made to worship the devil.” 

Eddie snorts, “right, only the good stuff.” 

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sarcastically agree. “Exactly! I dunno, it’s just hard sometimes, finding my place in the middle. I like to believe that there’s still some truth to the Word, but I also don’t think that I should be living life in fear of being labeled as a sinner for the kind of music I like, or the kind of company I keep, or the length of my skirt. Frankly the concept of sin just seems…I don’t know, like a threat nowadays? How are we supposed to let the promise of an eternity in Hell stop us from enjoying the life we’re living now if we don’t even know for sure that Hell exists!? I just– sorry. Sorry, I’m going off on a tangent.” 

“It’s okay,” he chuckles, and his voice is soft and earnest when he urges, “you have nothing to apologize for, I asked.” 

“I– I suppose.” 

Your eyes shine with worry when you meet his, and it only makes his smile even wider. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know the truth, your truth. And besides,” his expression is downright giddy when he lets his head lean back against the seat back behind you, eyes shifting to take a peek at you, “I get what you mean. Nobody is truly perfect, but that doesn’t make them inherently evil either. Sure I’m tatted up and swear by the word ‘fuck’ and play a game that society sees as devil worship, but there’s also like, murderers and people who beat the shit out of their kids and animals and rob banks. So it’s a spectrum, I’d say.” He takes your hearty laugh as a sign that he didn’t cross some sort of unspoken boundary and presses further. “Really, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? I find it hard to believe that you haven’t rebelled at least a little since leaving the nest.” 

“Uh…” you take in your surroundings and let out a chastising laugh. You could tell him about your sole experience at a frat party, but you hugged the wall and nursed a solo cup of water the entire time, so you wouldn’t say that counts. “This?” 

Eddie balks. “No!” He protests, voice thick with disbelief, “no, come on there was never any sneaking out in high school? No secret late night rendezvous with the quarterback?” 

You lean your head on his shoulder, unable to face him head on when you admit, “there was, at best, a peck on the lips with the captain of the debate team after prom.” Your laughter is dry and self deprecating. 

It makes no sense to open up like this to Eddie. Earlier in the night, you weren’t even certain you could call him a friend, but now here you are openly admitting your dirty little secrets…or lack thereof. There’s just something about him that offers you comfort. His charming presence, the confidence he carries that never feels judgemental, the arm around your shoulder holding you close to his chest as he chuckles at your admission. 

Wait– when did that get there? 

“Sorry, sorry, I should have known.” His laughter is more jovial than cruel, a dig at his own ignorance rather than your innocence. His free hand crosses both of your bodies to grab your left hand, holding it up and twisting so that the dull overhead light reflects off of the gold band on your ring finger. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Promise ring? How far do the rules of that thing reach, anyway? Like does–” There’s a pause and a stutter in his breath. For the first time since you met him you can feel uncertainty wavering in his voice. “You know what, no that’s too far. Even I can recognize that.” 

The giggle in your voice is music to his ears when you press him to say what he wants to. The jab of your elbow in his ribs, your little playful smack to his chest. You lean into him with a raised brow, challenging him to continue.

Eddie stares you down, scrutinizing, narrowing his eyes as you continue to giggle innocently up at him. He’s begging every God he doesn’t believe in to forgive him when he gives in. “Okay, but only ‘cause I want to know if it’ll make you blink like swearing does.-” 

“ – I do not blink at swears!” 

“You definitely do,” he confirms, coolly ignoring your interruption with a smug grin. “Now do you wanna hear the question or not?” Doe eyes shine curiously back at him through the dim moonlight as you nod. Reaching for your hand again, he fidgets with the ring on your finger, with your fingers themselves, turning your hand about in his own with his gaze fixed on your joined hands. Quieter now in the still air of his van, his voice is even more gravelly than usual when he asks, “D’you take it off when you wanna touch yourself?”

You blink.

 He likely already knows the answer, but the image of you getting yourself off has already wormed its way into his brain and he just has to know.

“I-” your throat is suddenly the driest it’s ever been, and your attempt to clear it is only partially successful. The atmosphere in the van has shifted, your previous laughter and playfulness sucked out the cracked front windows and replaced with a sudden awareness of your proximity. You should chastise him for bringing it up. It’s inappropriate. You shouldn’t answer him, it’s inappropriate, but the way his Adam's apple bobs and his eyes dart up to meet yours as he patiently awaits your answer compels you to give it. You answer to his lips, unsure if it’s because you don’t want to meet his eye or because you simply can’t look away from the perfect cupid’s bow framed by late evening stubble. “I don’t do that.” 

“‘Cause it’s a sin?” He teases, and despite your earlier rant on sin, you give a shallow nod in response. 

“It’s like you said earlier,” the space between you is getting smaller, but neither of you are aware of who’s at fault for that. You feel drawn to him, the gravel of his voice, his own personal gravity curling around you and tugging. “We don’t know if heaven or hell exists,” closer, “and even if it does, aren’t we all sinners in the end?” Closer. He’s close enough now that his breath ghosts your collarbones, his free hand on the curve of your waist, his gaze drops to your own mouth as he finishes, “The way I see it, if you don’t sin a little, then doesn’t that mean Jesus died for nothing?” 

You’re close enough now to taste the beer and hope on his breath, and for a brief moment you think he might kiss you, but then another ruckus breaks out outside the van. Excited hollering and slamming of doors and a broken beer bottle against the concrete just outside the van startle you and Eddie apart. Your heart is racing when you look out the window to see the car that was parked next to you peeling away, and you take the moment to calm yourself. 

Shaking your head, you settle back into the bean bag an acceptable distance away from him once again, but he spreads his legs as he settles further into the cushion, pressing his thigh into yours and commanding the space. You convince yourself he’s just getting comfortable, not trying to stay close to you, but the way he smirks down at your naked thigh pressed against the black denim covering his own sends a shiver down your spine. 

You both wait out the moment, a beat of quiet passing between you, but when the tape that’s been playing in the background clicks to signal the end, he speaks up again, nudging his knee into yours. 

“For real, though, you’ve never even been curious about it?” He asks, turning to rest his arm against the seatback behind you. 

“About se…about sex?” 

God if that little stutter wasn’t endearing to Eddie and God if the curious pinch between your brows didn’t go straight to his cock because you aren’t denying it. He decides to test the waters, lean in a little closer again and gently push the hair out of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. 

“Well, sure, yeah…but not even that far. Just like,” he pauses again. “Even the PG-13 stuff. Making out under the bleachers or missing half the movie and steaming up the windows at the drive in are essential to the teenage experience.”

You hum thoughtfully, his question bouncing around in your head. You can’t stop focusing on his hand that’s come to rest on the outside of your thigh, pulling you just slightly toward him. Your brain is foggy, you can’t for the life of you remember being curious about what you might be missing out on, but then again you’d never had anything to compare it to either. It’s not that you don’t know about sex. Sure, the schools you went to taught abstinence only sex ed, but you’re not stupid. You know the logistical side of things, you’ve just never experienced anything first hand so you don’t know how it feels. If the way your pulse races whenever Eddie meets your eye or the jolt of adrenaline you get when he touches you in a new unfamiliar way has anything to do with his so-called teenage experience, then you just might think you have been missing out. 

“Not really? I guess I never saw the point.” You finally say, shying under his attention. “But I also didn’t have any experience to inspire such curiosity.” The way you say it is like a question, meek voice lilting up towards the end of the statement and another shrug pulling at your shoulders. Then, turing from shy self-pity to the mask of self-deprecating humor you’re used to using with your roommate, you tack on, “y’know, ‘cause the captain of a catholic high school debate team is bound to be the object of every girl’s fantasies, right?”

Eddie’s face falls again, his fingers stilling where he was once stroking the exposed skin of your thigh. He tries to hide his shock, but you still catch a glimpse of it amongst the gleeful look of curiosity. “So you weren’t just being hyperbolic, huh? You’ve really never even been so much as kissed?” You’re about to jump in when he waves you off and rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, prom with Dorky McChristian, I know. But I don’t think that counts. I mean really, truly kissed. A toe curling, basement flooding kinda kiss that leaves you wanting more, you know?” 

“When you put it that way…” your laughter is soft and nervous. There’s no judgment from Eddie, not that you can feel. He’s leaning in and speaking with a genuine sort of curiosity that sparkles in his eyes, like he really wants to know what makes you tick and what hasn’t yet made you tick. It’s the same voice he uses when he asks if you’ve ever seen Evil Dead or listened to Kiss, like he’s just banking away another fact about you in his memory. So without that feeling of judgment, you confirm his statement. “...then no, I’ve never been kissed.”

He tries to keep his voice full of seduction and not the hope that swells in his chest when his gaze drops to your lips and he asks, “would you like to be?”  

Your heart is in your throat, caught there with the little gasp and exciting sort of uncertainty that bloomed in your chest at his offer. You should get going. You should make note of the time and tell him you’ll see him on Monday at the shop. 

Instead, you nod. 

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs, grinning proudly, the cat that caught the canary. The hand behind your head comes to rest on your jaw, two fingers pressing into the pulse point under your jawline and thumb tugging gently at your lower lip. He relishes in the way your pulse races under his fingertips, “gonna have to hear you say it, angel.”

“Yes.” 

It’s barely audible, the hint of a whisper on shaky breath but it’s enough for Eddie. Eddie, who crowds your space even further, his eyes heavy-lidded and fixated on your lips until he’s too close to focus. Not for the first time tonight, your breath hitches, fingers tingling, heart hammering, the thump thump thump against your ribcage rivaling the band’s earlier performance.  

Time seems to stop in this moment, surrounded by the scent of cheap cologne and musk and summertime air leaking in through the cracked windows. Minutes or hours or days pass there, breathing each other’s air, leeching body heat from tacky skin. 

When it finally happens, you’re surprised at how tender it is, the gentle press of lips against lips so quick you’re unsure who even finally closed the gap, but Eddie leaves no room for doubt. The moment you pull back enough to voice your confusion, near protesting that – while better than your prom kiss – that was still absolutely just a peck, his grin contorts into that self-assured smirk. The hand on your jaw shifts behind you again, working into the hair at your nape and pulling you back into his embrace with an involuntary squeak. 

It’s hard. Shoulders tense, teeth pressed tight against closed lips, eyes wound tight. 

You’re unsure what to think at first. 

But then Eddie breaks away just enough to mumble, “‘s okay,” and, “just follow my lead, sweetheart,” between another set of rushed kisses. You try to relax, and remember, oh, yeah, you should be kissing him back. That’s a thing. 

Eddie is soaring with pride when you relax enough to return the kiss, leaning up and into it, unknowingly pressing your chest up against his in an effort to get closer. Despite your obvious nerves and initial stiffness, you’re more than making up for it now. She’s a natural, he thinks smugly, a quick study, and when he coaxes your lips apart and hears the soft whine that comes with it, he can’t help but let his mind wander to all the other noises he might be able to get you to make. 

You don’t know how much time passes before he breaks the kiss, pulling away with reluctance and a tug of your lower lip between his teeth, but your breathlessness suggests it’s been a while. 

“How ya feelin’, angel?” He wears his smugness in the dimple of his smirk, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip, his own breath ragged but much more controlled than your own. “Like you wanna confess?” 

He swears he could live off of the flushed smile and bitten lip that you try so desperately to hide from him before carefully answering, “Not…necessarily.” 

There’s a soft thump when his head falls lazily against the seat back, smirk growing as he sizes you up. “No?” He teases, eyes raking across your features, taking in your rumpled clothes and heavy lidded gaze, the shy smile hiding behind the curtain of your hair. Nimble, calloused fingers hook into the space behind your knee, tugging until your legs drape over his lap. Your skin burns where his fingertips tickle just below the hem of your skirt, goosebumps forming in their wake. They stay there, dancing along your exposed thigh as he allows you a moment to catch your breath, and he can’t help but praise, “you look fucking perfect like this.” His touch teases higher, dipping under the polyester just enough to make you squirm. “Now don’t get me wrong, I love your usual look, but this…” Tugging on the hem, he shifts again to hover over you and nudges your nose with his own. You can feel the brush of his lips against yours as he speaks, “...worst part is you don’t even know what you were doin’ to me in there tonight.” There’s no time to answer before he kisses you again, a hungry growl in the back of his throat. 

You’d never given much thought to kissing before tonight. Truly, out of sight out of mind. When you’d overheard Veronica on the phone with one of her friends talking about the date who used too much tongue, you remember thinking any amount of tongue in a kiss must be too much, surely. 

But now, Eddie is coaxing your lips apart with his own, every move calculated and commanding, and when his tongue sweeps into your mouth to massage your own…oh.

Something akin to static settles deep in your stomach, tendrils of it curling from your chest and down to tingling fingertips. Reaching out, you fist a hand in the collar of Eddie’s tee shirt and pull, wanting him as close as possible. Betraying his suave demeanor, the action makes Eddie lose his balance, toppling him over with a joyous laugh and a hand on either side of your head. He drops his weight onto one elbow and reaches out for you with the other hand, tilting your chin with his thumb to make space for himself in the crook of your neck. 

“Feelin’ a little eager are we?” He murmurs into your ear, breath ghosting the shell and making you shudder at his closeness. “By all means, sweetheart, manhandle me all you want.” 

Teasing, always teasing, he noses along your jawline, savoring your shallow breath and the way he can feel you arch up into him. Your hand slips into his hair as he tests the waters, kissing, licking, sucking at little points across your neck. A nip of his teeth into the soft flesh just below your ear has you gasping and tightening your grip on his curls. You press your thighs together unknowingly as he soothes the sting with a pass of his tongue and continues on, latching onto another lower point on your neck. 

“E-Eddie, wait-” You gasp, gently pulling him away from you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks gently, biting back a smile as he admires the sight of you flushed and pliant beneath him. “Not feelin’ it?” 

“No I – um, it’s not that. I mean it’s different. I feel weird, but…good weird?” Your voice falters, brows pinched, and you bring a hand up to rest on your own neck in the space he just occupied. 

“That’s called horny,” he teases, interrupting you. 

You choose to ignore the comment, finally eeking out,  “please don’t, um…I can’t have any hickeys. I’ll be dead. Literally six feet under if my dad sees anything.” You pout at your own statement, big, round eyes and a puffy lower lip that Christ, Eddie just wants to sink his teeth into. 

He’s about to do just that when a loud banging comes at the back door of the van. His face falls, head sinking, curls tickling your chest before you both look to the still-closed doors. Thankfully Gareth doesn’t open them, only yells through the layers of metal. 

“Ed, bar’s closed. We gotta get going!”

His voice is practically a growl that you can feel in his chest, “can’t you hitch a ride with the guys? ‘M a little occupied at the moment.”

There’s a long pause on the other side before he calls back, “...all the equipment…no room in the van, I’m sorry man.” 

He heaves a sigh and presses another hurried kiss to your lips, nipping at that pout just as he wanted to, but much more playfully quick than intended. He quietly murmurs an apology to you before yelling back, “fine! Give us a second, jackass. Take a lap around the block or somethin’!” Then turning to you with puppy eyes, “sorry, I am so sorry about that.” 

He kneels away from you, leaning on his heels to offer you a hand up, which you gladly take. 

“It’s okay,” you hum, not wanting the evening to end but knowing it might be a good idea to head home before things carry on further. “It’s, um…it’s quite late, I should probably be on the road already anyway.” 

You right yourself as he goes for the door, pulling your skirt down where it bunched up, finding your discarded purse in the corner and fishing out your car keys. By the time you’re situated, Eddie has already hopped down from inside the van and is offering his hand to help you down easily. 

With youreet secure on cracked asphalt, the real world settling in alongside the cool night breeze around you, you’re suddenly nervous again, shy. You find yourself worried that outside the comfort and closeness of his van, he’ll see you for what you really are; an inexperienced girl playing dress up with false confidence. The next time he sees you at the shop in your usual, modest getup, he’ll regret ever kissing you – or worse, forget it even happened. 

Dejected by your own thoughts, you nod at him in thanks and clutch the strap of your purse nervously. 

“It really was a good show,” you say in place of a farewell, “Eddie, tonight was really fun.” 

“Thanks, angel,” he says through upturned lips, lighting a fresh joint. He leans against the open door of the van, one foot propped up on the bumper, the free hand not pinching his smoke stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. He looks like he was ripped straight from the silver screen, the bad boy John Bender type in your own little coming of age flick. He exhales, billowing smoke into the air in the direction opposite you. “I had a pretty stellar time, myself.” He grabs you by the forearm before you can retreat to your car, pulling you into him for a much more chaste goodbye kiss, mumbling, “drive safe,” against your lips, not wanting to part even to share the sentiment. 

“Promise,” you assure him, pressing a final kiss high on his cheekbone and turning to start the journey to your car. You turn to say a final goodbye and are met with the flash of a Polaroid Spectra. “What was that for?” You ask, voice lilting, giggling musically. 

You can see Gareth returning from around the corner and wave, feeling floaty as you walk backwards to your car. 

Eddie simply says, “Told you you look fantastic like this. Wanted to remember it.” Like this, he thinks, hair a riot, skirt bunched up, flustered and breathless from nothing more than a kiss.

Shaking your head, you shout another goodbye before getting into your car and driving away. 

As the photo develops in Eddie’s hand and he’s joined by his drummer, he shakes the thoughts from his mind. You don’t know what you’re in for. 

Fuck Gareth for needing a ride.

—

Monday following the concert, you flit into Camelot music in your regular getup. Hair twisted into two messy braids, soft off-white tee shirt layered under a billowy thin denim dress. The forecast called for rain and a bit of a chill with it, so instead of sheer pantyhose you opted for a pair of over-the-knee socks, surely covered by the dress when you left the house, but now exposed by the knot you’d tied over one knee. 

Eddie’s with a customer when you walk in, but his attention is solely on the tops of those socks and the way they cut into your skin. You busy yourself by looking at a rack of new releases that don’t interest you as he finishes up, ringing out the cheerleader/letter jacket couple with a shallow nod and empty responses to their questions. 

As soon as the door shuts behind them, you’re joining him at the counter. 

“Hi,” whispered nervously, uncertain where you stand after the weekend. 

“Hi, angel.” Eyes dart over your shoulder briefly, ensuring there’s nobody around before he reaches over the counter to hold your face with both hands, pulling you in for a searing kiss. You squeak with surprise and he laughs into the kiss, breath ghosting your upper lip. “Thought about you all weekend.” 

You insist he’s trying to flatter you. 

He’s not lying. Only omitting the fact that most of those thoughts were lewd, obscene little brain worms. Images of you panting beneath him, your chest pressed against his, nipples perking under his attention. He kept returning to that damned thought of you touching yourself, of his name on your lips as you reached your peak. Every chance he got, every moment of alone time, his imagination ran wild, long, languid strokes of his cock spurred on by the memory of those perfect sounds you made for him from just one silly makeout session. It fueled him, how sensitive you were, so new to everything. Moreover, nothing turned him on more than the fact that he was, apparently, the first and only person to make those precious sounds, to make you feel that way, not even yourself. 

“You did not,” you accuse, rolling your eyes. 

“Cross my heart,” he mumbles, jaw slack at the memory. Then, ducking suddenly below the counter he adds, “Hey! Made you something.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the way his hair stays suspended in the air just a beat longer than he does, and you lean forward further to see him rooting around under the counter for something. He returns with another mixtape, this one labeled sloppily as People Write Songs About Girls Like You. 

Raising an eyebrow at the title, you turn the tape about in your hands. 

“Should I be worried about this one?” 

He quirks a single eyebrow, “only if Daddy finds it.” 

“Oh my gosh.” Mortified, you stuff the tape into your purse and hide your face in your hands. 

It’s a short visit this time. While a few Metallica tracks were featured on your first mixtape, he decides to play you their ‘86 album Master of Puppets in full over the store stereo, pointing out certain tracks and what they mean to him. He credits the title track for literally saving his life in his third (and final) senior year, says the dedication to learning to play it on the guitar by ear is what made it click for him that he wasn’t as stupid as everyone tried to convince him he was. It was that push that allowed him to finally cross that stage and inspired him to put a real honest effort into the band too. 

“I think this is my new favorite song, then,” you note with a soft smile as it comes to an end. 

“Softie,” he teases, throwing a balled up receipt at you. 

“Maybe,” you giggle. Then, noticing the time, “hey, I gotta get going, have to cut it short today. Mom said she wanted to talk about something when she got off of work. Sounded important.”

Ever dramatic, he mimes a dagger to the heart, twisting it, writhing with the pantomime of pain and falling limp against the cash register. “If you must,” he heaves. “Can I call you tonight at least?” 

You fiddle with the gold cross around your neck, and his eyes follow the movement. “It’s not that I don’t want you to,” you say uncomfortably and note all too quickly the hurt on his face. “It’s not!” You insist, shifting from foot to foot. “It’s just that if you call while my parents are awake, they’ll…ask questions. And probably listen in on the other end.” 

“Well,” he chuckles, “we don’t want that.” 

“Nope.” 

“Tell you what.” He pulls a sticky note from off the stack near the register and scribbles hastily, passing it to you when he’s done. “When do they hit the hay, what, nine? Ten at the latest?” You nod. “Give me a buzz when they’re out. I’ll be around.” 

Grinning, you plant both hands on the counter and lean across it to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “sounds like a plan. Talk to you later!”

“I’ll be waiting!” 

—

As it turns out, your mother’s talk was not important. 

“I’ve arranged a date for you,” she says over the rim of her coffee mug, her post-work decaf practically a ritual at this point. 

“You what?” 

“A date!” She repeats, smiling sickly sweet like she’s doing you a favor. 

Dread swirls in your stomach, all color draining from your cheeks. “Mom, I- you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t have to, silly. I just thought it might be nice for you to get out with a nice, respectable boy, and besides, Justine was practically begging me to make the arrangement, what with the way she was bragging about Tom’s doctorate studies and empty social calendar.” 

You balk with realization, “wait- Justine…? Mrs. Murray? You mean you set me up with Tommy Murray?” 

The Murray’s were well known in your parish. Charitable, well off…uptight. Tommy had been in the youth group with you for a few years, but he aged out in your 8th grade year. Janie had a massive crush on him, but you thought he was an arrogant jerk, a narcissist at best. He was smart but he knew it and that soured you to him immediately. 

“He goes by Tim now, honey.” Is all she manages in response, not acknowledging your disgust. 

“Mom,” you scoff, “I am not going out with that guy.”

“Don’t be rude,” she chastises, the mug in her hand thunking against the table harshly, dark, milky liquid threatening to slosh out from the force of her setting it down. “I’ve already made the plan so you will go through with it. Now I suppose you don’t have to continue to see him if you don’t like how it goes but I did you the favor of setting this up, the least you could do is show up. Respectably.” 

It’s almost painful, suppressing the eye roll, but you know you’ll be better off just giving in. At least maybe you’ll get a good meal out of it. Your voice is soft, obedient when you ask, “when and where?” 

“He’ll pick you up Thursday at noon for lunch.” 

“Can’t I drive myself?” She doesn’t have to answer. Her stern look is enough to have you sighing with defeat. “I’ll be ready by 11:45.” 

“That’s what I thought. Now go clean up for dinner.” 

—

By some miracle, your parents both manage to turn in before nine that night and you retire to you room, door cracked and handheld landline receiver tucked under your pillow, waiting for any sign that they’re asleep. By 9:20 the bedside lamp clicks off, the thin stream of light from under their door going dark. By 9:35 your father’s snoring indicates that they’re out. 

Still, you wait another twenty minutes to assure that they’re asleep for the night before you pad quietly across the room to shut your door and throw a blanket in front of the crack at the bottom. Just in case. 

Your heart skips a beat with each ring, until finally the other line clicks. 

Silky smooth and hushed, voice mottled by the crackling of the line, he answers, “hello?” 

“Eddie?” You ask hopefully…stupidly. You know who you dialed, he doesn’t know who is calling. You can’t see him smiling at your blunder over the phone, you just clear your throat and continue, identifying yourself. 

“Yeah, I knew it was you, sweetheart. Did you think I could forget your pretty voice?”

“You’re such a flatterer, you know that?” You tease, twirling the fringe of your throw blanket between the fingers of your free hand. 

“What!?” He’s all mock shock and dramatic gasps, the other line rustling as he gets comfortable in bed. “Me? Never. I haven’t even told you how nice you look tonight.” 

“Please,” This time you do snort through your laugh, shaking your head even though you know he can’t see. You settle back into your pillows, tucking the receiver between your ear and shoulder so you can free up your hands for idle fidgeting. “You can’t even see me.” 

“Just cause I can’t see you doesn’t mean you don’t look nice.” He argues, “I bet you’re a stunner. Describe it to me. What’re you wearing?” An overused line, a cliche for any late night phone call, he’s aware, but he’s dying to know what someone like you wears to bed. 

You hum into the phone, tucking your feet underneath you and hugging your knees to your chest. “You won’t laugh?” 

“I could never.” 

You think about lying, but something tells you he would be able to tell. 

“It’s a, um,” you giggle at how predictable your answer must seem to him. “A white nightgown.” He’s quiet on the other end, not much more than an encouraging mhm, trying to pry more details from you. You’re not sure exactly what he’s looking for, so you go for the obvious, describing the details of the garment. “It’s got, like, a french collar and this frilly lace on the hem and the straps…little bow on the neckline.” 

“Now why would I ever laugh at that? Sounds to me like you’re just living up to the nickname, angel.”

“Don’t be cruel,” you giggle, though his tone doesn’t hold any malice. 

“Wouldn’t dare. How long is it? Hittin’ the floor?”

“Nope.” Playing with the lacy hem of it, you correct him, “little bit above my knee.” 

You swear he groans on the other end. Eddie, who’s been playing shows in sleazy bars for years, who’s seen his fair share of scandalous outfits on girls much more sexual than you, is groaning over the mention of…your legs? No, that…that doesn’t add up. 

“So you’re letting those pretty legs out to play, hm?” His voice is rougher, gruff, and he takes note of the rustling of pillows behind you. “You in bed?” 

“Mhm,” you don’t know which question you’re answering. Both are true, you suppose. 

“Yeah? Me too. So…” Eddie sighs into the receiver, palming his growing erection through his jeans. He is far too into this already, and he’s getting ahead of himself. He doesn’t even know if this is pushing your boundaries too far yet, for fuck’s sake, but God, is he hoping you take the bait. “I was thinking.” 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you tease. 

“Cute.” 

“Sorry,” you giggle, “couldn’t resist. What were you thinking about?” 

“...how unfair it is that you’re 20 goddamn years old and you don’t know what an orgasm is like.” Your fiddling fingers halt, the air sucked from your lungs at his boldness, that same churning, staticy feeling starting low in your stomach at the thought. “And I know you say you don’t know what you’re missing out on so it’s not that bad, but hear me out. I know what you’re missing out on, and I think it’s a fucking shame.”

“I’m…sorry?” 

There’s a long pause between you before he finally breaks down and joins in on your laughter. 

“No need to be sorry, angel. I just want to help you out.” 

“And that’s an entirely selfless offer, I'm sure.” 

“Baby, there’s lots of ways I’d love to be involved, but tonight’s about you. You need to learn about your body first, find out what you like.”

“You want me to…on the phone with you?” You know what he’s suggesting, but still can’t quite wrap your head around the idea. 

“Only if you want to. This is only good for me if you’re enjoying yourself.” His words settle right in between your legs, your thighs squeezing together and trapping them there with the growing heat between them. Against your will, a whimper makes its way past your lips at the thought. “Sounds like you’re into the idea.” 

Glaring down at the gold band on your finger, you sigh before ripping it off and shoving it in the drawer of your nightstand. You want this, you think, and you don’t need judgment from some dumb piece of symbolic jewelry. Still you hesitate. 

“I don’t…hate the idea, but I don’t know how to– I wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“That’s why I’m here. I’ll walk you through it. Just do as I say and tell me how you’re feeling. If you like something, don’t like something…if you change your mind all together. Just tell me and I’ll adjust accordingly. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “we’ll start you off slow. Want you to play with those gorgeous tits for me, okay? Start over your nightgown, just do what feels right.” You shake away the nagging insecurity and oblige, running a hand across your chest, steadying the phone in the other. It takes a moment to find your rhythm, cupping, softly groping at your own flesh, but Eddie can tell the moment you relax into it, soft sighs and hitched breath like music to his ears. “Good, now don’t forget your nipples, sweetheart. Light touches, tease yourself a little, remember we’re just getting warmed up.” 

You settle further into your plush mattress, letting the down pillows and Eddies gravelly, rough voice envelop you. He continues to coach you until your muscles are loose, movements slow and careful, appreciating your body in a way you never considered. 

“When you’re ready, I want you to hike up that skirt and touch yourself through your panties. Don’t take them off yet, stroke that pretty cunt until you’re whining.”

“Eddie!” You don’t know if you’re scolding him or praising him, shallow breath stuttering as your touch ventures south, teasing through your underwear and letting out a soft moan when your fingers press against the damp cotton. 

“How’s it feel, angel?”

“F-feels good,” you simper, gasping when your touch focuses on that spot that makes your toes curl. 

“You want more?”

That gets him what he wants, a sharp whine disguised as a, “please,” and he’s finally giving in and unbuttoning his jeans, allowing his aching cock some reprieve from the denim confines with a satisfied grunt.

“Lose the panties, baby. Slide your fingers between your folds, tell me how wet you are for me.” The phone gets knocked aside in your haste to peel your panties off, kicking them off the edge of the bed, but you make sure it’s securely back in place on your shoulder before you follow his instruction. It’s obscene, the sound your arousal makes as you part your lower lips, sliding two fingers between them. “Fuck, don’t need you to tell me,” he groans, pulling his boxers down just enough to start stroking his cock in time with your moaning, “she’s telling me herself. Keep playing with your clit, baby, I could listen to those sounds you’re making forever. Might fuckin’ put ‘em on my next album.“

The line goes quiet for a few moments, just the sounds of wet, slapping skin and labored breath and needy mewls. 

Your pleasure floods your stomach, coiling tight and hot and as your fingers toy with your sex. Muscles tense, the sound of Eddie’s ragged breath on the other end of the line spurring you on further, faster, needier. You’re chasing a feeling you can’t even identify but you know you can’t wait to get there. 

“Mmh– Eddie, I-” You cut yourself off with a hand over your mouth, stifling the desperate keening sound threatening to come out. 

“You’ve been needing this, angel, I can tell. So desperate already. Haven’t even fingered yourself and you’re already about to cum, aren’t you? C’mon pretty baby, try a finger for me.” Without hesitation, your fingers dip down to tease at your entrance, forefinger curling in without much resistance. It’s tight, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. You cry out at the intrusion, slowly pumping in and out and pushing yourself further toward the edge. “That’s it.” He croons, “doing so well.” 

Your hips have a mind of their own, grinding on your hand, seeking out that sweet friction that you lost from your clit. Thigh muscles tense even more, shaking, your back arching off the bed. You don’t have to warn him, he can tell that you’re just on the edge, all it’ll take is one little push, and he’s happy to give it.

“Let go, baby.” It’s practically a growl and you can feel it in your bones, mixing into your growing pleasure and making it boil over. Suddenly, your body can’t help but obey, tipping over its peak and tumbling toward sweet release. 

Eddie has to bite into the meat of his bicep to stop himself from shouting with his release, the muffled sound of it lost on your ringing ears because you’re still coming down from your own. 

It’s quiet again for a moment. You can hear what you think is Judas Priest playing from somewhere in the background on his end while you both catch your breath, until finally you break the near-silence with an involuntary giggle. Eddie can’t help but laugh with you, aimlessly, tittering over nothing on a late night phone call like you hadn’t just had your entire world turned upside down. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks after a moment. 

“Dunno,” you giggle, “you were right, I guess. I mean it really was pretty darn unfair that I went my whole adult life not experiencing that.” 

“Just you wait. That was nothing.” Then, despite himself, he laughs again. “Did you just say darn?”

“I– yeah?”

“You mean to tell me you just moaned an entire year’s worth of spank bank material into my ear and you still won’t swear?” 

You protest, “that’s different!” 

“How is that different! I would even argue that swearing is the lesser offense here! Shit, I’ll get you to swear for me one of these days. I guarantee it.”

Both of you stay like that a little while longer, joking and laughing and teasing as if you hadn’t just come undone in each other's ears. It’s comfortable, familiar, like you’ve known him much longer than a month. Eventually, when his tape comes to an end, he reaches for his acoustic guitar and starts to play a quiet tune, soundtracking your conversation. It starts to lull you to sleep, but just when you’re on the precipice Eddie's voice brings you back to reality again. 

“Hey, angel?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’re my girl, right?” 

He isn’t entirely sure why he asked, the thought burst from him like a Xenomorph before he could stop it. But there was something there, a pride that swells in his chest at the thought of claiming you as his.

“I’m your girl, Munson.” You confirm, sleepy and gleeful and satiated. 

[xclowniex]

Hi! I know this was being talked about a few days ago, but can I say smthn abt the drake thing? I’m not black but one of my dads is, and my bio dad is Native American, so as a mixed race Jew who is also from America, I think that while racism does exist in Jewish spaces (as does any bigotry), there’s really no contest in my mind about who is more racist, and it’s white Christian’s tbh. I went to a secular school and experienced wayyyyy more racism from white Christian’s than I ever did from white Jews (whether Jews can actually be white is debatable in my mind, but that’s another conversation entirely). I think the people who want to claim that Jews are more racist than Christian’s are just deflecting. Anyways, sorry this is rambly and I hope you have a nice day.

no its all good to ramble in my inbox. I like hearing people's opinions!

I 100% agree. There is no space or group which is 100% free from any form of bigotry. However painting jews as the worst tm is just wrong.

I grew up in the town with the most churches per person in the whole country and I faced way more racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc from Christians. Thats not to say that every Christian is all those things as thats false, but i faced almost none of that at the synagouge in the city.

[whatspastisprologue-blr]

This is more for the books than the show (buy maybe also for the show, just not as much) but.... I always wished Armand would have an arc where he'd choose his own name.

Again, this is mostly for the books and not as much for the show (and maybe not for the show at all).

In the books, as a very young child, Andrei was caught between a controlling father and some monks, both of whom seemed to care more about how he should use his artistic talents ("not made by human hands", therefore dehumanizing Andrei even when he was human) than about him as a person. Woven into this is a lot of religious issues that ended up contributing to his trauma and lack of a sense of self once he got kidnapped and ended up in Venice.

Then Marius gets him and renames him Amadeo and Marius is, well, Marius. For all that I 100% agree that they're all monsters, all hurt people who hurt other people, and that none of them are worse than any other, I also think that Marius is basically The Worst(tm) and, if not him, then it's Magnus.

Then the CoS/CoD kidnap Amadeo and rename him Armand and that's a name change that is, again, separation from who he was, as though Amadeo (and Andrei) are entirely different people. They also specifically say that the meaning of "Andrei" doesn't fit who they want him to be and explicitly choose the name Armand, not at random, but because its meaning aligns with their purpose for him. It's purposefully disassociative.

So, I kept waiting and hoping for a time when Armand decided on a name for himself, not a name someone else gave him to help mold him into whoever they wanted him to be. A name not connected to his father, the church, Marius, or the cult. I thought it would be symbolic of him finally being able to define himself, that he would figure out who he is as his own independent person and demonstrate that newfound understanding with a name change.

Now, with the show, I get there's already a lot of Discourse about Armand's name and what the Arun/Maitre dynamic means. Some people say that since Arun is (as far as he knows) the name he had as a slave, it's deeply concerning for Louis to use it, especially given his background as a pimp. Some people say that since it's his birth name and that it's tied to his birth culture/heritage, so it's totally okay for Louis to use it. I'm not here to weigh in on that. I just want to acknowledge it exists and that, therefore, whether Armand should pick a new name for himself would probably be impacted by this controversy.

What do you guys think? Should book!Armand have changed his name? Should show!Armand? Is there a difference between book and show in this regard, where one should but the other shouldn't? Should show!Armand go back to using "Arun" or change his name to something else entirely?

[atomic-insomnia]

For the potential AU question, how about a Victorian AU, you know with balls, fancy big outfits and all, an 80s AU aaand a post apocalyptic AU. I gave you 3 so that you can choose :3.

thanks!

i will probably come back for the 80's and post-apocalyptic au's, but i actually drew a victorian au a long time ago but never uploaded it! it was inspired by the sort of dark/gothic/melodrama victoriana like sweeney todd, crimson peak, penny dreadful etc

-this takes place vaguely in "london," not the real place but the grimy, perpetually overcast, singing and dancing jack-the-ripper style place of sweeney todd & the like. everyone has magic powers, often of the sort that has terrible cost to their own health & sanity the more they use it

like these , with nothing "normal" in between

Amelia contacts real ghosts through her crystal ball (containing the skull of a mysterious someone...) which act according to her orders, so that it looks to anyone else like she's moving things through telekinesis or learning things about other people's activities through extra-sensory perception; she's started hearing the ghosts all the time even when she's not intentionally calling them up.

makoto paints pictures which affect the real world, either predicting future events or being able to paint an object and then just reach into the picture and take it out as a real object; she's working on painting life-like animals and people and trying to turn them into real living creatures which is slowly turning her into a sort of doctor frankenstein mad scientist (except, an artist instead of a scientist).

rolls royceton acts like a rich swell but can transform into a huge monstrous creature like the hulk/jekyll and hyde; he intentionally does it to fight/threaten people so as to build territory for his gang but it's started happening out of his control.

vinny was supposed to be executed for theft...and it didn't work; he's essentially a zombie that is still thinking and feeling and doesn't understand it at all but is too scared of dying for real to try to "fix" it.

-various murder mysteries happen through magic or strange dramatic circumstances (no one gets shot with a regular gun for normal murder reasons; it's always some rare poisoned dagger or bizarre curse or something), which amelia & co solve (or technically solve, by getting someone to reveal what's happening)

-a lot of the world revolves around the powers people have & what that means for people of different social classes or genders or ethnicities--a wealthy girl who can blow people up with her mind wouldn't do such a rude thing in society, it's unladylike! a street urchin who can heal people with their hands is probably just using that as an excuse to pick pockets, you know how those people are... as a result, a lot of those murder mysteries are something ironic, like a kindly old grandma whose cookies force people to mind their manners or else be poisoned because manners matter more to her than murder. it's the sort of place where if someone jumped off a bridge, everyone else would judge them like an olympic diving competition

-the characters first meet at a masquerade ball all wearing masks and different clothes, where a murderer is hiding by changing costumes. there should be an exploration through the crypts of an ancient cursed church, a mysterious carnival full of actual magic and deadly games, a theater with a ghost directing (and possessing) the living actors to have the Perfect Performance(TM), twisting back alleys where you could find anything (literally anything) for sale or might get murdered or simply disappear; gothic-steampunk-esque vibes...

-this has gotten more grim than the request implied haha, but i think there's an element of a group of selfish, sometimes callous people coming together in a found-family way and realizing that they want to be better than that and eventually either working to be better people or tragically failing because the terrible things they've done in the past have come back to haunt them. like most of the story would be somewhere between horror and dark comedy, but the final act would actually be life or death for the main characters

[manyothermusingsofmine]

Quick Step || Drabble

Fandom: Xmen

Warnings: None (let me know)

Wordcount: 3013

Summary: Miranda got upgraded to a new opponent and uh she's having A Time TM about it.

Cause trying not to love you, only makes me love you more

------------------------------------------

She had about ten more minutes before she actually needed to be in the danger room for the session she very much didn't want to have. Clutching onto the staff she had recently been given at Gambit's recommendation, Miranda was trying to strong will herself into not just turning the other way when a voice came from somewhere behind her

'Sugar? What are ya standing by the door for, actin' like it's gonna sprout teeth to bite ya?"

Sure, have Rogue see this, that would definitely stop this feeling of being pathetic that rang through her torso. Shooting a sideway glance at Rogue, Miranda clung onto the staff like it was her only lifeline left in the in the world.

"… Think there's still a chance for me to book it to the nearest church and beg for sanctuary? Do they still do that?"

"Thought ya weren't religious?"

"I'm not, but this might be the day that changes."

Rogue rolled her eyes at that, though it was far more out of amusement than anything else. If the girl really thought she could just vanish out of an appointment like this she was sorely mistaken. Watching as Miranda made absolutely zero progress in getting a move on, she placed her hands on her sides.

"Oh for heaven's sake, girl, just go in. Standing 'round here worrying what's waiting for ye on the other side of the door ain't helping anyone, now. Go on, or need I make ye go myself?!"

“Okay, okay, fine, damn; I get the hint!” Miranda snapped, her response fueled by her nerves.

Entering by herself instead of being dragged in by another resident of the mansion didn't mean she entered the danger room with any more confidence to her, and whatever she did had sank a little at seeing Kurt stand there. Yeah, okay. Facing a swordsman. What could possibly go wrong? Aside from just about everything.

"Och, meine Freundin, you seem even paler than usual. Are you feeling alright?"

"As alright as anyone can feel having to face someone with three swords."

"That I didn't bring."

".... Come again?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly feeling at ease in the room as he claimed his space there, tail lightly and calmly swishing around him. He looked at her with a light smile on his face; was that because he was glad she showed up when she really felt like bolting several times over before even starting?

"I'm not bringing swords to a staff fight; that doesn't seem very fair with you being a beginner."

Miranda quirked an eyebrow at that, taking one hand off the staff so she could twirl it with the other, easily making it go airborne and catching it on the way down. With a similar ease she flipped it over her shoulders, letting her wrists rest on the staff while shifting her weight to her hip.

".... Not that much of a beginner. Impressive."

"Yeah well," she huffed, "turns out Gambit's favorite variety of lies is 'by omissions,' so I guess he got us both there. If you didn't bring swords, what did you bring?"

"Myself."

She blinked twice at him, not really following where he was going with this whole thing. If this was meant to be some kind of weapon training, then him not having any didn't seem fair either. He said nothing, merely shifting to a position where he held out his hand, gesturing at her to come and attack. Okay. sure. She could do that. Could she? Did she want to?

"Well, wait, hold on a minute. Just exactly what is off limits here? Are we using our powers?"

"I'm not."

"How wonderfully vague that leaves me on my end, but fine, and you sure you don't want to run out and grab a weapon? This hardly seems reasonable if I'm supposed to attack an unarmed-"

"Miranda," how did he manage to sound both so polite and so firm at the same time- However he did it, it shut her up immediately as he continued; "you're stalling."

Okay, fine. Actually, not fine; she didn't want to do this if he was unarmed from the start. Maybe that was why her attack was so halfhearted that Kurt avoided it completely by smoothly stepping aside.

"Ach, Drifting, please, I do expect a little better from someone who I've been told 'fights like a stray street cat once cornered'. Gambit's words, not mine,” he ended as a conclusion, and though it was clearly meant to be critique on her choice the tone of his voice was calm and polite

A deep sigh left her, as she slowly turned back around to him. That had been incredibly easy to dodge, but.....

"I don't want to hurt you."

She was so soft and genuine about it that Kurt couldn't help but feel his heart flutter at it ever so slightly, but he shook it off because in reality, that made the root issue clear. What if the opponent didn't give her the luxury of that choice?

"We deal with more than just Sentinels eager to destroy us. Sometimes it's other mutants we have to fight, for a myriad of reasons. If we happen to need to restrain or help a mutant who's just discovering their mind control abilities, there's a high chance you'll end up fighting someone you don't want to face off against. I want you to feel like you can hold you own in a situation like that; for your own sake."

He had been calmly and slowly approaching her, in no rush to be anywhere as he gave her a soft, reassuring smile. As soon as he felt like he had eased her mind a little, mischief started to mix itself into the smile.

He grabbed onto the staff, pushing backwards with enough force and direction to make her spin around. Getting his hand in between her and her grip on the weapon he easily twirled her hand around until it made her let go of the staff, gently pushing her off balance and claiming the weapon for himself by grabbing hold of it with his tail. As she wobbled for a moment to regain her footing, he calmly held the staff to his shoulder like it was the lower part of an umbrella.

"Besides," he said, an airy tone to his voice in order to lighten the mood, "I sincerely hope you don't assume I got where I am just by batting my eyelashes at the right people. I appreciate that you don't want to hurt me, truly; but I've been through far worse than a danger room fight with a newcomer."

"... they just gave me that," Miranda huffed, realizing how much of a completely valid call out that was as the heat of shame burned in her cheeks, "the staff."

"I'll be honest, I don't feel much for seeing you claw and bite your way out of a fight to the death today. You don't want to hurt your friend? Disarm them instead."

She exhaled sharply, something in her attitude towards this whole thing changing. At the very least, he deserved to be treated with the same respect she had for any of the Xmen and the genuine hard work they put in- and for her to put in the effort as well.

But charging with the appropriate valor did nothing as he blocked her, redirecting her energy by twisting, turning and flowing all with the pure grace of a gymnast. He guided her along his back, half spinning her by the end to throw her off balance once again, with her desperately trying to stay on her feet. Tossing the staff into his hand, he used his tail to spin her back around his way.

"I do have to say," he started, blocking her hand as it reached towards the weapon and easily guiding her backward by moving his feet in between hers so she had no choice but to back up, "our Cajun Freund was right about one thing-"

Hooking his foot right behind one of her heels he fully tripped her up, only to easily and gently catch her with his tail so she didn't actually fall flat on the floor

"Your footwork is really poor."

For a moment she didn't respond, needing to comprehend just how easy it had been for him to change her trajectory like he had- and how all of a sudden it actually sank in just how physically capable he was- had she really never noticed before just how much power he held behind his kind nature and gentle touch? She tried to ban the thought out of her head and resummon her focus

"... Okay, first of all, he called it horrendous. Secondly, how am I supposed to overpower you when you could easily throw me across the room if you wanted to?!"

"I was trying to be nice about it; and it has nothing to do with brute strength. Here," his tail pushing her back up on her feet while he held his arm out to her, "let me show you. Put your wrist against mine. The opposing one."

She wanted to give some kind of dry remark to that, but the soft look in his golden eyes made it die down in the back of her throat and she just sighed, following his instructions. He simply and slowly showed how he rolled and hooked his hand over her wrist, giving it little choice but to go in the direction he wanted it to turn.

"Try it."

She mirrored what he did, surprised when his wrist reacted much the same way and obeyed the direction she send it in.

".... And how do I know that's not you going easy on me to give me a false victory?"

"Because I would never patronize you like that. It has nothing to do with strength and all with how to block and dodge. As for Gambit, minus the decorative ways he uses to asses you, he is right. You leave your flanks wide open, your footwork needs quite a bit of help, and for a mutant so dependent on her peripheral and perception you tend to focus so hard your mind becomes a one way track dead set on completing the task at hand. Which begs the question; how did you beat Gambit?"

"By playing dirty?"

"By taking enough time to think about your plan of attack. When put under pressure you have enough insight to whisk yourself away from the line of fire to assess what your plan of attack should be. You need to start doing the same for your defense. I truly don't care how dishonorably you get out of any given fight you're in; I just want you getting out. Alive. Because I don't want to see you hurt."

Her gaze went to the ground, a small sigh leaving her as she knew he spoke the truth with the same kindness he always possessed, and her breathing seemed to ease up a little when his feedback came caveated with compliments.

"Und so," he said as he easily stepped back, twirling the staff in his hand, "challenge still stands. Want this back? Disarm me."

Okay, he knew that was never going to happen, right? ... Eh, it was worth another try if she followed his instructions and advice.

Though knowing what she was doing and what she was up against didn't mean it was suddenly easy for her to copy him. Sure, she now managed to actually turn the tides a few times, making his limbs bend to the direction she wanted to go instead of being rag dolled around with no control over the situation, but her staff remained tantalizingly just out of her reach, constantly pulled away from her grasp as she felt like she was just about to actually reach it.

Kurt even managed to use it against her, guiding the staff along her lower back and grabbing onto the end he wasn't holding yet before pulling her in and closing what gap was left between them. He had her caught- did he?

Ignoring the way her heart had skipped a beat when they were suddenly chest to chest, she seemingly trapped herself further by pulling her arms in close and dropping them down, but it was only to twist and hook both around his hands as she gave a sharp pull upwards.

He dropped the staff; and thats where she realised she had miscalculated where he would drop it. It pretty much immediately rolled under her own feet, completely tripping her up. Kurt reacted faster; grabbing onto her wrist and pulling her back the way she came- as her own feet crisscrossed each other he gave her a slight twirl and caught her in his other arm as if they had ended a dance routine in a dramatic dip.

"Don’t worry; I've got you."

Dance- it really had felt like that, and not like a slow waltz which seemed like the more logical choice for the resident German. It had felt much more like a ballet routine with a partner, or- or a tango.... When had this room become so incredibly, uncomfortably warm? She found herself suddenly, genuinely, deeply concerned that he could somehow hear her heartbeat as it raced in her chest and almost seemed to throb against her ribcage. That was just from the exercise and fear of falling at the end, right? Right?!

"Miranda?"

"Please don't drop me."

She mentally facepalmed at just how damn obvious of a request that was. Of course he wasn't going to drop her; if he didn't care about keeping her from falling on the ground he wouldn't have caught her in the first place

"I won't," he answered in a soft, warm tone, gently pulling her back up, paying it little mind that she held onto his other arm as she still felt wobbly on her feet.

'We are so close together right now; it would be so easy to kiss him,' and at that thought from somewhere in the back of her skull her entire brain just absolutely panicked.

She tapped the arm she was holding three times, handing the victory to him. Before he could see how the heat was tinting her face red, her invisibility switched on as it finally realized it had to do damage control on the situation, all while her brain was somewhere in the middle of just panic screaming and hard crashing and- She had to get out of here. Now.

 

Shoving her foot under the staff on the floor as she walked towards it, she smoothly kicking it up and grabbed it while b-lining it for the door; hitting the button to open the mechanical door with her fist.

"Miranda," she heard him call after her, "are you alright?"

God, he sounded so sweet and concerned it almost felt criminal to- would some braincell deign to formulate a damn response instead of leaving him hanging like that?!

"... Uhuh," she responded, sounding as if she was in a daze, and she hoped that later on that would help in playing the whole thing off as another bout of nausea and vertigo instead of- Her mind almost hissed at her to not repeat it, slipping out the door and finding somewhere to hide out until her heart stopped feeling like it wanted to leap out of her chest.

Kurt just stood there, gaze to the side for a moment as he thought of what happened and what made her rush out like that all of a sudden- Oh. Uhm…

As red heat mixed with blue fur, the slightest hint of purple dusted itself onto his cheeks. Maybe he had overstepped some boundary by how close this fighting style required people to be. If that was the case, he better apologize to her about it later. Or now. Sticking around here wasn't going to help much either way. He waited until the heat in his cheeks left, opening the door only to immediately run into Gambit. Wait, into who?

"... Weren't you supposed to be otherwise occupied?"

"Oui," Remy calmly responded, arms lazily draped over his chest as he stepped out of the way and leaned against a wall, "in about an hour or so- Did Gambit fail to mention that?"

"Wh- Oh, are you for real?! What was this whole set up for, then?!"

"Gambit does genuinely want your opinion on her skills, is all."

"... Well, it's as your own commentary says; flanks, footwork, one track mind. But she's a quick learner, once she's willing to listen and stops putting herself down."

"So can you help her?"

"Of course I can," Kurt answered with a small smile, as Remy barely moved from his spot while observing the blue mutant. The Cajun couldn't keep a small amused huff of air from escaping him, only slightly distracted by something rather telling.

"Well, if you're wanting to be ‘professional teacher lingo’ about this," and with his index finger, middle finger and thumb he grabbed onto Kurt's tail to stop it from wagging like it was, "you gotta stop doing that, mon ami. It's giving you away."

As it went from happy puppy wagging to cat deeply offended you dared to touch them, Gambit let go as soon as he felt the tail giving even the slightest hint that it was going to yank itself back, lest it would fling him down the corridor instead.

"Let go," Kurt said firmly while pulling his tail back to himself, "don't you have somewhere better to be?"

"Don't you?"

".... Shut up," and with that Kurt disappeared in a puff of purple smoke to get out of the conversation, leaving Gambit there laughing to himself.

"Ai, mon ami, sounds like Drifting is starting to be an influence on you. In more ways than one," he said just to himself now, before pushing himself off the wall and leaving to tend to his own business.

[pyporapy]

Hey Jay :) give me a rundown of your OCs >:)

This has been sitting in my askbox for a while and I forgor to reply sorry Birby 😭🙏

Anyway!!! Let me give you the shortest possible rundown of my ocs as I try not to die in the process:

This is Grisha. He’s a bitch and can see dead people but it’s not a good thing. Chronically ill because of the dead people thing and has Some Issues regarding religion. Suffers of the godforsaken combination of “too many trust issues” x “very desperate for human connection”. God’s little chew toy and very painfully aware of it

This is Felix. He tries to be cool but is actually just some guy (and a kinda lame one at that but in a good way, at least). Has some deep-seated issues regarding himself and his sense of identity after years of pretending to be someone he isn’t for people that were never all that worth it but surely this won’t ever come back to bite him in the ass at some point. Neither will the fact he keeps running away from the past. Very emotionally congested but acts like he’s alright and chilling. Loves his daughter and is a true doñita at heart. Also he’s half ecuadorian which is important to mention to Me, an ecuadorian

This is Laura. She’s as close as we get to the only normal person in the cast but if anything she’s just the Least fucked up one. Constantly stressed and an overachiever. Enough caffeine in her blood to kill a horse. She does a good job at making people respect her but also she’s a girlfailure at heart. Not nearly enough social skills which is why her best friend is the only other guy in the office who doesn’t have friends either. Needs a hug and a nap but is too proud to ask for any of those. Doesn’t believe in the supernatural at all so she feels like everyone around her is pulling an incredibly elaborate prank to which she doesn’t get the punchline

This is Viktoria. She’s a bodyguard and a trained assassin since childhood. Feels incredibly disconnected from her emotions due to this that when they hit her on like a random tuesday at 3 AM she doesn’t know what to do. Feels more like a tool than a person and is so used to people not actually paying attention to her as a human being that when someone does she’s too awkward to keep the interaction going. Can and will kill you but she just wants to retire at this point. Tough and terrifying but also kinda lame but she’s allowed to be. As a treat

This is Cain. He’s a priest but he doesn’t actually believe in God, at least not in the orthodox way. Only reason he has the job is that they found him outside the church like a kitten in a wet box and decided to take him in, and the only reason he keeps the job is that somehow he’s good enough at it that more people join the church. A huge asshole so people either genuinely like having him around or just put up with him. Can also see dead people but it’s not nearly as catastrophic as Grisha’s case. Also incapable of forming healthy connections with people but that’s a problem he refuses to unpack

This is Gabrijel. He’s a millionaire and a model and a celebrity and a philantropist and a cult leader but the public is unaware of only one (1) of those things, and you can probably guess which one. Manipulative and cunning and overall a pretty terrible guy but charismatic enough for people to think there’s nothing wrong with him. Completely derranged but composed enough….until he Isn’t. Viktoria can’t stand him and anyone that works directly under him doesn’t like him but he’s too pretty to be bothered I suppose. Wants to bring literal Hell onto the world bc he thinks he’s Jesus or something bigger. Wouldn’t want him to haunt the narrative or anything, that would suck

The very general plot is that a bunch of people are being murdered. Grisha and Laura investigate it. Felix gets involved because he knew one of the victims and has mysteriously large amounts of information. Gabrijel is responsible for it and it’s all linked to his evil plan(TM). He first tasks Viktoria with killing them but Viktoria is done with his shit so she acts as a double agent for him and for Laura so she can Maybe get a day of peace in her life for once. Everything goes to shit at some point but I can talk abt it later since I feel like this is already too convoluted(?). And Cain is just There for the drama of it all ig

That’s it ty for asking and sorry for taking so long avdhebfhej hopefully I will share some more canon stuff here or on instagram instead of silly things 🙏 they haven’t left my head in over six years and I might start making it everyone’s problem I’m afraid

[aquidragon]

I saw that you were accepting requests so I decided to ask for more of the "leon isn't miserable au” & “leon is happy” tags (shocker, I know) but maybe something smutty (of the fluffy variety) instead of pure fluff? Like, imagine how much of a Sap(TM) Leon would be on his honeymoon (because I certainly have) with Reader (preferably female, if you can) Please and thank you! Again!

sorry that this took so long!! I'm finally going through my requests <3

---

The church bells were still ringing in your head, even as you struggled to reach for your bags in the overhead cabinets. Some asshole had decided to shove your carry-on duffel bag in the farthest corner. Luckily, your husband, with jet-lagged blue eyes was more than happy to come to your aid. He put a gentle, large hand on the small of your back as he reached to grab the navy blue bag, with bright yellow stitching "Raccoon City Police Department" across the horizontal side. You both giggled like children as you exited the aircraft, and waited for the Uber you both ordered to arrive. You were grateful that you didn't have to wait long to get your other luggage since you were already exhausted. However, despite your droopy eyes, your heart still thrummed with excitement. The gold band around your ring glinted brilliantly in the light, freshly placed just 12 hours ago. You grinned over at Leon, who mirrored your expression with enthusiasm, bright cobalt blue eyes meeting yours. You had been dating him for almost two years, engaged for six months, and now you were married to him. During that time, you had learned every expression on your husband's face.

Including when his eyes lit up with nothing but affection and joy.

"I can't believe we're finally here." Leon mused, white teeth peeking out of his lips with a smile.

You tangled your fingers with him, resting your head on his broad shoulder. "I would have never guessed that I would be here, married to a perfect man."

"I don't know about perfect." He gave you wink, making you laugh and nudge his arm. "My wife, however, is the perfect one."

Before the playful banter could take off, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. A tinted window rolled down, and a man smiled at you both. "Mister Leon S. Kennedy?" He asked, squinting.

Leon nodded, "that's me."

"Perfect, I'm your driver."

Your Uber driver had been kind enough to drive straight to your Honeymoon destination, a cabin deep in the Appalachian woods. Although you were living in Raccoon City, just miles from the Arklay Mountains, you decided to visit the other North American mountain range.

Leon wasn't exactly a beach person, anyway. Sand got everywhere, it was coarse and irritating. The cabin was small, a singular master bedroom, with a large King sized bed with plush blankets and pillows. You crashed onto the mattress as soon as you dropped the bags at the door, the springs creaked in protest at the sudden onset of weight. It smelt like Pine-Sol, with a slight hint of burning wood. You inhaled deeply, it was extremely comfortable. "Wow, this place looks better than the photos. I didn't think that was possible." Leon commented from the doorway.

"We got lucky." You ran your fingers over the smooth silk blankets. "I want to check out the hot tub before we go to bed." "Oh really?" The blond lifted a flirtatious eyebrow, as newfound energy sparked in his feet. "I'll go ahead and figure it out then-" he walked over to you, pressing an affectionate kiss against your cheek. "Go find your bathing suit." You nodded, kissing him once on the lips before he sauntered out to the connected balcony. You slid the curtains shut, and dug through your suitcases for your bathing suit. You had picked out a new suit for your Honeymoon, something that you most likely wouldn't wear in public, but it was perfect for your husband. A sexy, scarlet bikini set. The top hardly counted as a proper bikini, barely hiding your nipples within the thin fabric, with matching thong swim bottoms. You looked at the full body mirror in the room, as your hands traced the curves of your body.

You were sure Leon would love it, the man adored you in anything, but he was extremely fond of lingerie or skimpy clothing.

He is a man, Afterall.

Your dirty thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the glass door before it slid open behind the curtains. "Hey, baby, I got the hot tub working. Come on out."

"Okay!" You sang, grabbing a towel from the same suitcase as you stepped outside. It was chilly outside, the late September breeze brushed against your skin, making goosebumps pucker across your arms.

Leon was learning over the rim of the hot tub, his hoodie sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he felt the water temperature. He heard your bare feet hitting the wooden balcony, and he turned to face you.

Blue eyes bugged out of his face, as his jaw fell agape, his ears pinking all at once. The blond took in your appearance, taking a mental image of you, from head to toe. "You look, hot." He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing deeply.

You snorted at his juvenile word choice, but you couldn't stop your smile. "Do you like it? I bought it for this week." You purred, tracing your hand over his chest, as he struggled to breathe normally.

"Yes." He exhaled deeply, biting the inside of his lip.

You grinned cheekily as you dipped into the water, finally relishing in the comforting temperature against your body. Once you were settled on one of the benches under the water, you looked up at Leon, who was still standing at the edge of the tub.

"Well, are you coming?"

Without another word, your husband threw off his hoodie and sweatpants. What caught you off guard was the lack of boxers as he practically dived in the water next to you. You squeaked as you were splashed, shielding your eyes from the chlorine.

"You're not going to wear a suit?" You asked, slightly bewildered.

"There's no one around." Leon gestured to the tall trees around you, which were starting to transform into lovely shades of sunset. "Just you."

You giggled, leaning in to meet him with a passionate kiss. His hands traced over your hot skin, thumbs circling over your arms comfortingly. "Well, I don't mind my skinny-dipping husband." You cooed.

"And I don't mind my extremely sexy wife, in a revealing bikini." Leon winked, before kissing you again. "I'm so lucky to have you, forever."

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, looking up at him, scooting closer so your chest pressed against his muscular torso. "To forever."

---

I didn't know how long I wanted this/how to end it but yipeee!!

[bravevolunteer]

winter/christmas related hcs dump !

young michael on snow days? MENACE. he's causing chaos he's throwing projectile snowballs and no one is safe. yes he did just... startle liz and evan on purpose with it, but he didn't hesitate to get into a proper snowball fight

so sorry but he IS a cheesy terrible christmas movie enjoyer. he canonically watches a terrible vampire soap opera, he's GOING to be watching the worst holiday movies you've ever seen. good luck getting him to admit to enjoying them, at least... until it's one of the only traditions he DOES keep, then he says he likes the predictability of them.

michael's opinion on most christmas music ranges from neutral-negative, but his favorite is last christmas. he's gay, watches cheesy soap operas, and it released in 1984, he's decided this one hits

the aftons used to decorate the tree together... and it was SO dysfunctional— the kids were arguing constantly, william was micromanaging the entire thing, michael rolling his eyes, multiple shattered ornaments, the tree had to have fallen over at least once. despite this, it's the kind of memory he looks back on with nostalgia even knowing things were far from as perfect as they pretended.

with that said, cursed fazbear ornaments.

michael is so bad at ice skating. so humiliatingly bad. he thinks he's going to do fine EVERY time and then falls on his ass within the first minute

type of kid to nurse a candy cane until it's a spike and poke his siblings with it

the aftons celebrate secularly ( up to interpretation, however i don't view the kids as being raised overly religious... we all know william's got some shit going on ), however they MIGHT be the family that goes to church once a year on christmas eve. to keep up a reputation. i can see it. and it would be an Absolute Fucking Disaster

imagine the aftons making gingerbread houses. just imagine the chaos. Yeah. once again william is micromanaging everything ( "this is ridiculous," he says, mid-building a gingerbread recreation of fredbear's family diner down to every last intricate detail ), elizabeth is just trying to make it look nice, michael's looks like a WARZONE, evan's has fallen apart for the fifth time now. they're all arguing over the icing and candy.

instead of a mall santa photo they have an extremely cursed photo with william and henry in the spring bonnie and fredbear suit wearing santa hats and beards

the house and diner were decorated every year.... this, of course, began to fade in the house ( decorations outlasting other traditions, putting them up to still give the appearance of normality while celebrating became dimmed to nonexistent ) until, after elizabeth's death, they just stopped going up entirely.

on michael and gift giving.... he's really not one for big grand gestures, but his gifts do show that he listens. he doesn't usually think they're much, figures he isn't very good at it, but they're always something that he knows the other person would genuinely like, he cares!

this is more referring to the corporation than the early days, but fazbear christmas album is so real to me. just... so many terrible parodies. there's multiple installments there IS one for the glamrocks. michael is sick of it

michael and . warm cozy sweater. That's It.

Fazbear Patented Mistletoe Garland (tm). in the home. thanks @comfrtcrowd

christmas in the afton household, while holidays were relatively normal in the years leading up to 1983... often highlighted a dissonance between the celebration and the growing dysfunction. the kids got whatever they asked for, they had more than enough, but material possessions don't automatically hold real emotional weight. to michael, while william's attention consisted of basic needs and whatever item he gave him on a list, sometimes it only seemed to make the emotional neglect and favoritism clearer.

following 1983... the holidays deteriorated significantly. a lot of celebrations vanished and the little that they attempted to keep alive rang hollow. putting decorations up only stood as a reminder that nothing was the same. having dinner together was grief-ridden and cold, tense at best and confrontational to explosive at worst. michael didn't ask for anything, never felt as if he deserved to celebrate after ruining his family. by the year of elizabeth's death, every attempt stopped entirely. with just michael and his father, the house felt hauntingly empty... and lonely.

when michael moves out ( both the few years before SL & when he's scooped ), it remains a time of year that tends to emphasize his loneliness. in zombie isolation, he made a few small attempts as the years passed: a little bit of shitty decor in his apartment, he watches a LOT of movies. some years, he visits liz and evan's graves, though that only results in more hopelessness more often than not

scooped michael? IMMUNE to the cold. to temperature in general ( aside from extreme heat ), he still likes winter more because of the excuse to wear more layers without getting stares

he WILL be spiking hot chocolate and/or eggnog. absolutely snuck off to do exactly this during whatever attempts to celebrate were made when he was a teenager. it's the only way he will be drinking eggnog.

@braveburned already posted about it but i'm reiterating that michael and gregory have the SHITTIEST tiny christmas tree. the lights are a fire hazard, it has a paper star, glamrock ornament, it's so ugly. michael is amused by it

ultimately, the only thing that will really get him to celebrate after the tragedies is... being around other people. he's so used to the holiday season becoming a representation of loneliness, grief, and resentment, that the only thing that can really pull him from that is found connections...