#but i still put a lot of things at the intervention spot

[urhoneycombwitch]

I know what they call you.

You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you. shy!reader

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous. Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

wc: 11k

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after. 

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music. 

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm. 

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways. 

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask. 

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him. 

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return. 

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me. 

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm. 

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot. 

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house. 

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids. 

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of. 

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again. 

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty. 

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair. 

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke. 

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it. 

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code. 

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter. 

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive. 

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily. 

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending.  “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out. 

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them. 

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in. 

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it. 

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom. 

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth. 

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits. 

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring. 

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence. 

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music. 

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around. 

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows. 

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic. 

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms. 

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate. 

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart. 

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down. 

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement. 

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?” 

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard. 

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs. 

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands. 

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel. 

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves. 

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own. 

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks. 

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form. 

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours. 

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp. 

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch. 

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights. 

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown. 

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you. 

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him. 

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation. 

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam. 

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie. 

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders. 

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh. 

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,” 

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips. 

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao

[actuallysaiyan]

Thank you for opening requests!!! I desperately needed some Nanami fluff (with slight angst, blame my hormones) 😔❤️

Reader is carrying Kento's first child, however the whole pregnancy was difficult, even putting reader's life on the line at times. Needless to say he's been quite supportive but during labor there's nothing he can do as he sees countless doctors rushing in the room.

warnings: angst, mentions of hospitals, mentions of abortions, difficult pregnancy, pregnancy, giving birth, probable mentions of blood, mentions of death and loss, happy ending!!!, breastfeeding, lots of crying word count: 1.3k pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: your pregnancy was tough and though you were determined to carry your child to term, it didn't come without a few bumps in the road. now faced with the prospect of losing you, Kento sits and waits in what he believes must be his own purgatory. a/n: Thank you for this amazing request!!! I hope you enjoy!!! Also please note I've never given birth nor been pregnant, so if things seem off, then that's why.

He’s nearly tearing his hair out of his head as he sits near the door to the hospital room where you are. You’re in labor, yet he’s not allowed inside the room. The pregnancy had been so difficult, and even with your beloved doing everything in his power to support you, the coming of your child was something that needed much more medical intervention than previously thought.

Tears sting his eyes as he watches so many doctors enter the room you’re in right now. Kento thinks about how beautiful you looked when you first became pregnant. You were absolutely glowing, and you were very much excited to carry your first born to term. Things got complicated within the second month, the doctor finding a few anomalies. Yet he had told both of you that it wouldn’t be anything to worry about. Turns out ‘nothing to worry about’ is a lot to worry about. The next ultrasound proved to be nothing but a lot of bad news. The doctor had even suggested terminating the pregnancy and to try again, but Kento had pushed for this one to keep going.

You had agreed. The doctor promised to do everything in his power to ensure that you’d be fine. Lots of bedrest, no stress and all kinds of vitamins. Lots of doctors appointments. Kento had been there with you the entire time as well. He’d leave work early most days just to be there with you at the apartment. You slept most of the day, but Kento was sure to help you with anything else you needed to do on a daily basis.

The last doctor’s appointment had been a tough one. You and Kento received the news that the birth could be extra complicated. The doctor warned about how it could potentially put you in a very rough spot in terms of health after this. He had told Kento that he’d probably need to take up most of the parental role at the beginning. Once you were allowed to go home after the birth, you’d be most likely on bedrest once again.

Kento looks over at the door of the room, his eyes still so cloudy with tears. He’s gripping the plastic of the chair, wanting nothing more than to burst into that room and hold your hand. From time to time, he’d hear the doctors calling out to one another. He heard little bits and pieces, and his heart rate escalated as he heard one of them talk about saving the baby over you. Kento wished he could go into the room and tell them not to do that.

He can’t help himself anymore. Tears spill from his eyes, and Kento removes his sunglasses. He reaches into his pocket for the monogrammed handkerchief to wipe his tears. His heart is in his throat and feels sick to his stomach. His hands shake as he reaches for the phone in his pocket, wondering who he should call just to talk to in the moment. He’s scared and he’s never been more scared in his entire life right now. Kento feels small and insignificant. What kind of husband is he if he can’t even be with his ailing wife right now?

The minutes drag on and on and on. It’s beginning to hurt him deeply. Like tiny little cuts all over his heart, breaking open and tearing the muscle to shreds. His breathing is shaky as he watches less and less people go into the room. His mind wanders; the worst possible outcomes rushing through every little thought. You’ll be dead before he can even come into the room and see you. He’ll never get to see your beautiful smile again. Kento thinks of all the times he was graced with that angelic smile. It hurts so deeply, he swears he’s going to be sick.

Then, a miracle happens… he hears the cry of a baby. His baby. His heart skips a beat and comes back thumping like a hummingbird. The baby was alright. But were you alright? Did you make it out of it in one piece? Kento knows he doesn’t care if he has to take care of your little one for the rest of his days if it means he gets to have you in his arms again. He’ll gladly be the best dad to your little baby and give you all the time you need to rest.

A few minutes later, one of the nurses slowly approaches him. She has a tiny little bundle in her arms, and the tears begin to well up in Kento’s eyes once more.

“Nanami-san?” She calls out to him, and he gets up from his chair and approaches her.

“It’s me…I’m Kento Nanami.”

She unveils the little bundle and Nanami begins to cry when he sees his little daughter. She’s crying a little, and he sees that she has his eyes. His heart feels so full for  a moment, then he begins to think back to you. The nurse hands him the small baby and soon she’s looking up at her dad.

“Your wife needs a little more care. She’s lost a lot of blood—”

Kento’s eyes widen, “Will she be okay?!”

The nurse smiles patiently, “Your wife will be okay. She just needs a little extra care. The doctors have stopped the bleeding. I just thought you’d like to see your little one.”

Kento sighs a breath of relief. His heart feels full again. And then he hiccups softly when he feels his little baby reaching out to him. She’s so tiny and so soft and so cute. Her eyes look just like his own. She has your nose and your smile. And she has his ears, which makes him laugh.

“If you’d like to come with me, I can get you situated in a comfortable room and we’ll bring your wife in when she’s ready to be in the recovery room.”

Nanami nods happily; he’s at a loss for words. He follows the nurse to a recovery room that was set up for the baby and the mother. He’s seated in a very comfortable chair, the little daughter still safely nestled in his arms. The nurse tells him she’ll be back with his wife once she’s ready to be in recovery.

At that moment. Kento begins to fall in love all over again. His little baby is really here in his arms. She coos and coughs a little, still getting used to being outside in the world. She’s so tiny and so precious. More tears slide down his cheek as he leans down to press the softest little kiss on her forehead.

“Hi my sweetness…you’re a part of the Nanami family now. Yes you are, my little angel.”

His words surprise him a little, but he’s been waiting for this moment for so long. It felt agonizing to watch you go through the worst pregnancy ever. It’s all worth it to finally be able to hold this little bundle of joy. He presses another kiss to her forehead and he begins to relax a little more.

After an hour, the nurse knocks on the door. Then she opens it, and she and another nurse are wheeling in his wife on a gurney. You look at Kento and you see the tears in his eyes. He’s so relieved to see you well enough to be here with him. Kento gets up as the bed is settled into the right position.

“You did it, my love. You gave birth to our little angel.” Kento says as he begins to settle the sleeping baby into your arms. She fusses a little and you undo your hospital gown top to let her feed from your breast.

“I’m so grateful, Ken. I didn’t know what was going to happen…and I…” you hiccup softly. Your little girl latches onto the nipple and you feel your heart filling with joy as she begins to suckle.

“Shhh…it’s okay, my love. We’re okay. You’re okay.” Kento reassures you.

He looks at you feeding your daughter, and he knows nothing will ever take either of you away from him. Nothing.

[itsdeniini]

⋆JAKEHOON BOND⋆

୧ ‧₊˚ 🦇⋅ n☆ote : i am a self-taught tarot reader, and the interpretations i provide are personal. if anyone would like to share their own insights, i would be more than happy to hear them! please be kind <3 ⎛⎝( ` ᢍ ´ )⎠⎞ᵐᵘʰᵃʰᵃ

Oh, those two are such a playful duo in MANY ways. Whether that is good or bad, it doesn't matter! Doing the dumbest sh!t together, like getting drunk in a hotel and starting a pillow fight? Yes. A common idea pops into their minds, like assembling a drawer together, where Jake will study the instruction attentively while Sunghoon will assemble it according to his logic. Yes? OF COURSE. What I want to say with this is that their connection is very strong. I may sound boring and quite obvious, but Jakehoon are certified soulmates, and I can't put that in any other words. It's just like that! They're vibing, a perfect fit for each other in terms of friendship, so I think destiny is most probably involved here. (The Fool, 2 of Cups, The Lovers)

They take good care of each other and are protective of their friendship because they don't need third-party intervention; they're cool in two. Also, sometimes they make no sense. They're really extremely random, and if that is the case in the future, they may organize something spontaneous together, like a trip to the countryside, where they can enjoy each other's company. (The Empress, The Hermit, The Knight of Wands)

One thing about them is that they bring their softer sides to each other. While they're trying to appear resilient with others and just occasionally joking around with them to not appear blunt, in private, Jake and Sunghoon are two different people. They enjoy their local jokes, which can be quite dirty, mock each other's expressions or actions, take embarrassing pictures while sleeping, or do it stealthily, and then use them as compromising evidence. (The Moon, 6 of Cups, The Page of Swords)

Into the bargain of those things I said until now is that they enjoy to improve simultaneously, be well-traveled, and introduce themselves to new people. They are doing that to expand the circle of their interests and not stomp on one place in their own connection. They want a highly structured bond that is based on principles and ethics that both should follow. Since Jakehoon are both career-oriented people, they are willing to advocate for each other even if that will cost them something. Either way, they know that they have a lot of opportunities together or separately, so they won't back off until they achieve justice for both. (The Chariot, Justice, The World)

Now I want to specify one thing that can sound a bit somber, but let's not forget that in terms of being controlling, Jake and Sunghoon are taking the first two spots in ENHYPEN. They are not only protective of each other but also of their partners. Let's take this example: One of them gets a partner, and the other one is still single, and he would obviously be supportive, but with a pang of jealousy. Maybe he would like to take his revenge in a playful manner just to tease his buddy and see his reaction. Why not? What can he try? Flirt with his lover? Hm, good idea! So here it GOES... If 1 sees just a hint of flirtatiousness in the behavior of 2, then it's DONE! 1 will be infuriated and will demand explanations; why would he do that to him when he knows that he's protective of his lover? 2 would just brush his words off and say that this was just a joke, but then he wouldn't be happy with that joke at ALL. That may create a conflict between them that they will solve shortly after, but the aftermatch will taste bitter. They will warn each other to never do that in the future if they want to protect their friendship. (The Emperor, 7 of Swords, 5 of Wands)

Did I say something about bantering higher? Anyways, the thing is that they're both so stubborn about how they live or should live, how the world works, and how life situations should be approached. Damn! Those dudes are bickering too much 😭 In a way, it's something that keeps them entertained, and they know that only when they're together can they debate such topics. (5 of Swords, 2 of Pentacles, The Magician)

They got that sense that they both belong together, and they make a quality team! Don't you ever get the feeling that Jakehoon is just THAT duo? You can't see them in any other way, can you? They're just so natural in everything they're doing together, and that's what attracts other people to look after their friendship. Their details don't have to be the same when both of them are Siamese twins. (2 of Cups, 4 of Wands, 2 of Wands)

Public image. They want to show everything to ENGENE. They want to trust them with the front and back sides of their friendship! They've been through a lot, and they are continuing to experience things that the majorities don't know about. You know how it works; there is always a hidden aspect to every connection between people, and they are not an exception. There are also things that are not for the public's eyes or ears, something that they can share with each other. And in fact, they have some secrets that they would like to keep in a box under a lock. If they started together, then they will go together until the end, and everything in the name of their joint goals. One of those joint goals is working in order to represent something, so I think they will continue with the double brand deals. There is the start of a new thing, a new beginning... (10 of Cups, The Hierophant, The Sun)

[ohtobeleah]

Chaos // Bradley Bradshaw

Chapter Four: Flight 29 Down

Summary: You were told that for this mission to be a success there would need to be no less then two consecutive miracles—but all you got was a back seater and a shitty ex boyfriend.

Warnings: Angst. Rooster x reader. Platonic Bob Floyd x reader.

Word Count: 7.1k

Author Note: We have some platonic Bob moments and a couple of flashbacks. Absolutely powering through this series. Also, for a filler chapter before we get into the big stuff somehow this is 7k.

“Not a morning person Chaos?” Hangman picked the wrong day to try and mess with you, but then again. When was there ever a good time? Slamming your locker had become something of a habit you’d created, but this morning? After having just had your heart torn out and gutter stomped into nothingness by the man you promised yourself you wouldn't go back to– it only seemed out of necessity. You know, so you didn't blow your own brains out. “You look awfully tired? No coffee in the mess hall?”

“Hangman, there are exactly three places you can stay for free, the fuck out of my face, the fuck out of my way and the fuck out of my buisness.” The silence that filled the room, you swore you could hear a pin drop. Everyone looked at you like you’d just committed a crime. Suddenly the centre of attention, exactly where you didn't want to be. Rooster stood by his locker, hurting himself. He didn't have the balls to confront you in the locker room, not after this morning's escapades. He thought some time passing would help ease the situation, perhaps he’d get you at a better time to just explain he hadnt done what you thought he did. He didn't have a girlfriend. He didn't want anyone except for you.

Hangman stared at you with a subtle smirk on his face, chewing a piece of gun as always. Cocky and oh so sure of himself. Looking over your shoulder he saw Rooster staring at you. Guilt just dripping off of him. Jake Seresin was good at a lot of things, but one thing he was exceptionally good at was spotting a guilt ridden man. Choosing to leave the situation he found himself in at that. Not giving you the time of day as he walked away, directly towards Rooster.

“I was right about the eleventh man theory wasn't I?” Hangman whispered as he came to stand next to Rooster. Rooster was adamant if there hadnt been so many people around he would have clocked Jake up the side of the jaw himself, but the risk to reward ratio didn't weigh up in his favour. “What exactly did you do?”

“I messed up.” Rooster's eyes never left you as he watched you leave the locker room, doing up his flight suit as he sighed. His fist slamming against the thin door of his locker. Leaving an indent. “I messed up big time.”

“God what is it with everyone abusing the lockers this morning?” Fanboy questioned as Bob shook his head as if to say don't ask. Hangman was trying his best to put the pieces together, opting to place his hand on Roosters shoulder. Smirking, still chewing that piece of gum Rooster hoped he’d choke on.

“Oh well, you know what they say man, the more you fuck around the more you find out.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Good morning.” You barely had the energy to sit and listen as Admiral Bates stood before you. Unlike yesterday, you sat snugly between Phoenix and Bob, Rooster’s gaze burning into the back of your skull as you did everything in your power to ignore him. Still seething from your fight earlier that same morning. From having your heart ripped from your chest without any medical intervention. “The uranium enrichment plant that is your target will be operational earlier than expected.” Sighing dramatically as you rolled your eyes, your head lulling to Bob's shoulder in defeat. Honestly at this point it didn’t shock you, you used to think adulthood was one catastrophe after the other– but oh how wrong you were. They all liked to pile on top of one another at the same time.

“Raw uranium will be delivered to the plant in ten days time, as a result, your mission has been moved up one week.” Now that? That sparked your interest slightly. Truth be told, It scared you—what the hell? What time did any of you have?

“I don’t mean to offend, but you know you look like hell right? Everything okay?” Bob leaned over as he whispered in your ear.

“Thanks Bob, you always know how to make a girl feel awfully sure of herself.” You teased as you sat up straight, sending him a soft and subtle smile. “Im fine–” Admiral Bates raised his voice a fraction, gaining your attention once again.

“In order to avoid contaminating the target valley with radiation.” Bob kept his attention on you though. Something had happened, he just wasn’t sure what. You looked tired—sad. What had Bradshaw done? Bob had a pretty good memory and it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. He knew Rooster had a tendency to break your heart, his favourite pastime. A hobbyist.

“Sir, no one here has successfully flown a low-level course.” Coyote interjected as he sat up a little straighter. More integrated. Concern plastered evidently on his face.

“Nevertheless you've been ordered to move on.” Admiral Bates wasn't a warm man, but this? Even this was a little out of his usual realm of expertise. “Captain–” He gestured as Maverick stepped before the group, you'd all seamlessly lowered yourselves into the chairs you sat on. Defeated even before the first training session of the day. The deck was truly stacked against you, everyone felt it. But you felt it the most. How on earth could you pull yourself together to be able to look Bradley in the eye and confidently tell him you’d have his back if you were told to fly together? At the moment you couldn't. No way in hell, completely blinded by rage.

“We have one week left to focus on phase two, it's the most difficult stage of the mission.” All you could do was listen at this moment in time, but that was difficult when memories of last night were rushing through your head. The juxtaposition of love and wholeness you felt in Bradleys arms completely diminished by the anguish and betrayal you felt when you heard those words come through his phone. His girlfriend? What fucking bullshit. Did you have loser tattooed on your forehead? Perhaps use me?

“It's a pop-up strike with a steep dive requiring nothing less than two consecutive miracles.” Pete held up two fingers as he looked your way, making a mental note at how drained you looked. Something was off– he could tell. Turning his attention to Rooster who sat across the aisle from you, who looked just as awful. Fuck not now. Not with the teams he’d already proposed to the Admirals for training today. Whatever it was, it would have to wait.

“Two pairs of F-18’s will fly in a welded wing formation, teamwork, precise coordination of these aircraft is essential to both the mission's success and your survival.”

“As you know, the plant rests between two mountains.” Pete went on to explain as you watched the graphic play behind him. Taking notes as you watched the screen run through of the mission someone in operations must have digitalised. “On final approach, you’ll invert directly into a steep dive. This allows you to maintain the lowest possible altitude and the only possible attack angle.”

“Your target is an impact point less than three metres wide. The two seat aircraft will paint the target with a laser bull-eye. The first team will breach the reactor by dropping a laser-guided bomb on an exposed ventilation hatch.” This all seemed too surreal. How on god's green earth were any of you supposed to pull this off?

“This will create an opening for the second pair, that's miracle number one.” Maverick pointed out as he walked up and down the front.

“The second team will deliver the kill shot, and destroy the target. That's miracle number two.” It wasn’t that Rooster wasn’t paying attention—he was. But as he fumbled the necklace you’d thrown on his lawn, he couldn’t help if his mind escaped to someplace far away. He’d managed to fix it in the time he sat eating his breakfast before work. Thinking of all the ways he could explain himself.

“If either team misses the target? Then the mission is a failure.” Rooster couldn’t help but to think about the moment he’d gifted it to you. Your sixteenth birthday.

His face still hurt like a mother fucker. The stitches in his eyelid, cheek and neck would be a dead giveaway to the pain that radiated across every inch on his face. But Bradley Bradshaw would need to be six feet under in order to miss your birthday.

“What the hell are you doing here!?” You beamed, so unbelievably excited as you took Bradley into your arms. Being as careful as you could be so as to not hurt him. Still battered and bruised. “You should be at home!”

“I wasn’t gonna miss this.” Bradley beamed back as you gently ran your fingertips across his cheek. “Trust me—it looks worse than it really is.”

“I find that really hard to believe.” Two weeks prior to your sixteenth birthday, Bradley Bradshaw has gone head first out the windshield of his buddy TJ’s 1998 Toyota Corolla. He hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt. For a few days it had been pretty chaotic to say the least. But you’d spent every morning before school and every afternoon after school by his bedside. Some afternoons even staying so late that the nurses had to remind you of visiting hours.

He’d learnt a valuable lesson that day, to savour every moment he could because life was precious. He’d also decided that loving you was going to be the one thing he was going to put any effort, any time into.

“Enough about me—I got you something.” Bradley pulled out a small box from his back pocket. Handing it over as you took it gently. Your dad watching the moment from a distance, asking god to give him strength if a Bradshaw was gonna be the one who stole your heart. “I just thought maybe having something to always know how much I appreciate you would make things a little easier to process when I get myself into situations.” He wanted to say how much he genuinely loved you—but right now? With all your friends and family around for a barbecue, he’d settle.

“Bradley—it’s beautiful.” You cooed as you opened the small box, the left side of a silver broken heart with a small B.B etched into it. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Bradley pulled out the other half that hung around his neck. “See, I’ve got the other half.”

“Well I'm sure it’s the only broken heart I’ll ever have as long as I have you around.” Pushing yourself onto the tips of your toes, you gently kissed Bradley Bradshaw on the lips for the second time in his life. Stealing his breath away. The first time being when you were playing a game of spin the bottle at Roger Mclauclans house over the Summer time. “Thank you, I love it.” Bradley remembers washing you dash away to show your mum. He remembered standing still with his eyes on you for what felt like an eternity before your dad made his approach.

“You look more and more like your old man every time I see you kid.” Tom smirked as he stood next to the seventeen year old. “Just don’t grow a moustache, ever.”

“I’m trying my best Mr.K—“ Bradley teased. Rubbing your cheeks. “But I’m not quite there yet.” He remembered standing with your dad, both admiring the person you were becoming, sighing Tom asked an incredible question that Rooster still remembered his answer to word for word.

“What are your intentions with my daughter Bradshaw?”

“Just want to love her the way she deserves to be loved, Mr.K”

“Egress is a steep high-G climb out to avoid hitting the mountain.”

“A steep climb at that speed? You’re pulling at least eight G’s–” Hangman was quick to interject as he sat across the aisle. His eyes drawn to the graphic display behind where Pete stood. He was in this–every ounce of his being was in this mission.

“Nine minimum, most likely.” You offered your opinion easily, knowing eight G’s wouldn’t be enough to get you over the lip. “Closer to ten if you really wanna keep your speed going over the lip–basic aerodynamic maths.”

“The stress limit of an F-18’s airframe is seven point five.” Rooster ran his mouth as you turned to face him in your chair. His eyes dark as he twirled his pen. He’d abandoned all his Inhibitions at the threshold of the door you were so eager to leave through this morning. His neck littered with bruises, reminders of how close he came to being yours again and just how easily he let you slip through his fingers. “Basic, knowing your aircraft.” Bob felt your hand ball up into a fist beside him, opting to cover it with his own as he looked at you completely blinded by range.

“That's the accepted limit, to survive this mission, you’ll pull beyond that. Even if it means bending your airframe.” Maverick had your back, you were right. Rooster eased off a little into the back of his chair, watching as you let your head fall back to Bob's shoulder. Tired. Still listening to what Pete had to say.

“You’ll be pulling so hard, you’ll weigh close to two thousand pounds,your skull crushing your spine, your lungs exploding like an elephant sitting on your chest, fighting with everything you have just to keep from blacking out.”

“And this is where you'll be at your most vulnerable, this is coffin corner. Assuming you avoid crashing into the mountain, you’ll climb straight up into enemy radar while losing all of your airspeed.” A sudden beeping rang throughout the room as you watched the two jets flash red. “Within seconds you'll be fired upon by enemy SAM’s, you've all faced sustained g’s before, but this? This is gonna take you and your aircraft to the breaking point.”

“Sir, is this even achievable?” Phoenix cooed as she sat quietly taking everything in—she’d been benched with a sinus issue for today, grounded.

“The answer to that question will come down to the pilot in the box.” Maverick lethis answer linger for a second as he pulled a piece of paper from his top left pocket. Unfolding it as he rubbed his brow. “First team will be the red team, Hangman flying with Payback and Fanboy. Second team will be the blue team.” You caught onto his pause, perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea Pete thought to himself. But nevertheless—he persisted. A chance now would be detrimental to the lineup of today's runs. “Because Phoenix is out with a sinus issue it’ll be Rooster with Chaos flying pairs with Bob.” This couldn’t be fucking happening.

“Mav!!” You shot up out of your chair like a rocket, laser locked eyes mixed with a locked jaw. “You can’t be serious—“

“Trouble in paradise huh Rooster?” Fanboy bumped into Roosters shoulder as you looked at him. His eyes full of regret and love. Rooster knew you were hurting, but the extent of it he was blind to.

“It’s not a question Lieutenant, either fly or pack your gear. That’s an order.” Vice Admiral Beau’s voice bellowed from the back of the room as you spun around to face him. Groaning, you marched off to grab your gear—feeling completely set up to fail. Deciding hiding your emotions was going to be the only thing that would get you through this day—either that or a lobotomy.

***~***~***~***~

“Chaos!” Rooster caught up with you as you walked towards the double seater F-18 you’d be flying. It had been a minute and truly? You didn't know if you were ready to do this again. Simply because the idea of having Bob’s life in the palm of your hand scared the shit out of you. “Y/n!” You didn't dare slow down, ignoring Rooster as he called your name. “Lieutenant Kazanksy, a word, please?” God he got you with that one. Knowing you couldn't deny a direct order. Rolling your eyes with a huff, you turned to face Rooster. Both geared up in your flight suits and flight gear. “We need to talk–”

“About what, exactly? The way you manipulated me into thinking you really wanted to change or the fact you omitted key details about your blooming love life!” Your voice was just above a scream. Nostrils flaring. You were just trying to protect your heart at this point.

“I didn’t omit anything Y/n, if you would just let me explain then—“

“Unless it's about the mission I would like to refrain from mixing my professional and private life, Sir.” Rooster felt like he’d just been shot in the chest. You wouldn’t give him the time of day to explain. “So, do we still have anything to talk about? Or can I go now?”

“No ma'am, I guess we don't.” Silence fell heavily around the pair of you as you both stood looking each other up and down. You would rather be anyone else right now. You felt dirty, like you had to wash the first three layers of your skin off.

“Good, because this is hard enough for me to handle, standing here–with you, after I fell for the same bullshit again–”

“Y/n.” Rooster reached out to grip your forearm, only for you to pull yourself away. Bob happened to be walking towards you as you grimaced at Roosters touch.

“I sweat to go if you don’t stop touching me Bradshaw I will fucking shove my fist so far down your throat you’ll need a permanent feeding tube.”

“What are you? Psychotic?” Rooster towered over you as you held your ground, how did things change so quickly. Last night you were convinced you were the love of Roosters life. Now you were convinced he’d only ever wanted someone to play with, his personal play-thing.

“I dare you to say that again you sociopath—“ You got a little closer to him. “I’m not afraid to throw hands Bradshaw ask Hangman—“

“Okay–” Bob intervienced as he heard you threatening Rooster, reaching out for your shoulders as he led you away from the confrontation. “Enough of whatever the hell that is?” Looking over his shoulder back to Rooster with a puzzled look. God what the fuck was going on with you too?

“You good?” Bob asked as he offered you a hand up onto the wing of the F-18.

“Never been better Bob—“ Taking it, you huffed as you stepped up. Walking carefully across the mix of carbon fibre and aluminium.

“I’m not feeling inclined to believe you, somethings up.” Bob groaned as he jumped up onto the wing, pulling himself up muscle up style. It always seemed to catch you off guard as to how strong Robert Floyd really was.

“I promise I’m good, just drop it.” Bob was starting to get on your last nerve. But that didn’t stop him as you sat down in your seat. Strapping in.

“You know you’re a bad liar right?” There was something comforting in Bob's persistence. It was coming from the best part of him. But right now? Was the last place you wanted to be grilled about your love life. Behind the throttle of a god damn F-18 fighter jet.

“Jesus Bob, get off my dick—I said I’m fine!” You shouted. Bob didn’t care, he knew he was close to cracking the shell you’d surrounded yourself in. Situating himself behind you as he strapped himself in. Going through the motions. The process.

“You know beauty isn’t your lack right?” Bob learned over your shoulder from his seat behind you. “I mean—if he’s gonna call you a psycho anyway, you may as well cause a scene, just not around me because I feel inclined to intervene.” If there was one thing on this earth Robert Floyd was good at? It was being a good friend. It felt good to fly with Bob again, strange. But good. Going over your systems as you taxied down the taxiway, you made sure your communications systems were still turned off. Sighing as you explained what the hell had been going on.

“We slept together—“ It felt wrong to say. Especially since you’d told Bob just how badly things had ended in the past.

“Oh?” Well, I wouldn’t think that would be—“ You didn’t let Bob finish what he was about to say.

“Then his girlfriend called this morning.” Bob couldn’t see your face, but he just knew by the tone in your voice that you weren’t alright. Not in the slightest bit. “There’s a part of me that loves him unconditionally Bob but I swear to god I’ve never wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth more.”

“Rooster has a girlfriend?” Bob questioned as he continued checking all his systems. “That doesn’t add up?”

“Names Lindsey—“ You interjected. “She called while I was still in his bed.” You groaned as you threw your head back in defeat, squinting your eyes to stop the tears from falling. “I’m the other woman Bob, how fucking gross is that? I should be put down for this.” Placing your helmet on you flipped your visor down. “I’m completely exhausted, emotionally and physically and I feel like I’ve been broken into a million different pieces.” Bob followed suit as he placed his helmet on, flipping his visor down before he responded.

“The world breaks everyone, Chaos, the very good, the very gentle, the very brave–and those it doesn't break? It kills.” Scoffing out a small chuckle, you made your way to the end of the taxi zone.

“Is that from the good book, Pastor Floyd?” You teased as you turned your communications systems on, knowing flight control was having an aneurysm at how long it had taken you to do so. But your conversation about your forever failing love life didn’t need to be the talk of the naval base anymore than it already was.

“The great book, Hemingway.” Bob chuckled as he continued checking his systems. “All I’m trying to say is, if you let him get to you? That’s exactly what he’s gonna do.”

“That advice free?” Clipping your mask over your mouth you signalled the runway guides that you were ready for take off.

“Throw me a fiver and I’ll even write you some positive affirmations.” Bob followed suit, placing his mask on. “All systems are a go back here Chaos.”

“Roger, Roger, preparing for take off—requesting permission to engage in active drill mission run through two two nine four.” You spoke to range control. Waiting for their response you signed, gritting your teeth as you grounded yourself in your professionalism. “Rooster you copy?”

“Check, all systems in check standing by ready for take off.” Roosters' voices hit you like a frate train. He had you feeling all kinds of emotions. There was a part of you that wanted to hear his explanation, but the part of you who just wanted to get as far away from him as possible overpowered that urge.

“God this is gonna take everything I have.”

“Nice Kazansky, way to make a guy feel like you’ve got his back.” Rooster fired back as the remaining pilots sat around the break room listening in.

“The last thing I'd want is to be haunted by the ghosts of you, Bradshaw so of course I have your back.”

Your knuckles felt hash against the front door of Rooster house. Carrying an empty box for the bits and bobs you had left there over the last couple of months.

Breakups were hard enough as it is, but the moment Carole opened the front door? She was embracing you with loving arms. It made it so much harder.

“Oh sweetheart—“ Carole cooed as she pulled away, her hands still resting on your shoulders. “He’s such an idiot.”

“It’s okay Mrs Bradshaw, really.” You wiped your tears before they had a chance to stain your cheeks as you followed her into the home that held so many memories. “Maybe we just weren’t meant to be together?”

“Oh trust me honey you are definitely meant to be together.” Carole Bradshaw had never been one to not speak her mind. Following her down to Bradley’s room, she turned back to you over her shoulder as her feet padded gently against the hardwood floor. “Boys just don’t know how to think—I remember Goose tried to break up with me twice before we got married.”

“Tried?” You asked, following the women who had always treated you like the daughter she never had.

“You think I let him?” She chuckled. “I just never listened.”

“Well, I think Bradley’s pretty set on just being friends right now—“ You explained as you sat down on Bradley’s bed, next to his mother as she pushed your hair behind your ear. Admiring your beauty, your sadness. How you tried to keep yourself together even though your heart was breaking. “And at this point I think I’d just be happy to keep him in my life—so friends it is.”

“He’ll lose you one day if he’s not careful sugar, don’t let any man take you for granted, not even my son—“ Carole had always been good at giving advice. Were you going to listen? Probably not. But it was nice to hear she thought you deserved better. Looking at the picture frame Bradley had on his bedside table of you and him as children playing in the sandpit, you couldn’t hold back your sobs any longer. Falling into Carole’s arms as she consoled you. Her chin resting on the top of your head as her arms wrapped around you tight. “Oh honey, don’t let him get to you like this.”

“Why doesn’t he love me?”

“Talk to me Bob.” Roosters' voices cut through your memories like shards of glass through your skin.

“We’re twelve seconds late on target, we gotta move, we gotta move.” Bob explained as you got yourself back into the game. Throttling forward.

“Copy– Try to stay with me.” Rooster replied as you trailed just behind him. Something appeared on Bob's radar that made him question his judgement.

“Huh? Wait, who's that?” Bob questioned as Mavericks voice was sharp though the comms, coming in hot.

“Blue team, you've been spotted.” Maverick chimed in. Of. Fucking. Course.

“Shit– it's Mav.” Rooster hissed under his breath.

“What the hell’s he doing up here?” You questioned as you tried to stay on target the best you could, flying just shy of Roosters left wing.

“I'm a bandit on course to intercept, blue team what are you gonna do?”

“He's twenty miles left, ten o’clock, seven hundred knots closure.” Bob reported from the back seat as he watched the radar system before him light up. Maverick position changing rapidly.

“Your call Chaos, what do you wanna do?” Rooster’s voice rattled around in your head like a rock. Visions of his body under yours flashing before your eyes as you tried to remain focused. The way he felt inside you, the way he made you feel. Explosions of pleasure still jolting your core, the very essence of Rooster still dripping from you. Metaphorically.

“Continue, we’re close, stay on target Rooster.” He knew he should have just told you, should have just shouted it to heaven and never let you go. He should have tried harder to get you to listen, explain what the hell was going on. But He didnt and Rooster couldn't go back in time no matter how badly he wanted to.

“He's swinging around to the north!” Bob shouted, both you and Rooster committed to seeing this run through out.

“Stand by for pop-up!” Rooster engaged as you failed him. Just behind him.

“Be ready on that laser Bob” You ordered the big eyed, big hearted soul in your back seat.

“Copy” He beamed, his hand coming down to unlock his laser. Your second pair of eyes in the sky.

“Blue team, bandit is still closing–” Maverick chimed in as he came closer and closer to getting you on tone, knowing you were too damn stubborn to leave Rooster.

“Popping now!” Rooster shouted as he pulled back on his throttle, sending the nose of his F-18 high into the sky as you followed shortly after. “Talk to me Bob, where's Maverick!”

“He's five miles out. He's coming fast.” Bob turned to see Maverick coming in hot behind you.

“Targets in sight.” You shouted. Ready for this exercise to be over and done with. You couldn’t handle flying with Rooster—you had to make that known.

“Where's my laser Bob?” Rooster hissed.

“Deadeye, deadeye, it's no good. sorry– I can't get a lock.” You couldn’t help the groan that escaped you. All this effort for a deadeye?

“We’re out of time, I'm dropping blind.” Rooster tried to line his target up the best he could. Dropping blind only to miss. “Dammit, missed.”

“That’s a kill—“ You heard the tone before you heard Pete.

“Mavericks got missile lock on us–” Bob sighed in defeat.

“Shit we’re dead.'' You signed, ripping your mask from your face as you levelled out.

“Blue team, level out– Rooster, Chaos? Nice team work, try a little harder to not die next time.” Just as Maverick pulled up beside you, birds smacked against his window. “Bird Strike!” he shouted as he turned to watch them get sucked up into your engines. Sending you off course for a second before you regained your bearings. Only for a second.

“Bird Strike!–” You gasped, Jesus Christ not now.

“Chaos, you good?” Rooster's voice came through the comms a little unnervingly. “Talk to me Chaos—“

“Chaos, left engines on fire.” Bob relayed what was going on, even though he knew you already knew from the amount of alarms ringing off. This couldn't be happening, not again.

“Climbing!” You began to panic, there was no way this was happening, not now. Not after Lemoore, Not with Bob, not with Rooster. “Throttling back, shutting off fuel to the left engine, extinguishing fire.” Bob watched as the right engine began to diminish, not something you’d want to see at a time like this.

“Chaos, right engines out I repeat! right engines out!” panic laced his tone as Bob watched you do everything in your power to keep you level. Keep him safe, get him back on the ground.

“It’s still spinning, trying to restart the right engine.” You explained as you went through the motions. You lungs felt heavy, like you’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Chaos it’s on fire, don’t try to restart it!” Roosters voice came through the comms. All he could do was watch on in horror as you lost altitude, your engines on fire. Although you were an exceptional pilot, he knew you were panicking. “No—fuck, Y/n don’t!” God he loved you, so much. Rooster prayed to whoever would listen that you’d make it back to base safely. He couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t be able to handle losing you.

“Throttling up!” Warnings for every single system you had were ringing throughout the cockpit as you tried to regain control of your F-18.

“Chaos we’re on fire, we’re on fire!” Bob shouted, his own heart racing—trusting you to get him the hell out of dodge.

“Dammit–” You groaned. Feeling completely out of your depth. Feeling completely out of control of the situation. Rooster couldn’t breathe as he watched you losing control of your aircraft.

“Chaos, Bob, punch out now, punch out!” Maverick shouted in desperation. Both him and Rooster flying around watching in horror.

“There’s warning lights everywhere Chaos, we’re in hydraulic failure.” Bob reported, there was nothing left to save.

“I can’t control it–” It was the way you said it that broke Rooster's heart as he watched you burn out. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not with everything he had left to explain. “I can’t—I’ve lost it.”

“We’re going down Chaos, we’re going in, we're going in!” Bob repeated. Automated warning signals blasting throughout the cockpit.

“You can’t save it, eject, eject!” Rooster cried, hoping his voice would break through whatever clouded panicked judgment you were experiencing. “Get outta there—“

“Eject, eject, eject!” You shouted, Bob was first to pull his emergency handles, seconds later with a solid pull—you felt yourself flying up into the air. Gasping as you flug up and out of the cockpit. It wasn’t long before the jet was barreling down into the side of the valley, exploding on impact.

Damn—that could’ve been you.

***~***~***~***~

Miramar base hospital didn't really get a lot of attention most days. The small clinic accompanied with a few surgical rooms and about a dozen in patient rooms would consider it a busy evening when you and Robert Floyd were brought in for mandatory observation. There was something off putting about being made to do something you didn't want to do. You hated being poked and prodded. Hated being in hospitals, the smell of sterilised everything, it made you feel sick, weak.

“Where is she?” Roosters' voice filled the lobby. Pete Mitchell considered himself to be a patient man, but Rooster was testing his limits. Pushing himself up from the chair he sat in as Rooster came closer—his hand stopping his trajectory by pushing against his chest. “Mav—“

“I don’t know what the hell is going on between you too, but whatever it is needs to stop.” Pete grumbled as he stood before Rooster, a few inches shorter but a few decades older. “Now I've asked Y/n already and she assured me it wasn't going to be, but are you two going to be an issue going forward, or do I need to pull one of you from this program?”

“Now's not the time—where is she?” Rooster held back every single tear he wanted to cry. He’d just witness you eject from your F-18. He’d see it over and over again in his nightmares. He’d never not remember the way he felt watching you go down, thinking he was truly going to lose the love of his life, his best friend, the person who was supposed to know him better than anyone. The one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, for better or worse. And fuck things had never been wrse between you. “I just need to see her, Pete.”

“She’s with Bob, room nine.” Mavericks' voice was soft and collected as he removed his hand from Rooster. “Bradley, she’s alright, but I can't not look past whatever is going on between the two of you, it's distracting and dangerous, it's against protocol.” Rooster didn’t respond, he simply turned on his heels and ran down the hall, ignoring whatever Pete had to say as he followed the numbers on the doors, mostly empty until he spotted a very frazzled, very dazed Bob sitting in the corner of room nine. Stopping in his tracks as he saw you in the bed, out cold.

“They had to give her a sedative.” Bob explained as Rooster stepped into the room, his eyes immediately locked on you. Never wavering. “She wasn’t being cooperative—I was gonna leave but.” Bob paused as he choked up. “I know she wouldn’t leave me.”

“Bob I—“

“What the hell is your problem?” Bob hissed as he stood from his chair in the corner of the room. “Chaos told me what happened—“

“Yeah well, she wouldn’t let me explain that I don’t have a girlfriend!” Rooster had had a gutful. “I don’t—I wouldn’t do that to her! God I tried to explain it to her but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Full disclosure, it's none of my business and I really couldn't care less about any of it.” Bob hissed as he stood beside Rooster, both men watching as you slept. “But you look like the biggest idiot on the planet in my eyes.”

“Don't know how I'll ever recover.” Rooster replied, almost rolling his eyes. What did Bob know? Rooster didn't care about how he thought about him, all Rooster cared about was you.

“She’s in love with you, Rooster, undeniably and wholeheartedly in love with you for some unknown reason I dont think I'll ever understand.” Bob spoke softly, his own gaze watching as your chest slightly fell, you were still breathing. Good. “She told me that she’d never go back to her ex because that would be doing herself a disservice. She knew if she went back to him, she’d end up just as broken as she was left all the other times before.” That stug to know, that you had disclosed so much about him yet so little. But what hurt to know the most was that the damage Rooster had managed to unintentionally do, caused you so much pain. “But as much as she told me she hated him, she hates herself even more because she knows deep down he could put her through everything, rip her heart out, break it a million times, but for the chance of getting to feel an ounce of love–an absolutely miniscule amount of love she deserves, she’d swim across oceans and run across fire for him.” Rooster stood next to Bob as he tried to take everything in, his head throbbed. It was hard to deny he never needed you more than he did right now, never needed your reassurance more. Never needed to hear your laugh or see you smile or feel your touch more than he did right this very moment. Because watching you almost die, coming that close, Rooster finally understood he couldn't live without you even if he tried.

“I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that ex is you, Bradshaw.”

“It is now will you two be quiet?” You grumbled as you turned away onto your side. “I'm gonna press the distress button if you don't quit it.” Bob couldn't help but to laugh softly to himself as he shook his head, patting Rooster on his shoulder.

“I'm not a betting man, but if I was? I'd put a twenty on your jaw looking worse than Hangmans in about ten minutes.” Bob had to leave it at that, he knew you could take care of yourself. But that didn't stop him from just making sure that the ones who hurt you the most knew he wasn't very fond of them, regardless if you went back to them or not. Rooster dragged a chair to the side of the room you were facing. Sitting down as close to you as he possibly could without actually being in the bed with you.

“Chaos–”

“I'm calling security.” Reaching out for the remote, Rooster grabbed your wrist as his eyes grew a little wider. “Bradshaw, I'm serious, you are the last person I want in here right now.”

“Okay fine, but let me explain first.” Rooster let your wrist go. Watching as you pulled the thin cover up over your body a little more. The room as cold as your heart. “Lindsey, isnt, my, girlfriend.” Rooster put so much emphasis on the four words he wanted you to hear loud and clear. “She was a fling who is still a little obsessed.”

“I couldn't imagine why–” you snarled. Rooster chuckled as he leaned back in the armchair. Silence filling the room for a moment.

“I understand the picture you've painted of me isn't all that great.” I know I've hurt you, over and over, but I promise you–you’re it Y/n.”

“I'm no stranger to being lied to, Bradshaw, don't start this shit again.” You huffed, rolling over in the hospital bed you laid in, still medicated, still heavily sedated. But not enough to not remember Rooster was bad for you. Heavily addicted to a drug that you knew one day would be the death of you. Rooster let you roll over, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he hung his head low.

“You don't have to believe me–”

“I dont–” You didn't care that you had interrupted Rooster. You just wanted him to leave. Your back to him still as he tried to explain himself.

“But–” He continued effortlessly. “I thought I'd lost you.” The weight of Rooster's words felt like an elephant sitting on your chest. He already had? What difference did it make if you were alive or dead. “You’re all I want, you’re all I have.” Singing, you sat up, crossing your legs under the blanket that kept you warm.

“Bradley, my plan fell out of the sky today. Do you really think I give a shit about your feelings right now?” Picking at the cuticles of your nails. “There will be a day when I can look at you again without feeling sick to my stomach but today is not that day.”

“I just want you to know I didn't use you, I don't have someone wondering what I'm up to behind their back, I'm not a cheater.”

“Well I'm glad you can take that off the list of things you are.” Turning to Rooster, you held back tears as you saw him holding the broken heart necklace you'd thrown from your car. Handing it to you as you shook your head with a scoff. God he pulled out all the heartwarming stops huh.

“If you honestly think we can’t make this work. Tell me to walk away right now and I will.” You didn't respond, god you wanted to, you wanted to tell Rooster to get up and get out so badly, but you couldn't. No matter how hard you tried. “I should have told you earlier, but I would never do that to you, never–you are the only person I ever want to be with.”

“You said it yourself Bradshaw, all this bullshit? It's a chain reaction that started with you and I can’t do this ag—-“

“Lieutenant kazansky?” Before you had a chance to finish what you were saying, A gentle knock came from the door of your hospital room. Vice Admiral Beau stood with his shoulders slightly hung. A sadness in his eyes as he approached your bedside.

Remember how you thought adulthood would be one catastrophe after another? But as it turned out, catastrophe’s love to bombard you all at the same time. Well, you now had another catastrophe to add to the ever expanding list that included but wasn’t limited to, Bradley bradshaw still owning your heart, regardless of his antics. Jake Seresin and his cocky attitude, Pete Mitchell and his threats of expulsion from the detachment if you didn't get your act together, your wingman's death, and now?

“It's your father–”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Chaos Masterlist

Tags: @lyannaredbird @luckyladycreator2 @skagelynn @teacupdreams @the-winter-marvel33reblogs @mrsjaderogers​ @katieshook02​ @thescarletknight2014​ @justanothermagicalsara​ @4ngelicb4byy @percysaidnever​ @puriini​ @luckylexie​ @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @shrimping-for-all @fayethefairy @lonelywitchv2​ @mizzzpink​ @unforgettwble​ @itzyogurl92​ @lemoonandlestars​ @mulletmcghee​ @redqueeen99​ @bucky-barmes​ @mak-32​ @fivsecondsflat​ @loveless-simp

[happytaffeta]

Not going to reblog the post because I respect and agree with the op and I don't wanna write a fucking essay about my feelings on their post, but I finally stumbled across a photo of the calf and I haven't had a great afternoon, and i haven't had a great week. So uh. Here's your warning: Animal husbandry is important to me. I grew up in a rural area and I, and every kid I knew, and all my neighbors, kept various animals and a lot of them were livestock. I never kept cattle but I knew kids who did. I am going to be sad and angry below the cut, and I'm putting it below a cut because it's gonna be a bit long and maybe not super articulate, and definitely not always as kind as I maybe could be. I don't expect to change the minds of people who think that what's happening to that poor thing is okay. But I need to get some thoughts out.

I kept rabbits, goats, chickens. Mom had(still has) horses. we had cats and dogs and occasionally would capture reptiles and amphibians, look at them for a bit in a secure container, and then release them in a safer location where they wouldn't get hit by a tire or spotted as easily by the dog, or my kid brother(gentle, but young, so both clumsy and curious) or the rowdy neighbor boys(less gentle, just as young). You breed livestock, even on a small, 4-H kid, backyard scale, you end up on a first name basis with death. Wildlife happens. Sometimes there's a nasty outbreak of something and it hits half your flock. Sometimes there's stress from a hot summer day or general social group aggression. There are ways to avoid a lot of things but when you're a first time keeper of a given animal type trying to start a little show flock, or a nice little herd for your project book, no matter how much you read up first, there are things you learn by running up against the reaper. Some eggs never hatch. Some kids are stillborn. A first time mother gives birth on the wire instead of in the nest box. Now and then there's an invisible but fatal physical defect that kills a critter later. My first doe kid died a week and a half after I brought her home, heart defect. No one knew. She was weaned and everything, cause I didn't bring her home until after she was full time eating solid food.

This calf is not going to be okay, ever. This is a blue eyed white foal kind of situation, except those are pretty avoidable for the most part. You cannot save these babies, and trying only adds more pain to an inevitably early death. Trying makes you into the monster, it makes you be the one causing pain. This is an infant who is never going to be able to understand why the world consists of suffering, and there is no way for us to explain it, and there is no way to make it stop that is not death. This isn't a life to save. This is not someone who can consent to life-extending medical intervention. This is a creature who needs as gentle and quick a farewell as we have the power to give. Please don't do things like this. Please don't make us into monsters. Please, let the suffering baby beasties go.

[matrixxsystem]

Terripin Soup Part 2

NotoriouslyPrimary420 [NP] Started A Chat With AuspiciousHunter1989 [AH] At 11:07 PM

NP: Hey I have a random question AH: Because you never have random questions any other time of course. NP: Oh haha- But seriously. My brothers keep asking questions about where I'm going and I don't want to lie about it but I mean I can't tell em I'm sneaking out to go eat morally grey soup and not hang out with a friend like I've been saying..

AH: So you want advice on what else you can lie about? NP: Well.. When you put it that way it sounds worse... AH: I don't know what to tell you man, find some rando on the street to hang out with :P NP: I feel like that'd make it worse? Oh! You live in NY too right? AH: Kinda. NP: Kinda? Okay well... You wanna hang out? AH: Can't. NP: Cant or wont? AH: Fine. Won't.

NP: Why not? C'mon dude I'm panicking here! I can't even go to my favorite pizza spot with my brothers cause I can't handle them cornering me about this-

AH: Hm.. What was that one called again? NP: Like Run Of The Mill Pizza or something, idk, why does that matter?

AH: I see what you meant now. Okay, I've changed my mind. I will meet you there tomorrow night, 8pm. And we'll talk about it alone, but don't push it.

NP: Oh thank god- Wait you.. Know that place?

AuspiciousHunter1989 [AH] is offline

Leo sighed to himself as he made his way home, he wasn't really sure what he was going to tell his family, or what was going to happen when he met his friend, or how he knew the pizza spot for yokai... How did he even know about it? Was he just a chill human or a yokai himself? It might explain a lot but.. There were  still so many questions on his mind that he wasn't able to answer and that frustrated him more then having the questions to start with. He hadn't gone very far having been preoccupied with his phone, looks like he'd have to wait a bit longer for his monthly fix. He'd try and wait at least till his brothers suspicion was cleared.  

Once he was home his brothers managed to corner him one last time before trying Donnie's plan, they hoped it wouldn't come to that. "Hey Leo!" Mikey called, alerting the others who sprung from their seats and covered the exits, they looked.. Friendly but also concerned. "H-Hey.. What is this an intervention? C'mon guys, I stopped defacing shells like five years ago-"

"Nope, its not about that, though I don't appreciate your phallic pictographs on my shell you know how hard it is to scrub off and-" "Not the time Dee, we just wanna.. Talk." "Raph please I'm just tired and wanna go to bed, I have this thing tomorrow so-" "Thing?" Raph asked, "Well as your older brother what's stopping me from grounding you? You've been going out a lot and not doing the responsible thing of letting us know anything! What would happen if you left and got hurt, if you couldn't get home or if you were attacked and outmatched? If you couldn't call us for help how would we ever know where to look for you? ...I'm.. I'm not just being nosey Leo, it's my job to look after you guys, my job to make sure you always get home safe. My responsibility to watch out for you. And I know you might not need it or whatever you wanna argue but I do. I need it, to know what's up so I can be there and to at least put my mind at ease-" Leo sighed a little, he always hated when Raph said things like that to him, making the weight over his chest double as he saw the honest compassion in his eyes. "Fine.. I... Look I can't tell you everything, not yet. But I'm gonna meet my friend tomorrow and we're gonna talk about all of us hanging out, he's- He's just really shy so it's not like I was trying to hide it, I just didn't want to scare him off. We can get pretty rowdy y'know? A-And I just.." Leo paused when Raph's hand gently set itself on his shoulder, "Okay okay, I'm not mad-" He pulled Leo into a hug, not staying for too long before pulling away, "I just wanna know what's going on sometimes okay? We're family, we care about you, and we're all really happy you met someone. We can't wait to meet him." Leo let out a little sigh, at least part of the anxiety dying down from his reassurance. "Thanks.. I'll... Try to talk more, and I'll let you know tomorrow night what the plan is. Promise." Raph smiled and gave him a pat on his shell, there was still a lingering anxiety that his brother wasn't being fully honest but he looked tired so he wasn't going to push it. Looks like it came to plan B after all. 

Once Leo headed off to his room Raph turned to Donnie giving him a little nod, the 'okay' to put the tracker on. "I know we shouldn't but you all saw that right.." "Leo doesn't lie to us.. He wouldn't... Right?" "Well technically speaking Mikey, he lied to Raph, we didn't ask him about anything. But no you're right Leo isn't one to lie about small stuff, usually when he does something stupid he owns up to it pretty easily. Its only when he starts avoiding the question and actively avoiding us that we should consider it a problem. I like Raph's plan on listening in first before confronting him again. And not just because it gives me a chance to use my new audio data recording device-" They all nodded in agreement before splitting up for the night. This was for the best right..?

Donnie was able to install the recording app though his computers since he was the designer of the tech they all wore. And with his other concealing app Leo wouldn't be aware it was recording or shouldn't be if it worked properly. And that night when Leo was ready to head out Donnie stopped him for a moment, it didn't happen often so Leo decided to listen. "Nardo hold on a sec, I wanted to ask, and you don't have to tell me. But are you and this 'friend' of yours.. More then friends?" "What?" "Now hear me out- No one cares if you have a boyfriend, I mean dad might be a little furious no one told him about it and he didn't do that stupid blessing thing he always talks about like they do in movies- My point is. If you've really been seeing this guy for a year now it just seems a little.. Weird that a casual relationship would go unmentioned since you love to talk" "Do.. Do all of you think I have a secret boyfriend?" "Well-" "Dee seriously.. We just talk when and hang out, and eat food. Nevermind, doesn't matter. I gotta go, I'll see you guys tonight." "You didn't answer my question Leo." "You're the smart one how bout you figure it out m'kay"

Leo opened a portal and vanished, leaving Donatello with a few more questions then he'd hoped he would have. He headed back to his lab where Mikey and Raph were already waiting, Raph having dragged in bean bag chairs for him and their little brother. Donnie sat in his chair and turned on his computer setting it all up with the improved tracker. In just a few minutes Leos icon was outside of their usual pizza spot. They all looked to each other, knowing he hadn't been there to see his friend before since they'd gone out some night's when he didn't come home. 

"Hey bone man! I'm here to see someone, I uh, how do I put this..." "Ah pepino, it's been a while. I was almost excited to have no repair bills this year. You're looking for the booth in the back. You're here for a date yes?" "Oh- Uh- Right. Okay, thanks. I mean, did he say it was a date? Cause I mean I- Are you sure its the right table?" "He said something about, meeting with a hyper mutant with three other brothers. I can think of no one else whos fits that description." He nodded a little, "Ah.. Kay, good too see you too then" There was the sound of shuffling as Leo made his way towards the booth, peeking his head around he saw the table already had someone sitting one one end, a white rabbit yokai who was staring down at the menu, his expression was impossible to read. "NP?" He asked, eyes not moving from the paper, Leo tensed up and nodded, "Uh- Y-Yeah uhm." "Just call me Usagi like you've known me for years, a long name wouldn't look good. Sit." Leo did as directed and sat across from him, "Right, I'm Leo. So.." Usagi glanced up to him, taking a quick moment to look at him, his expression softening a little seeing how nervous he looked. "Didn't expect another yokai hm?" Leo rubbed the back of his neck, this guy was kinda... Cute.. "Heh.. Yeah I was a little curious how you knew this place, sorry for dragging you into this. So.. What kinda cover story do you wanna have? They seem to think I have a secret boyfriend but I don't wanna ask that much of you-" Donnie saw the blue icon unmoving and turned to device on from his end, listening to whatever voices came though the speakers.

"No no, boyfriend is fine. I think in this situation that label would best suit us." Everyone looked to each other, jaws nearly hitting the floor. "G-Good! I.. I mean, they're all really excited to meet you. I know we can get a little crazy sometimes but they all mean well." There was a soft chuckle, "I don't think the kind of crazy you speak of could phase me, Leo. Since you know what I'm capable of." Donnie handed Mikey the five dollars he was owed for their bet of if Leo was really seeing someone. Hesitantly, Raph handed the youngest the same amount as well. 

"Right.. Wish I could be that calm about it." "I think after a while it gets easier, or maybe you just need some help? I know I probably shouldn't be so forward but.. My teacher will not be at the house tonight. If you are able you may join me." "Join you..?" "For desert." "You mean, you want to do that stuff? With me? I dunno. I mean half of me is like, screaming yes cause I want to but, this also feels kind of like the plot of some b list horror movie yknow? Hot guy invites you over late at night and says all the right stuff then boom you're in a basement for the rest of your life- N-Not that I think you would but.. Yknow." "So you think I'm hot~?" Leo's face went red, enough to match his markings, there was another chuckle. "You don't have to answer. Perhaps you can decide after I meet your family hm? There will always be another night where we can do those things together." "Mm.. Yeah, I guess you're right. Okay you've twisted my arm, you do this for me and I'll do that with you. Which brings me to another question." "Ask away" "Are you a good cook? Or like, you don't just eat it raw right? Cause I tried that before and got really sick-" "Leo, I may have a unique taste but even I'm not dumb enough to just eat it raw c'mon. I mean when you do your own hunting you have no idea where that meats been, you have to be very careful and clean it and cook it properly. I can show you in fact, if you ever plan to cook for yourself one day." "Why would I ever do that if I have a skilled cook like you as a boyfriend~" 

"Touché. Does tomorrow work then? Why not go some where in the hidden city? There's a beautiful garden not far from where I live that would be nice. We could pack lunch or something, something your brothers would like of course." "I haven't been in the city that much actually, they'd probably love it. I think we can arrange that. But enough about them, I have like a zillion more questions." "I as well. Tell me more about when you were younger." 

Donnie turned the device off there, mouths still hanging open. "I can't believe Mikey was right-" Dee said quietly, spinning around in his chair to face the other two. "And him and his boyfriend are doing stuff!!" Mikey yelled, "Do you think they've been... Kissing???"  Raph quickly collected himself, very glad Leo and his 'friend' hadn't said anything too risqué.. "Well he's what 15 now? He's allowed to have a boyfriend.."

The rest of the night they talked about their childhoods, not daring to mention their quirks out loud, but rather alluding to them. Trying to get as close as possible in the hour and a half they had before heading home to rest before meeting up tomorrow. It was interesting to hear both sides, how Leo had been suppressing his feelings for a long long time while Usagi on the other hand was encouraged to indulge in them by the one who raised him. He was taught to be merciless and survive by any means available. While had been turning all his frustrations inward hurting and isolating himself Usagi and been turning it outward letting those feelings guide his training. Both vastly different worlds they lived in. But it only made Leo more curious to see how the rabbit yokai handled his food. He ate their pizza normally, seeming more then content with its flavor, but for Leo there was something in the back of his mind saying it was missing something. Even his favorite food seemed to mock him for being different... Part 3 Part 1

TS Master Post

[badbatchenthusiast]

a little realisation i came to today, about living with and coming to terms with having a hidden disability, especially neurodiversity, trauma and/or mental illness:

for the last six months, i have struggled quite a lot. it’s a high-stress time in my life where everything i do counts towards major life decisions, and the main message i’m hearing from the people around me is that i need to give it my all, work as hard as possible, or i’ll regret the opportunities i’ve missed.

needless to say, i haven’t been sleeping particularly well. i’ll go to lessons and then work a 4 hour shift on two, maybe three hours sleep. i’ve been so anxious that knowing i believe i’ll be exhausted the next morning no matter how much i sleep, and the 9hrs i’m set to get by sleeping early won’t be enough still (because life is inherently overwhelming and overstimulating as an autistic person). this makes me stressed about how i’m not sleeping until it’s five in the morning and i can finally relax enough to doze. everything is being impacted; my attendance has been slipping, my tutor is involved. it’s felt like i’ve been getting worse and not better, like life is going to continue going downhill until things i used to find easy — falling asleep, organising my own schedule, keeping my studies balanced with work and a social life — are things i’m finding almost impossible and are taking great effort to maintain at a reasonable standard.

but here’s the thing.

i’m not getting worse.

it feels like i am, because new problems are arising that weren’t there before, but someone i owe a lot to pointed out today that a year or two ago, i would not have been able to express myself. they wouldn’t register as problem areas, i’d just push myself into collapse. i would’ve worked myself into a meltdown instead of walking to the support office and informing them i needed to go home, would’ve been in verbal shutdown or unresponsive or having a panic attack instead of being able to stim and breathe through the overwhelm. today i made a calculated decision, of leaving early instead of sticking out for the rest of the day and probably exhausting myself enough to not be in tomorrow or the day after. and that’s huge.

my autism isn’t ‘improving’ despite me having less of the massive meltdowns or shutdowns that got me diagnosed in the first place. i’m probably more visibly autistic than i’ve ever been. my anxiety hasn’t lessened despite no longer having regular panic attacks.

but i’m catching it earlier. i can identify what’s going on with me before it becomes a crisis, and i’m starting to have the skills to run interventions.

when people say progress isn’t linear, i think this is part of it. i’m not getting worse, i can just see the problem now and put a name to it. the analogy that came to mind was a building, which before i could only tell was fragile when it caved in, is now having the work put it to rebuild properly. but before you can have a nice foundation and solid walls there’ll be a lot of looking around, and realising the concrete is cracked to shit and nothing is reinforced and those spots you never paid attention to are in fact black mould which are eating at your walls. and these are realisations i was not having before because i didn’t know, i didn’t have the tools or the understanding to make sense of it.

my floors are no longer collapsing on me at random. it’s instead a constant series of little things, because i can tell when a pipes burst and deal with it before it floods everything and rots the floors. but this awareness brings with it the feeling that something is wrong all the time. that there are constant little fires to snuff — that things are getting worse, not better. that yes i know how to stop a broken pipe from leaking now but it doesn’t change the situation, which is that the entire system needs swapping out for less rusting parts. it’s easy to get lost in all of this and forget that actually, before, this would’ve been a build up to a crisis and now it’s something i can deal with before it snowballs.

learning to cope and accommodate myself after being told my entire life that i am going to be impressive, that i’m capable of being high achieving in anything i put my mind to, has been rough. i was never going to succeed at the life other people talked about for me; i’m simply not able to work that hard without hurting myself, and honestly i think few people are even without a disability. i don’t want to live life for other people, i want to build something im proud of, for me, designed to make me feel good and comfortable and succeed in a way that makes sense for my ambitions and needs. and both are important; success isn’t out of the picture, i just need to rethink it so it includes being happy and coping with what i find difficult. i won’t lie, it has been a process of mourning someone who never existed, who i never could’ve been. i still resent sometimes the fact that i can’t go back to masking so much no one notices my symptoms.

but i’m improving. steadily and tangibly. it takes work, and at some point it’ll definitely feel like leaving the unstable building in place was preferable to the deconstruction because recreating it all with a healthy and sturdy foundation seems impossible, but it just takes time. you replace one brick at a time.

it gets better, i promise, even if it’s hard to believe. any step forward is progress, no matter how small, until you look back and realise you’ve come an unimaginably long way forward.

[asha-mage]

Tagged by: @gunkreads (thanky!)

1) Last book I read:

The Scottish Boy by Alex de Campi. I really really love me some historical fiction that digs into the actual political complexities and realities of the feudal system. Defiantly one of the spicier books I've read recently, which made it fun to listen to when I was doing mundane activities like shopping. The audio book narrator is absolutely stellar though, and I would recommend to anyone who likes feudal politics.

2) A book I recommend:

The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune has become my Swiss army recommendation: a light contemporary fantasy, full of warm vibes and a sweet story at it's heart. It's still got teeth for tackling social issues- beneath the sweetness it is primarily a criticism of our Foster/education systems and how they fail the most vulnerable. I seem to recall that one of the praise quotes floated on this one a lot is 'feels like being wrapped up in a big fluffy gay blanket' and concur.

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

In Other Lands by Sarah Reese Brenan. A Narina pastiche about a annoying know it all who gets taken too a fantasy other world. It's incredibly funny and compelling and weird, and I couldn't stop reading it. Brenan is a master at making her characters both three dimensional and frustrating and so easy to love, and while I wish I knew more of the exact details of her world- she engages with the ideas and conflicts she sets up in a such multifaceted way that I don't really think I mind the lack of a map, or timeline, or political flowchart.

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more)

Eye of the World by Robert Jordan. I've lost count of how many times I've read it exactly- more then thirty and at least once every few years since I first read it. This one is a core memory for me, or maybe a load baring pillar of my personality.

5) A book on my TBR

Oh man. A lot. Like. A lot a lot. But I really am hoping to get to Ocean's Echo by Evrina Maxwell this year. I adored Winter's Orbit so much, but Ocean's Echo has just been sitting on my nightstand, waiting.

6) A book I’ve put down

I really tried with Dark Rise by C.S. Pacat. I just couldn't get into and I don't know why. I may swing back to it when I find the time. It feels like I would like it a lot if I could get far enough in.

7) A book on my wish list

Lava Red Feather Blue by Molly Ringle. It seems very up my alley.

8) A favourite book from childhood

I've always had as soft spot for the Artemis Fowl books. I fell off them in a way I didn't with the likes of Percy Jackson and I wonder if I would feel the same way if I circled back around to them now- probably not but they'll always have a special place for being the books to introduce me to the heist genre and predispose me to liking things like Ocean's 8 and Leverage.

9) A book you would give a friend

As a gift? It would depend on the friend. A Psalm for the Wildbuilt by Becky Chambers probably- since it's short sweet and pretty impossible to hate imo. I have problems with Becky Chambers's brand of....warm cynicism? Their is an undercurrent to a lot of her works that boils down to 'humanity is screwed already short of some kind extra-human intervention', especially her Wayfareres series. I feel like Wildbuilt is one of her books that engages with that idea in a more thoughtful and interesting manner. It has some of the most thoughtful and interesting conversations about humanity and nature that I've run across in a long time, and it's short which is always a plus for a gift book.

10) The most books you own by a single author

Robert Jordan baby, at a cool 11 (or 14 depending on how you count the last three). I adore Jordan's Wheel of Time series more then I can put into adequate words. Core memory. Load bearing pillar. Canon event. Etc etc.

11) A nonfiction book you own

Not many. I'm not a big nonfiction reader to be honest. I think I have a copy of the Sawbones book, by Dr McElroy hanging around somewhere.

12) what are you currently reading

I'm currently revisiting the Percy Jackson series. I intend to probably take a tour through the whole thing- the original five, HOO, Magnus Chase, Trials of Apollo, etc etc. Partly it's a desire to watch the show but also a desire too reexamine my relationship to these works. I read them while I was in their target audience, and while not as foundation for me as WoT, I would say their still pretty important.

13) what are you planning on reading next?

I think I want to try and give Heaven's Official Blessing another go. It's the only MXTX work I've bounced off of, which is weird since I'm pretty sure consensus is that it's her best work. I've been meaning to get back to it for a while. If still bounce off it, I'll try something off TBR- either Ocean's Echo or Lava Red Feather Blue.

Tagging: @highladyluck @veliseraptor @ace-and-ranty

[lefresne]

Hey, I found something disturbing that needs to be addressed regarding Guinevere's intervention with Morgan and Guiomar: Gwen was afraid Arthur would find out about Guiomar and Morgan, which she wanted separated them. She was scared for her cousin, and was less hung up about Morgan's honor. I need some illumination about this.

Yeah I mean you gotta put yourself in Guinevere’s place somewhat. She is a new bride and probably doesn’t know her husband that well yet, and the positions of the few family members she brought with her to court are probably quite tenuous (Guinevere has practically no allies at court before lancelot, it’s something I think about a lot). As queen she is responsible for the chastity of her ladies and the fact that her own cousin might have compromised that must feel like a betrayal. Maybe she knows Arthur just about enough to know that he is unlikely to take his anger out on Morgan and that it is more likely to fall back on her cousin ? Morgan isn’t married so there isn’t an angry husband there to pressure Arthur into a harsher punishment for morgan ? Idk in arthuriana the pattern seems to be that when an unmarried woman’s chastity is discovered to be compromised the male family members will go after the man responsible to kill him and shun or ostracise the woman. In the premiere continuation for ex the mother of one of Gawains illegitimate children still lives with and is cared for by her family but it is clear that they are mad at her (her brother does repeatedly call her a whore) but they want to murder Gawain. Guingambresil imprisons his sister but plans to murder Gawain, etc etc ad infinitum. The situation seems very different if the woman is married and the crime becomes adultery. Could be something to do with the threat adultery poses to things like inheritance bc an illegitimate child could pass as legitimate but if the woman isn’t married that threat is removed so it’s considered a lesser offence in the Arthurian world (which was modelled on the medieval world but has its own norms etc I’m not sure how much this distinction held in the real medieval world (the little I know from legal records is that the offending woman was often beaten / subjected to violence too but it depends))

Tldr idk could be that Guinevere know Arthur has a soft spot for Morgan and suspects that his anger will be directed towards her and her family instead ? I’m not too sure it’s a good question!

[nancypullen]

The 23rd

I haven't posted here since September 5th because, quite frankly, my life is just a yawning canyon of nothingness. Dramatic much? Seriously, Monday is just like Tuesday, which is just like Wednesday, and so on. You know I'm a big fan of creating happiness where you are, and I'm killing myself trying to do that. No one likes to read the blog of a sad sack, I know I don't, so there's just not a whole lot to write about. I miss who I used to be. Because it's nearly the end of September, and because the 22nd was officially the first day of autumn, I decided to go all in decorating the porch. I'm not finished, but it's a start. Surely if I build it, fall will come. No more red gingham and pink roses, I'm all about pumpkins now.

I bought one of those $1 pumpkin trick-or-treat buckets and covered him in ModPodge and fall napkins. SO stinkin' easy. After popping a little battery powered votive in him, he glows at night. Cute!

The front steps are a hot mess right now. They need to be power washed, but I went ahead and put a few things out. I still have to get the garland above the door and swap some of that stuff around until it looks right.

Would it have killed the builder to center the damn door? It makes my left eye twitch. Of course I threw down my "Hey there, pumpkin" door mat.

I've only purchased two small mums so far ( and you know how much I love mums) because we're leaving town in a couple of weeks and they'd likely die while we're gone. A neighbor will check on the cats, but she's not a plant person so I don't ask her to water anything. I'm sitting on my hands to keep from filling the steps with pumpkins and mums. It's hard. This is my season and I want to enjoy every minute of it. And by enjoy it, I mean buy all of the pumpkins in the county.

I need an intervention. As much as I'm channeling autumn, Mother Nature seems determined to ignore me. As I type this I'm sitting in my craft room, burning my favorite fall candle - a yummy spicy, warm patchouli fragrance.

It smells like fall in here. Maybe I should crank down the a/c and pretend. Last weekend the Edgewater gang came over and we all took the Little Miss to an alpaca festival. LIke most festivals here, it wasn't much. A dozen or so skittish alpacas in a pasture, a store selling expensive alpaca goods (not even local), an ice cream truck, a handful of vendors selling their wares, a small bouncy house that needed more air, $10 pony rides, $8 face painting, and a free train ride. This was the train.

All that matters is that the grandgirl had fun and she did enjoy most of it. It was too hot and muggy for me. I'd planned to make dinner for everyone, but we just ordered pizza instead. I call that a win. I'm lucky enough to have a sweet daughter-in-law that is an incredible cook and baker, and she brought my favorite cake. It's called Bienenstich Kuchen, or Bee Sting Cake. Honey and almonds, need I say more? It's to die for! So we had a little early birthday celebration and their thoughtful gifts brought me to tears. My sweet grandgirl made a bracelet for me with her own little hands. She chose the beads and made it herself! She's crazy about mermaids, so this is indeed an honor. How precious is this?

Anywho, that's what's been going on here. Days and days of nothing, with lovely sprinkles of sweetness now and then. Did I mention our upcoming trip? We'll leave Baltimore on the 7th and fly to Paris.

We'll grab our bags and clear customs before hopping a train to Strasbourg. That will be our base for most of the trip. From beautiful Strasbourg we'll explore the Alsace region. It's the spot where France, Germany, and Switzerland bump noses. We'll visit Colmar and Riquewihr. Riquewihr (pronounced Rik-a-veer) is the town that inspired Beauty & the Beast and supposed to be one of the most enchanting villages in France! We'll probably take a train to Basel, Switzerland as well. If time and energy permits we can also take a quick train to Heidelberg, Germany - it's just a couple of hours away. Eventually we'll make our way back to Paris for a couple of days before flying home on the 17th. It'll be a whirlwind, but a beautiful one. Since the Alsace region is considered the "wine route", they may be very disappointed in the two of us.

I know I'll sound like, "Dee loo, see voo play." I hope they appreciate the effort. Time for me to sign off. It's 5 o'clock and I've got brown butter carrots in the crock pot that need me. We grilled chicken this weekend and have leftovers, so this meal is simple and quick. The mister has a photo meeting at 6 o'clock and I'll probably sit at my desk and make a few Halloween cards. Still trying to make fall happen. That's it from me, dear friends. I hope that you are all well and happy. If not, trust that it won't last. Good or bad,nothing is forever (except for the fat on my thighs, that's apparently permanent). Sending you lots of love, hope you feel it. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[englishstrawbie]

“I'm a problem solver / 'Cause I always used to be a problem” (Since I Was a Kid by Lennon Stella)

My last prompt fill! I had a lot of angsty prompts for Maya and Carina, and while this one still led to a difficult situation for Carina, I very much wanted it to be them vs. an external problem. Perhaps my interpretation of the lyrics is creative, but I hope you like what I did with it.

A link to the song

>>>>>>>>>>

Carina is quiet throughout dinner, not that either of them could get a word in even if they tried. Vincenzo DeLuca dominates the conversation, talking about his latest project: this time researching chromosomal abnormalities that lead to birth defects and miscarriage.

“Maybe it’s his way of trying to bond with you,” Maya suggests when they are out of ear shot.

Carina knows better.

Everything her father has ever done is because he likes the spotlight. He is always coming up with ideas that sound miraculous on paper but, in reality, push the boundaries too far. She has seen it give patients false hope, sometimes even putting their lives at risk as he makes unrealistic promises about what he can deliver.

He talks about fixing chromosomal abnormalities in the embryo through surgical intervention – an impossible feat, but one he believes he can achieve.

“Your friend, uh Doctor Robbins, she’s been doing incredible things in New York. It’s a shame you two lost contact.”

Maya raises her eyebrows at the mention of Carina’s ex-girlfriend, but doesn’t take offence at his words, smiling to herself when she feels Carina reach out under the table to squeeze her hand.

Carina is watching for signs of mania, but while he is animated in his stories, he remains calm throughout the evening. He is cheerful and chatty, but never lets the conversation become personal. He doesn’t ask about Carina’s work or the clinic she played a part in opening at the fire station. He asks Maya a few questions about being a firefighter, interested in risks of prolonged smoke exposure on her lungs. He mentions Sicily a couple of times, but not family, and eventually Carina addresses the one subject he seems to be so determined to avoid.

“Papa, do you want to visit the spot where I scatted Andrea’s ashes while you’re here?”

She holds her breath as she waits for his answer, her heart sinking when he scoffs at her suggestion.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you didn’t come when I scattered some in San Lorenzo. I thought you might want to say goodbye to him here, so that we could remember him together,” Carina says, her voice shaking as she speaks.

“What is the point of dredging up the past, Carina?” Vincenzo says dismissively, although he cannot hide the pain in his eyes at the mention of his son.

“It’s not the past, Papa!” Carina says. “The grief I feel is just as present today as it was when he died. I know you feel that too.”

“You don’t know what I feel.”

“No, I don’t, because you never talk about it,” Carina says. “You never talk about him.”

“Don’t push me, ragazza mia,” Vincenzo says.

“Papa…”

“Basta!”

He raises his voice, slamming his glass on the table so roughly that the stem breaks, small shards of glass flying onto his plate. Red wine spills from the goblet, staining the pale cloth that covers the table.

Maya winces, as Carina recoils at his aggression. Vincenzo grabs his napkin and starts dabbing at the droplets of wine on his cream pants, muttering under his breath. Maya stands up and fetches the trashcan to collect the pieces of glass that are scattered across the table.  

“I’m sorry,” Carina says meekly.

“No,” Maya interjects. “You’re not the one who should be apologising.”

“Maya please,” Carina tries to stop her, but Maya won’t back down.

“I know that it’s hard for you to talk about Andrew,” she says to Vincenzo, holding his attention with a hard glare. “It’s not easy for any of us, especially Carina. But in this house, we don’t react to our anger like that and we don’t break things out of frustration.”

There is something about the way she asserts herself that persuades Vincenzo not to argue back. Instead, he lifts his hands in conciliation.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I think it’s time that I left.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Maya says, more gently this time. “Please, stay for coffee.”

Vincenzo shakes his head. “Carina, perhaps you and I can have lunch tomorrow. Maybe you can even give me the phone number for Doctor Robbins?”

And there he is, back to business. Carina nods numbly and walks him to the door, accepting a polite kiss on her cheek before he disappears down the hallway. She closes the door and falls against it, her head resting on the cool, hard wood as she lets out a heavy sigh.

Maya comes up behind her, her hands sliding around her waist and her chin resting on Carina’s shoulder. She doesn’t ask if Carina is okay because she already knows the answer.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

Carina shakes her head. “I’m sorry if he triggered you.”

“I wasn’t worried about me,” Maya says. “I just don’t want you to ever feel like I did when I was a kid.” 

“I know,” Carina says, turning in Maya’s grasp and curling her hands around her neck, her fingers running through her blonde hair. “He’s not like that.”

Maya opens her mouth to object, but Carina shuts her down.

“He’s not,” she insists. “He’s just…”

“Emotional? Yeah, I used to say that about my dad too, remember?” Maya says. “Look, I’m not trying to project my issues with my dad onto you and yours. But I will always stand up for you when he crosses a line – and tonight he did.”

“I know, bambina,” Carina says, her forehead coming to rest against Maya’s. “Thank you.”

She feels calmer in Maya’s arms.

“Come on,” Maya says, tugging her back into the apartment. “Let’s clean up and get to bed. And if you want, at the weekend we can go to Hamilton Viewpoint together to remember Andrew?”

Carina smiles as she pushes aside her disappointment in her father, yet again, and instead chooses to focus on the good in her life, following her wife into the kitchen.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi Sex Witch, just wanted to ask a sex ed Q if that's ok! I recently started working out after years of being pretty inactive - I walk places and my job is more physical but no real exercise - and since I've started I noticed I had some spotting in my underwear immediately after working out. I havent changed BC or anything and havent had any of the kinds of sex that could cause any vaginal tears. I'm not really worried about it, but I just wanted to check this wasnt something I should bring up with a doctor, unless maybe it doesnt go away after a while? Thanks!

hi anon,

this is an interesting one for sure.

there's a link between physical activity and the hymen tearing, but that tends to happen at a much younger age than you presumably are if you have a job. (if you're some kind of child laborer, my condolences.)

I know some people are probably immediately balking at my mention of the hymen at all, since I've dedicated a not inconsiderable amount of my time both irl and online to talking about how the hymen is mostly bullshit and not a reliable indicator of sexual activity, and those things are true - but it is a real membrane that partially - keyword, partially - cover the vaginal opening at birth. it doesn't so much shatter upon first contact with a sexual apparatus, as many people seem to thing, as pretty gradually wear away and widen over the early years of a person's life, aided by ordinary physical activity. aside from rare cases of imperforate hymens, there's generally no drastic intervention required.

a tangent that I find interesting: historically there's been some real concern surrounding vagina-having young ladies taking part in certain activities for fear that those activities might endanger the hymen. bicycles were considered devastatingly unladylike, because they not only threatened the hymen but also allowed women to go places unsupervised like a bunch of harlots and seemed like they could, maybe, be putting pressure on the clitoris or otherwise simulating sex, which absolutely couldn't happen. there's also a probably apocryphal idea floating around, which I think may have genuinely been popularized by A Song of Ice and Fire, that horseback riding could "break" a hymen and therefore noblewomen were less likely to bleed on their wedding night because they'd grown up on horseback. like many things in Game of Thrones, that one's bullshit.

POINT BEING, there's definitely like.... a connection between spotting and physical activity that exists, but it would be slightly irregular at this phase of your life. (again, unless you're a child who's been put to work in a mine or something, in which case you have bigger problems.) note that irregular doesn't necessarily mean "dangerous" - I honestly love that you're not panicking about this - but if you're bleeding it's usually a sign that something is amiss.

if you're sure it's not a birth control situation or one where bleeding could be caused by sex, it could mean there's some kind of friction or irritation occurring in your vaginal region when you're exercising that's causing a little light bloodshed. there's also a chance that your new workout regiment is causing some kind of hormonal fluctuation in your body - possible, especially if this is something you're still getting used to! this is an especially common stress response if you've got a very low level of body fat and/or you aren't taking in as much food as your body would like; exercise puts a lot of strain on a body that isn't properly nourished!

overall, I would agree with your assessment that this is only something that you need to bring up with a doctor if it doesn't naturally stop - or, of course, if the bleeding suddenly starts getting much heavier or painful.

[marimeeko]

Rambling thoughts about where the the new chapters are headed:

So I'm thinking. With AllMight facing off against AFO, of course the whole prediction from Nighteye is coming back into question; will this be it? Will this be the fight and the death that Nighteye saw for AllMight?

But then I thought of something else to do with the Nighteye/chie-hasaikai arc, and when Nighteye was talking to everyone, he says that Izuku was the one who "changed the future" of his visions of Izuku dying to Overhaul.

Now of course this is going to do with Bakugou and how Bakugou and Deku are always touted as the duality of heroism: Save and Win.

And because I'm throwing my hopes at the wall in the hopes that something sticks and manifests, this also has to do with Bakugou's death plus his eventual revival. (I will never stop holding out hope that he is going to come back soon and still have a real, proper moment of glory that doesn't end in him being sent to the void)

So, let's first start out by establishing that Katsuki has ended up in the presence of All Mights vestige.

And yes maybe that is a hint towards something to do with him being OFA adjacent, but what if instead...(or Maybe also)

It's leading to him reaching All Might?

Specifically, what if it's leading to All Might fighting AFO, AFO breaking through the Hercules battle suit, and All Might sensing that he is in very real danger as Hercules breaks down and loses integrity around him.

AllMight, not regretting a damn thing he has done to get here, thinks to himself if this is it, if this right here is Night Eye's Foresight coming to fruition. We have a moment of anticipation (and likely a cliffhanger ending for a chapter) where we the audience wonders too. And we all freak out again o er yet another death flag.

Then, BAKUOGU arrives on the scene to help All Might out.

Essentially, what if Bakugou is ALSO one who "CHANGES THE FUTURE" that Nighteye envisioned? If this time it's All Might who says that Bakugou changed Nighteyes future?

Once again, the duality of win and save, Deku and Bakugou, a duality that AllMight himself associated with Deku and Bakugou. Also it ties in with the theme of the younger generation doing what the adults could not...change the future. Defeat AFO. Save everyone.

I know Bakugou has nothing to do with Nighteye, but he does have a lot to do with All Might. He has a lot to do with All Mights legacy.

And he also has a lot to do with AFO, since in a way, AFO essentially killed him with the possession/whatever you'd call it of Tomura.

Imagine Katsuki Bakugou coming to help All Might against AFO after AFO had BODIED HIM.

Imagine all of his fucking emotions; saving his mentor/idol, All Might, getting some slap-back at the same evil that literally killed him...and knowing that stopping AFO here with All Might, keeps him from getting to Tomura, and to IZUKU.

Because if that happens, if Izuku is not allowed to work, if AFO intervenes, it's game over, and Izuku will be killed. So Bakugou has to make sure that AFO ENDS HERE. Whether it's by force or by running down the clock.

He has to protect Izuku.

Backing this up, I believe that Bakugou will "revive soon", that is to say, it will be REVEALED how he revives. We are kind of all over the battle field in terms of timelines, so I can see a bit of backtracking once he is revealed to All Might, the way horikoshi has framed interventions by other characters all over the place in this war(example, Gentle and Nagant, Star's pilots)

I'm talking about the pattern I've noticed and expressed before: horikoshi puts a character in mortal danger in their fight, but a character we haven't seen in a while suddenly appears to Uno reverse the calamity about to happen, and then after a dramatic reveal, Horikoshi traces back in that character's timeline to how they came to be in that spot of intervention. How gentle came to assist UA, how Nagant came to snipe at Shigaraki before he can set a hand down to decay.

No matter how it happens I expect horikoshi to do the same for Bakugou.

In this case I would imagine that he is treated, and revived, and there's a period of time where he is allowed to breathe, let his body reacclimate, oxygen restore into his system, and he catches his bearings. Meanwhile, Jeanist and Mirio would be speaking to him, checking his awareness, performing whatever first aid and followup they need.

All the while, info about the progress of the war trickles in, and Bakugou can't help but overhear or even ask about it. Izuku arrived moments ago and has taken Shigaraki to the ground. Aizawa, monoma, and Mic have been portaled by Twice clones and are MIA. Dabi has reignited. Toga of course has erupted into Twice clones, and spread across the battle zones. They hear about AFO and Gigantomachia.

They hear that AFO has broken off and is headed for Tomura and Izukus battle. At this point, Bakugou is breathing steady again but his new heart races at the omen...

Eventually, there is shock among the Heroes as they hear of All Might leaving his post and later reappearing in front of AFO himself, donning Hercules as armor, a move no one saw coming.

Tsukauchi is trying to keep it wrapped up and off the coms because he is scared of everyone losing hope if AM is killed, but it's not enough, La Brava was already broadcasting it and word would spread.

And when he hears all that, Bakugou would stand up, knowing that it's not time for him to give up on the fight. He's still badly beaten of course, but he is alive.

He will go where help is needed, he will go to All Might. He knows that Izuku is fighting Shigaraki below, but he knows, even if he doesn't want Izuku fighting alone, Izuku having to fight on TWO fronts, AFO and an OP Shigaraki with no restraint on his Quirks, would be the worst case scenario.

So it pains him to abandon Izuku, but in order to give Izuku the best chance to work, and survive, he has to make the decision to bolster All Might so that AFO can't make it to Tomura and destroy the whole process.

Not to say other Heroes will not join All Might as well, if there are any left, maybe even Jeanist, the big 3 and miruko will pick themselves up and follow Bakugou. But Bakugou would be the leader.

Maybe something in there also about All Mights stand and Bakugous fighting spirit inspiring a second wind for the heroes?

(I still think in the grand scheme of this, that AFO will still get past, BUT I think that mainly because he is the true Evil of this story, sort of the final boss, and I feel like Tomura may get the final blow against him, whether in a physical, mental capacity or even both? Idk how accurate that might be but as one last Raise the Stakes I think AFO might get past AM and whoever joins him, but I think Bakugou would, again, be close behind. Because he would sooner die again than let Izuku get hurt(boy is ALWAYS dying for Izuku) so that might be how we get a Bakugou and Izuku reunion towards the end.

(If by some miracle they do stop AFO there and he is no longer a concern, I ALSO think that Bakugou would leave the scene to go to Izuku, same reasoning; he doesn't want anything to happen to him, and he will help him if he even can)

Also dialogue somewhere in there about Bakugou wanting AMs autograph or something maybe lol also probably bakugou being a tsundere and calling All Might an old man 🤣

Oh, bonus thought: when Bakugou wakes and is hearing all the news, and specifically about AM, he finds or is given his card back, and in staring at it, Bakugou gets to THINKING (and subsequently deciding to go to AMs aid.) I think the card coming back might be a fun motif.

Anyway that's a big thought dump and I have no idea if it'll actually play out like this at all but it's a fun little theory (and I cling desperately to the idea that Bakugou is not finished yet, that we still have more to come from him, I know he is in bad condition and it might be a big ask BUT he is one of my faves and I enjoy seeing Bakugou content and WOULD LIKE FOR HIM TO TRULY TRIUMPH after losing so much 😭) (and also reunite with Deku to share a moment of GLORY AND TALK ABOUT THEIR FUCKING FEELINGS FOR ONCE 😭😭)

Anyway just some thoughts, take em or leave em

Addendum: Given the new chapter, and that there is now definitely a connection in OFA between real life All Might and Izuku, I am going to say that I feel justified in thinking that we are getting closer to Bakugou reviving and/or converging with OFA.

Since All Mights vestige is currently WITH Bakugou but also....he's calling out to Izuku...and Izuku is sensing him....

Now will Bakugou be spiritually piggy backing the AM vestige to OFA space to see whats going on there before waking? Or will AM vestige disappear and leave Bakugou with a sense of urgency as he wakes up, sensing somehow that AM and by extension, Izuku, needs help?

[quillkiller]

top films of the year!!!

i was tagged by the lovely @sugarsnappeases who i’m casually obsessed with<3

i’m still on break but i couldn’t pass on the opportunity to talk about film!!!!

np tags: @themuseoftheviolets @stillagoodwitch @messerflower @godsofwoes @malakiwis

1. Alice Darling (Mary Nighy, 2023)

i watched this film at the beginning of the year and it hasnt been rated very highly but it was so fucking special and personal to me. it’s beautifully shot, focuses on female friendships and heavy on dialogue and im soooo weak for dialogue based films. it’s about alice who’s in an abusive relationship and her two best friends taking her to a cabin for an intervention disguised birthday celebration. i couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen and i was so captivated by anna kendricks performence. the film manage to capture psychological abuse in a way that hit home to me so closely it was so well depicted and mirrored my experience with it in a way that left me speechless

2. Damned Queers (1977)

i watched this documentary for my bachelors essay which was about cultural memory as archive and gay meeting spots during the hiv chrisis. it’s a lovely little homemade short film about 11 homosexual men living together in an apartment in stockholm. we follow their day to day lives, their anarchist views on relationships and how they identify with socialism. the title of my bachelors essay is ’memory as the carrier of a hidden homosexual narrative’ focusing on gay life and meeting spots in stockholm in the 80s when HIV plagued these safe spaces (which weren’t ’safe’ at all) but homosexual men weren’t in any way allowed to control the narrative. so i looked through a lot of archived film, documentaries, ads, homemade movies, etc to try to put ligh on their narrative which was effectively hidden and neglected during the epidemic

you can watch it for free here!!

3. Saw (James Wan, 2003)

i had never watched saw before!!!!!!!!!! and this one made me insane!!!!!!! it’s genuinely so good and i was screaming pulling my hair out towards the end screaming and banging the walls. like i love the rest of the films too but not for the same reasons. like the first one is genuinely JAW DROPPING and so simple and so sexy. i love smart little horror films yummers

4. Priscilla (Sophia Coppola, 2023)

sophia coppola is sooooooooo back. SO BACK!!!! it’s very old school coppola and it was just. i was going insane while watching it. it’s so very heavily focused on priscilla (obviously) and her childhood and the parallell between her being in high school and elvis being an adult successful musician. it was unbelievably uncomfortable but so well done and so beautiful. cailee spaeny was fucking spectacular as priscilla and im very excited to see her in more things:,)

5. Ondskan (Mikael Håfström, 2003)

a classic!!!!! i watched it for the very first time this year and it was so fucking good. i couldn’t stop thinking about it for months!!!!!!! dark academia at its peak, violence, homoeroticism, incredible earth shattering acting. young royals could fucking never !!!!!!!

6. Oppenheimer (Christopher Nolan, 2023)

i fully expected to be on the barbie side of barbenheimer but instead i ended up being severly critical of barbie and oppenheimer wouldn’t leave my mind after i had seen it. very basic film dude behaviour of me but it was phenominal, showstopping, groundbreaking, never done before…….. every time i think about the film i get more obsessed with it. i genuinely loved it, the sound design was incredible, the visuals, the score. im sorry but im and oppenheimer truther til i die

[notwiselybuttoowell]

Tree protection activists stood silently at the back of the Seattle City Council chambers on Tuesday. The city's urban canopy wasn't on the meeting agenda so the group conveyed its message with signs that read "Save Our Trees," "Put Climate Justice on the Agenda" and "Don't Clear Cut Seattle." Organizers said they want to send a signal to city council that too many trees in Seattle’s urban forest are at risk because of housing developments. One tree in particular has become a flashpoint for this ongoing debate. Several groups have rallied in recent weeks around a massive red cedar in the city’s Wedgwood neighborhood. It appears protected for now, after intervention by the Snoqualmie Tribe. But as a new tree ordinance takes effect this Sunday, July 30, the question looms of how Seattle will protect its largest and oldest trees. On a recent morning in Wedgwood, birdcalls mixed with the sounds of construction. You could hear all kinds of songbirds —flickers and nuthatches, wrens, towhees and chickadees — near the cedar people are now calling Luma. It towered above, on the edge of a lot that’s been cleared for six new housing units. Up high in its branches was a tree-sitter who had been there for days. She said her name is Droplet and that she was there on Wednesday when the Snoqualmie Tribe came through with a state archeologist. “I got to look down and watch the Snoqualmie Tribe evaluate Luma and do ceremony. And it was the most incredible thing I've got to witness,” she said. After the ceremony and site inspection, they concluded that Luma is a culturally modified tree, its limbs bent into a kind of living trail marker, likely pointing the way on a route connecting Lake Washington and Puget Sound. “So instead of cutting down a tree and building a signpost, it was done in a way that allowed the tree to remain living and healthy,” said Jaime Martin, the executive director of governmental affairs and special projects for the Snoqualmie Tribe. Under state law, the tree is now subject to protection as an archeological site. The developer, Legacy Group Capital, will need a permit from the state Department of Archeology and Historic Preservation before they can modify it. The state said getting one will take at least 60 days, including 30 days for consultation with the tribe that registered the artifact. Legacy Group Capital did not respond to a request for comment. She said Seattle has no protections in place for culturally modified trees – not in its current tree ordinance and not in the new one. ”Basically, the city has a huge blind spot. And that's how to work with tribes and how to have meaningful consultation,” Martin said. Both the city and the tribe have stated their desire to work to fix that. However, tree activists say the Wedgewood cedar is just one example of how Seattle is failing to protect its largest trees. Numerous amendments proposed by the city’s appointed Urban Forestry Commission meant to address this and other concerns did not make it into the new tree ordinance. Calls for a better balance between the needs of developers and those of tree protectionists fell on deaf ears. Despite assurances that fixes could be made before the new code takes effect, it appears nothing is in the works. And any future amendments will take months, if not years, to implement. Councilmember Dan Strauss, who chairs Seattle’s Land Use Committee and presided over the update of the ordinance that passed in May, declined to be interviewed for this story. But he spoke at a council briefing earlier this month: “At the final passage of the tree protection ordinance, I stated the desire to clean up and continue refining this ordinance. I still believe that today,” he said. He said council will craft and pass a resolution outlining the scope and process for amendments. This will happen either in September or December, depending on the responsiveness of stakeholders. In the meantime, the Snoqualmie Tribe has called on Mayor Bruce Harrell to use his executive power to delay enactment of the new tree ordinance.

[myjunkisyuzuruhanyu]

I don't think Shoma was upset just because of Koshiro. I think he called inconsistent intervention by jsf. In the past, Keiji used to go to the world championships by the national results. But this time, Koshiro not only couldn't make it to the worlds, but also jsf even put him in second on the list of candidates. Did you watch mol show? Sota, who finished fifth, encore, not Koshiro. Last season, Kawabe went to the Olympics and the world championships by the national result, but this season, Rinka will go to the worlds and 4cc thank to her achievement in the international competition. She finished 12th in japan nationals. Jsf's standards for the two are quite the opposite. Jsf had always been serious about 4cc. Except for last season and hanyu, whether their skaters had won gold medals in the competition before or not, they would always send the national gold and silver medalists there. However, this year's national top rankers have been completely excluded from 4cc. Who can be sure that's what they wanted? Who knows what was behind the decision? In fact, Mai has said since the beginning of this season that she wants to go to 4cc as well as the worlds. You know that Shoma didn't used to like having a long time until world championships. You know which competition should Kaori and Mai go to instead of 4cc? They are supposed to compete in Universiade. Not even ranking points are given in the competition. These are just very fragmentary examples. you may say, this time, the decisions of jsf are reasonable as a result. But if their inconsistent and subjective opinions get involved every year, they don't give any explanation to their skaters and coaches, and consider their top skaters as just for securing more tickets at the world championships, where can they find the purpose, meaning, and authority of the national competition? And who among the japan skaters could speak out about these things? Kaori? Mai? Koshiro? I think Shoma did the right thing.

I am not sure you read all what I said but I said the same thing as you that JSF is inconsistent in their decisions in the past. I literally used some of the same examples for their inconsistencies aka Mana and Olympics and Rinka's 12th place. So not sure where you're heading with this...it's not like I said something opposite...just that I think their choices are reasonable this time and I stand by that. These are good teams which give their numerous good skaters a chance to compete. Maybe I have worded myself unclear in the reblog I explained stuff. So I will still reply to the points you mentioned. It was 3am at my place when I replied 😅

(Keiji is a completely different matter, back then Japan had only few skater options for the 3rd spot - Keiji, Kazuki and Takahito Mura. They went by National results but other skaters also didn't fulfill any other criteria. No one except Shoma and Yuzu posted top scores or qualified for GPF. It's not comparable to the situation now. It's not to defend JSF but a lot has changed in the men field and JSF also changed their selection criteria)

I don't mind Shoma speaking up, indeed I don't find fault for that at all. Who is in a better position than Shoma who indisputable deserves his place at Worlds and who in 8 years straight has always been selected through JNats by meeting all criteria? Imo Shoma did nothing wrong, we can however discuss if this was the moment to adress it publicly.

I think though Shoma being upset for Koshiro is the "tip of the iceberg" what made Shoma confront JSF. Who knows what happened behind closed doors before the press con. Shoma's words were directed at JSF and he didn't name anyone in particular. I think he was rather diplomatic while being obviously mad. Still as he didn't specify what he meant at this point we can only speculate about what lead him to say something. Of course it's their inconsistencies that confuse the skaters, that's however not exactly what Shoma said. I think there was much more to the story and I am pretty sure it's the culmination of it all that lead to the confrontation with JSF. Shoma has a huge sense of justice and strong feelings for those around him.

AND LOOKS LIKE SHOMA'S WORDS HAD AN IMPACT! JSF said down with all coaches and skaters? to talk about the selection criterias. I don't think it's changing anything for this time, but let's hope next time their selection is made clearer. It's also said in that same article that they didn't explain their selection to the skaters before the press con, so they went there rather unprepared and with unanswered questions. JSF listening is a big step forward.

I do think JSFs choices are reasonable and they played along their own criteria this time. There are multiple skaters who met their criteria and some of it has also changed from this and last season as far as I know. I was just as surprised 4CC was entirely different teams than Worlds, can't say if that's merely due to the results of Nationals or their plan before, but I do think with the depth of the field, it's justified. (I guess Rinka goes to both because she needs the world ranking points for Worlds) In men and women there were unlike situations as before. Those who had better GP series and qualified for the GPF didn't make it to the podium except for Shoma, Mai and Kaori. The GPF is a qualifier criteria for Worlds but usually not 4 in men and 3 in women would meet the criteria like this year. In 2019 it was only Yuzu and Rika who qualified for the GPF. I think it wasn't an easy decision but overall the decision makes sense, much more than for example last season with the selection of Mana instead of Mai. As much as I like Koshiro I also understand why he wasn't considered for Worlds due his consistency issues and lower world ranking and lower season best scores. (I am happy Koshiro had a good competition but if we're being honest he also profited from skaters who did much better during the season to have supbar performances)

Still the problem remains that they set up JNats as such important competitions but then take 12th place finish Rinka and 6th place finish Sota. So it's not clear at all how the JNats results were weighed for the decision. (that's also what I said before - maybe I didn't say it here but on Twitter - I dunno where but I wrote a lot)

As for 4CC usually in a non-Olympic year they would send entirely the same teams for 4CC and Worlds with just some exceptions like Kaori being chosen for 4CC and Wakaba for Worlds 2020 (but ofc Worlds didn't happen) Still the selection criteria are only for Worlds as I know, so I think JSF can send whoever they want to 4CC (even though they always do what they want anyway). I think in a year were results are so different from JNats and the rest of the season it makes sense and will benefit more skaters for World Ranking points etc. Neither Shoma, Mai nor Kaori need the ranking points from 4CC for Worlds or the next GP series but Mone, Hana, Koshiro etc they do.

Shoma did a lot competitions between JNats and Worlds, but it's been 3 years since Shoma had a tight schedule until then. (The Olympic season is different and as we could see lots of skaters don't do Worlds afterwards due to the schedule) And Shoma is not that young anymore and knows how to handle competitions and in Shoma's case he also will change his boots now and it will take time to adjust to them. He has Nagoya Festival scheduled, he also did PIW in January in recent years. If he wants to spend time in Champery and work with his team, 4CC wouldn't fit his plan. Just like a Challenger didn't fit his plan. It's not unusual for skaters to do less competitions in their later career. I don't think Shoma would have wanted to do 4CC, but ofc that's also speculation. Shoma is far from old but I don't think you can compare the things Shoma did 3-4 years ago with the things he does now.

Btw Universiade entries were decided even before the GP series took place I guess because first you need to be an university student and not all Team Japan skaters would fit the criteria and 2nd because it gives no world ranking points or much prestige. So I think the assignments for Universiade didn't play a part for any other team.

This turned out rather long, sorry. 😅

(also not my place to say some facts that I have been told, just that things told to me make me quite sure Shoma was upset bc of Koshiro so that may have influenced my wording a bit)