#friendly enemies

[madmanwonder]

Prompt

Caribbean: Marine AU

Marine Rock Lee and Pirate Naruto Uzumaki

Relationship Status Meme

Relationship Status: Friendly Enemy

Naruto and Rock has a strange friendship that is iron clad in spite of being in the opposite spectrum of lawful marine officer and a chaotic pirate warlord. With Lee being an unofficial member of the Nine-Tailed Beast Crew and Naruto being an unofficial bounty hunter under his watch.

[sazandorable]

“Aziraphale. The Enemy, of course. But an enemy for six thousand years now, which made him a sort of friend.” - Good Omens (the book)

God I love “We’re enemies, but we’ve been enemies for a long time, which is sort of like being friends.” Great trope.

[ouijeebies]

The beasts of yaoi and yuri…

[mitabnf]

[teaboot]

I can forgive the annoying, it's the yellow that unforgivable

And when I find myself seeking absolution for the sins I don’t repent I’ll know who to pray to

[ultraericthered]

The mood of this scene is wild. They all go from "Hahaha, what is that ridiculous hat she's wearing, she looks so stupid!" to "What is even this dance she's doing? Lol, what a weirdo!" to "Lol, Galinda's taking the floor to match Elphaba's moves! Awk-ward!" to "Woah, something's happening here, not sure what but we are witnessing something" to "Hey, they're making this dance really fun and cool! Let's all do it!" It must've made that night feel actually magical.

Galinda, what are you doing? Stop. No.

[tackykachowch]

How it feels to not like timebomb after s2

[serpentface]

WRESTLING POST:

Brakul approximately .5 seconds before tapping out in an impromptu chamenikoma match with compatriot Khattaliba Odebi.

There are two distinct forms of sport wrestling practiced here (not counting wrestling involving animals), called kagnomatso and chamenikoma. Both could be classed as submission wrestling, with victory in a match depending primarily upon forcing the opponent to concede defeat via pain/fear/exhaustion inflicted in joint locks and chokes, and secondarily (if at all) upon point scoring. Neither style fully originated here, and similar/connected forms of wrestling can be found around the eastern inner seaway.

Chamenikoma is squarely a combat sport, and its techniques are derived from (and still used in) actual life-or-death battles. Its name literally means 'naked combat', with 'naked' in this context having the implications of being unarmed/potentially unarmored. It developed in part as means for unarmed combatants to disable or kill armed/armored foes, though is also practiced as a form of training and sport. It mixes elements of kickboxing with grappling, and the Wardi variant of the broader tradition particularly emphasizes kicking strikes and leg holds. While a heavier combatant will usually be at an advantage, sufficient technical skill can overcome a fair deal of weight difference, especially given much of the technique in initially grounding an opponent revolves around using their momentum/weight against them.

Young boys who receive combat training as a part of their formal education will almost always be taught at least basics of chamenikoma, and the sport is a standard facet of training and upkeep among warrior orders. There are two sub-forms, 'armored' chamenikoma (self-explanatory, performed wearing full armor) and 'naked' chamenikoma (in this case meaning unarmored but usually clothed, actual nude matches are rare). Variants used in pure sport usually fall into the latter category, while forms used for intensive combat training or martial displays fall into the former.

Most chamenikoma tournaments are hosted by and within state warrior orders, and require membership to participate. Forms open to athletes from the general public are one of many sports in the annual triple games (a ten day sun worship + martial holiday based sporting event, hosted alternatively by year in Wardin, Ephennos, and Erubinnos), and some other towns/cities/villages put on their own tournaments opportunistically or as part of holidays.

Sport variants usually involve rules that Reduce the potential for fatalities, though there are few prohibitions against injurious behaviors and serious injuries/deaths are not unknown. Eye-gouging and opportunistic use of weapons (rocks sticks etc) are the only maneuvers that are forbidden in every possible context. Biting is considered a legitimate method of breaking holds, but is a foul if used to force submission, and bites to any part of the head/neck is usually forbidden. Hair pulling is not prohibited and considered a legitimate technique, to the point that some 'naked' tournaments will forbid participation if a combatant's hair isn't long enough for a topknot. Grappling at an opponent’s clothing/armor is also permissible, as is intentional grasping to the genitals. More restrictive rules are often set ahead of time in casual fights or those used exclusively for training.

Referees may intervene on some of these behaviors at their discretion, especially if they deem the intent purely to injure or humiliate rather than to induce submission (ie: tugging at the hair to induce pain or maintain bodily control is okay, but ripping at an already locked opponents hair is not). Referees for formal chemenikoma tournaments are almost always former wrestlers themselves (and/or high ranking warriors), and their calls are final and indisputable within any given match (though not always uncontroversial).

Matches begin upright and usually end on the ground. Fighters will start off in a readied stance and will generally attempt to kick/sweep the opponent to the ground, at which point they can be grappled into submission. Fighting will be paused if the combatants leave the designated arena space, though this does not incur any penalties. A match is won when one wrestler yields (either verbally or by tapping out, signaled by thumping the ground/their own body twice with a hand or foot), or else when one is unconscious/otherwise unresponsive. Downing an opponent and then taking a 'finishing' stance (standing with one foot placed on their neck) is also an automatic win regardless of if a yield has been declared, which is symbolically a statement of 'you would be dead if this was real warfare'.

Though these matches can get fairly nasty in physical content, chemenikoma wrestlers are expected to maintain overall respectful compartment towards their foes. A match begins with both performing a bow to one another, and insulting/mocking/spitting at a foe is socially unacceptable and can occasionally lead to disqualification. Losers are strongly expected to remain stoic and avoid signalling excessive frustration (submission is part of the sport and doesn't lead to a loss of social status as it does in actual duels, but submitting and then being notably pissy about it sometimes does). This sport has high social esteem as a demonstration of martial skill, and most participants will take it very seriously, going out of their way to compliment a worthy but defeated opponent.

---

Kagnomatso (essentially '(great/strong) dance') is purely sport-wrestling, and less physically dangerous than chamenikoma. It has little connection to any combat traditions and is intended as a test and showcase of raw strength, revolving entirely around grappling with striking being strictly prohibited. The goal is to knock an opponent to the ground through grappling and throws, and to subsequently force submission through chokes and locks. Being a heavier weight class always puts you at a considerable advantage over a lighter opponent, and technical skill only goes so far to overcome this. Tournaments (and most Wardi sporting events in general) also don't separate size or age classes, so if you've got a lightweight stature you're probably out of luck. Specialized athletes will generally be on the larger end of the size range, and access to a high calorie diet to gain + maintain weight is often a necessity for success in any formalized competitions.

Kagnomatso fighting has less of a skill barrier than proper chamenikoma, and small-scale tournaments are very often organized at village scales during holidays. Bigger tournaments are organized by cities, and also feature into the triple games. Formal bouts are generally held in small, circular rings, over grass or dirt that has been raked free of stones. Competitors wipe down their skin with olive oil soaked rags prior to a bout, rendering them more difficult to grasp but not outright sodden. They will generally compete in loincloths, though some community-organized tournaments involve fighting nude to wholly prevent grappling with clothing (which is considered cheating).

Kagnomatso tournament matches usually include point systems, which have some functions in keeping these time limitless matches from going on excessively long (though bouts between evenly matched competitors are still known to sometimes last hours). Points are scored by forcing the opponent out of the ring or pinning/holding an opponent in a prone position (chest and hips both touching the ground) for three counts. A match is automatically won if one wrestler hits ten points.

The primary goal is still to force the opponent to yield rather than to score points, as this is a more surefire way of achieving victory (and tends to be more entertaining). Matches are also sometimes called by referee on the basis of one wrestler approaching unconsciousness or otherwise being clearly incapable of continuing, even if he hasn’t yielded.

Intentional striking, eye gouging, twisting the fingers, intentional targeting/grasping of the genitals, biting, grappling with clothing, and pulling of hair is prohibited, and can mean an automatic loss at the referee's discretion. Other behaviors may be called by referees, particularly if a wrestler is judged to be attempting to break or dislocate an opponents limbs. Referees in formal tournaments generally carry a khaittail flyswatter (has a leather pad and functions as a whip) to break apart combatants when need be.

[ultraericthered]

GALINDA: We should make the two colors a staple of some special day...maybe even the Christmas holiday season?

ELPHABA: Uh, yeah I'm afraid I gotta tell you something...

WICKED (2024) dir. Jon M. Chu

[voidarchivess]

rushed drawing for March 7th + space transgender vs robot transgender. im too lazy to draw them rn but see my vision...

[canisalbus]

So i remember an ask mentioning your mortal enemy, Felis Atra and their cats, and i thought it'd be fun to draw what Felis Atra's version of your italian dogs would be.

I think they would be called Butter Knife and Flamengo! Butter Knife is not his real name, it's an nickname given by his peers because of how harmless he is. I choose Flamengo because that's the name of Vasco's rival football team here in Brazil, so i thought that was the perfect name :)

Cat Machete was slightly inspired by the Oriental Shorthair cat because of their long noses and thin head shape.

Cat Vasco was inspired by the Scottish Fold cat, because FLOPPY EARS. I gave Flamengo longer ears and orange fur to make him more like his look-alike.

The last doodle is a reference to this ask (https://canisalbus.tumblr.com/post/728923918314946560/me-i-am-machete-ear-fan-number-1-those-ears) and contains the tumblr ask stand-in dog, whose cat version was inspired by the American Curl cat! They have round ears that are slightly floppy outwards.

Final notes: I know cardinal clothes don't come in vibrant blue, but i was ADAMANT on switching Machete's and Vasco's clothing color patterns. I would draw the rest of Butter Knife's and Flamengo's clothes, but i suck at designing cool outfits.

Speaking of outfits, for Machete's iconic void outfit, i figured it would be fun to make it more baggy for Butter Knife, in contrast to Machete's, that looks very tight-fitted. I think it's cute, it kinda looks like a sweater. Also i can't imagine a Machete doppelganger without high heels boots, so those HAD to stay.

Oh, and just to be clear, i'm not like, claiming ownership of these guys or anything. I just thought it would be a fun exercise. Hope you like them!! I love your art and your characters.

.

[of-yourblazingsun]

Part 3???

Remus: We've lost the plot, haven't we.

James: I'm very much on top of the plot.

Remus: We're in the library spying on our boyfriends.

James: It's not spying. We're making sure they're safe.

Remus: From who? The Ravenclaw quidditch captain?

James: You're free to leave.

Remus: As if I'm going to let that homewrecker anywhere near Sirius.

James: Good, because there's Benjy Fenwick, and he's headed straight for their table. Wait, where'd Reggie go-

Regulus: Have you both lost your minds? Spying, really?

Remus, startled but quickly refocusing: Not on you, on that harlot.

Regulus: Wow, Remus, I didn't think you thought of my brother that way but I suppose you're not entirely wrong.

James, shaking his head mournfully: And to think I gave you my blessing to date my best friend.

Remus: Obviously, I don't mean Sirius! And are you just going to throw me under the bus, Prongs?

James: Well there's no sense in both of us being in the dog house, is there?

[quartergremlin]

Do you by any chance have any more ideas or plans for the leosagi babies comic

Do we get to see leo explain to Sagi? Or announce to the fam? Or stuffs like that

Its genuinely my favorite comic if yours to go back and reread it is so well written

vbdjhvbsfdj thank you 🥺

not really, at least not for now! I have one more ask that i'll probably answer, but other than that there's not much there for me - at least until i flesh out what the future actually looks like.

"I'm so happy!" "me too!"

I wanted to focus on a different turtle for each stage of development to avoid reiterating the same things over again - mikey (pre-baby) > leo (baby) > raph (post-baby) > donnie (post-post baby, otherwise known as a child).

"Baby Angst Hammer"

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Sasha using the title "Lord" in RiAAU after taking over Toad Tower and presumably killing Grime and stealing Barrel's Warhammer from him, and other political and military leaders assuming she's a man because, well, Sasha is a gender neutral name, so they hear Lord Sasha and assume they're talking about an adult male toad warrior. The second most powerful person in the known world and only real threat to the Leviathan reign!

Cue princess Marcy fleeing Newtopia and her father seeking refuge with his worst enemy hoping to offer information and political levarage in exchange for protection, perhaps even offering herself in marriage to transfer eventual inheritances and whatnot, and she finds out that Lord Sasha is not, indeed, a dark and domineering toad warlord, but a beautiful, terrifying girl her age that looks like her and oh god her poor little lesbian heart can barely take it.

[solaestial]

new kids in town 😳

(bonus ver without omori ui under the cut)

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XV: Right Now It Feels Good Not to Stand

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev. | read bee's diary

songs for this chapter: girl is a gun by halsey, you first by paramore, bloodhound by scowl, wonderwall by oasis, ICU by phoebe bridgers

summary: something compels you to keep exploring this new, friendlier territory.

a/n: strap in bitch (affectionate) this shit is LONG. have fun!

chapter tags: more ridiculous conversations, raunchiness, adult language, explicit descriptions of sex, hurt/comfort, angst angst more angst fluff but also angst. perv!Eddie strikes again, anxious reader, friendly flirting, idiots flirting without admitting it. lore drops, dialogue, cheesy pick up lines and bold statements. lots of fun!! | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI each chapter will have its own content/trigger warnings

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. THIS WORK IS BEING REPOSTED TO MY NEW AO3! Feel free to check it out! Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. I am satiated by reblogs and comments, so please! Interact with my work! It motivates me to write more, and it helps to know someone out there is reading

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie

--

“What’d the waffle ever do to you?” Chris teases, sliding you a glass of orange juice as you continue brutally stabbing your breakfast. “At least let it die with some dignity.” 

You just grunt in response, shoving a bite of fluffy buttermilk goodness into your mouth. 

“C’mon, what’s wrong? Rough night?”

It’s Sunday, and you spent most of your Saturday off stewing in your thoughts, unable to relax after waking up in Eddie’s arms. Your brain has been going miles per minute, guessing and theorizing about what he could possibly have meant by “making up for lost time.”. “Yeah, you could say that.” You stab your fork into your plate again, barely getting any waffle onto the tines of your fork.

“Anything I could help with?” He leans on the counter, munching on a piece of bacon. 

“Probably not. I don’t think you’d be interested in any of it.” Plus, you’re missing massive pieces of this puzzle.

“Try me?” Chris sits down on the stool next to you, his own plate steaming with a pile of fresh waffles and crispy bacon. Breakfast has always been your favorite meal, and it’s sweet that your brother still puts so much effort into it for you. 

You fill your brother in on as much as you think is necessary, including the nightmare and how you’d woken up. When you’re done, Chris is gaping at you, half chewed waffle still on his tongue. “Ew, dude. Close your mouth.” 

He does, swallowing the bite before speaking. “You slept together?!” “No! That is not what I said.”

“Okay, then why are you freaking out?”

“Because! Since you’ve both come back I have fallen into this alternate reality where Eddie and I are almost friends, and it’s freaking me out. It’s like the anger I’ve been harboring in my heart is just gone, and that doesn’t feel fair. I should be seething at both of you, but mostly I’m just grateful you’re both alive and safe.”

“It sounds like you’ve solved your own problem, Bee. You’re mad for no reason, so you can stop being mad.” He says it so flippantly, and you feel your chest tighten.

“But I’m still mad. I’m pissed off. I lost six years with you both and with no scapegoat to blame it on.” You rub your hand down your face, trying to keep your tears from falling. 

“You want my honest opinion?” You nod. “I think you love him.” You roll your eyes, but he doubles down. “I’m serious! I know you love me, but I think this whole thing bothers you so much because you’re wondering what you two could have been if none of the bad shit happened. You’re dwelling on the past because you regret cutting him out, whether you can admit that to yourself or not. You’re coming to see that he’s not the selfish, careless guy you had been making him out to be in your head. I don’t blame you, and neither should you. You created that version of him with the information you were given. I would have done the same thing, probably. You have the right to be upset, but don’t let that prevent you from losing even more time with him. He’s here now. I don’t see him leaving again any time soon, either.” 

It pains you, how much sense your brother is making. As much as you want to be angry with him, with Eddie, you know it’s all in vain. “God, I hate it when you’re right.”

Chris’s face breaks into a shit eating grin. “I know.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“I don’t have that answer, Bumblebee. That’s for you to figure out. You’ve made progress, though. Just do what Eddie and I couldn’t. Be honest.”

–

> can we talk?

Oh god. You send the message before you lose your nerve. Then a second:

>  like in person?

Eddie (block later): now?

> if ur not doing anything. can i come over? chris is here, otherwise i’d host u

Eddie (block later): course

Eddie (block later): not yet tho come in like an hour i gotta shower

You find yourself stressing over what to wear to Eddie’s when you read his reply, digging through your dresser drawers for a shirt that doesn’t immediately give that fact away. Finally, you find the one you’re looking for: A cropped tank that rests just above your navel, a soft periwinkle color. You pair it with a flannel and a pair of baggy cargo pants, and slip on your shoes before you realize it’s only been fifteen minutes since he’d told you to wait an hour.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” You wonder aloud, frustrated with yourself. As a distraction, you turn your speaker on, your phone automatically connecting to the bluetooth. You scroll through your library until one song jumps out at you, the perfect one to take your mind off the waiting. You shake out your nerves as Halsey’s Girl is A Gun plays, probably annoying the shit out of your brother through your thin walls. You bang your head, two-step, and air guitar your way through the song, out of breath as it fades, and a new song begins. You keep the energy going, this time with Paramore’s You First. You remember fondly when you’d seen them live last year, the way Hayley thrashed to this song as they opened the show. The playlist takes on a theme of angry girls, and you’re not upset about it. Song after song features a woman scorned or screaming, sometimes both, until the alarm you forgot you had set goes off, interrupting your dance break. 

-

Eddie’s front room smells like weed when you enter, and it almost smacks you in the face as you enter. It’s not a scent that’s ever bothered you, but right now it seems to have embedded itself in your nostrils. “You just put that out or something?”

Eddie chuckles, clearly nervous. “Found myself pacing the floor waiting for you. Tried to relax before I put a hole in the floor.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say to that. “Did it work?” 

“No. I’m just doing a great job hiding it.” He smiles sheepishly as he nudges his area rug playfully, and you laugh at his discomfort. Maybe it’s mean, but you’re kind of glad he’s as jumpy as your heart feels right now. “So,” Eddie starts in when the giggles have subsided. “What does the princess wanna talk to a layman like me about?” His posture relaxes as he sinks into the couch, letting the buzz of the weed take root in his brain. 

“Oh, no. That’s not fair, you’re zoinked out of your mind!”

He frowns, sitting back up. “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. You had something really important you wanted to talk to me about, and I’m not taking it seriously.” 

You huff. “No, it’s fine. It’s nothing, like, earth shattering.” Well, to a normal person. To you, though? “I just wanted to see you.” 

“Really?” It’s adorable, the way his tone lightens as he says it, his dimples deepening as he shows his teeth. 

You nod. “I think you had a really good idea, that whole being honest thing. So I’m trying it, too.”

His smile morphs. You’ve given him the upper hand, completely by accident. “How hard was that?” If anyone else had said it, the words would have hurt your feelings. Eddie, though, has such a way about him that you can’t even take his question to mean anything beyond exactly what he’d asked.

“Really, really fucking hard. But it’s harder knowing how much time I wasted because I couldn’t admit it.” It’s too early for such a serious conversation, and you’re starting to wish you’d waited a few more hours before coming over. “I forgot just how much I missed you, man. I got so used to being angry that it started replacing the… fun, important parts of our friendship. I started erasing the origin story of my best friend, and it was for fucking nothing!” You hadn’t planned on crying, but you can’t help it. The tears blur your vision before they fall down your cheeks, and not two seconds later Eddie is swiping them away with his thumb. 

“Please don’t cry.” He begs you, his voice low to keep from wavering. “You know I fuckin’ hate it when you cry.” 

“I wasted so much time… hating you.” You shake your head furiously, tears still falling freely as he wraps his arms around your shaking shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. I was so fucking mean to you.”

“Hey, hey. Stop. You had every reason to be mad at me, okay? I don’t blame you in the slightest. I had all that time to tell you the truth and I didn’t. Please don’t blame this on yourself, sweetheart. This isn’t your fault.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking deep breaths that you begin to match. You can feel him mumbling something unintelligible against your skin. “I have an idea.” Eddie pulls away from you, suddenly his usual, eager self. “You wanna see something cool?”

–

It’s been about twenty minutes in Eddie’s van when you finally crack. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see! We’re almost there.” He cuts the wheel, the force sending your body tilting into his personal space. “We go the rest of the way on foot.” Eddie throws the car in park and flings himself out of his seat and over to the passenger side, where he yanks the door open for you. “C’mon.” He then grabs his tattered backpack and guitar case from the backseat. 

He’s brought you to… the middle of the Hawkins Forest. “Did you bring me out here to kill me?”

Eddie scoffs, marching forward into the tangle of trees. “Please. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have a way better plan than bringing you out here. You’re safe, I promise.” He reaches his hand out behind him, wiggling his fingers at you. “You trust me?”

You do, without question, and you answer by grabbing his hand with your own. It’s warm. Strong, his skin rough with all the mechanical work he does. You follow him uphill, through the branches and finally into a relatively clear opening. “I usually come here to write my campaigns, it’s secluded enough while still being easy to find.” Eddie leads you to the far side of the clearing, where a makeshift tent has been propped against the trees. 

“This is like, your secret lair?” You question, taking in your surroundings. “What’s the point when you live by yourself?” 

“I like being outside. Reminds me of being a kid, playing stupid games in the woods with nothing but sticks and stones as props.” He muses, taking a seat on the rocks surrounding what looks like a fire pit. 

“Is this legal?” You kick one of the logs in the ashen pile, and Eddie chuckles.

“Probably not, but I haven’t been caught yet!”

“Careful, your stalker could be right on your tail.”

“Who, Hopper? Please, he wouldn’t have the heart to stop me. He has a soft spot for the freaks.” Eddie doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t feel like questioning him. From his bag, he yanks out a massive picnic blanket and spreads it in the grass. It’s unseasonably sunny for October, bathing Eddie in a soft light, highlighting the strands of caramel in his dark hair. “Come sit down.” He pats the spot next to him, and you obey his request, dropping to your knees on the soft cotton next to him. 

“You gonna play Wonderwall for me?”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at you. “You don’t wanna make that joke. I’ll sing that song like my life depends on it.” 

You burst into laughter, throwing your head back as you picture Eddie aggressively strumming, voice an exaggerated whine as he wails, “I SAID MAY-BAYYYYY,”

“I might have to take you up on that.” Though definitely a hilarious joke, Eddie’s voice is incredible. You wouldn’t mind him singing to you, even if it was Wonderwall. 

“Some other time, I promise. I brought you out here for a reason.”

“Ah, right. The murder you’re about to commit. Can’t believe the town rumors have been right this whole time.” 

“You caught me. There’s actually a goat in here I plan to sacrifice, too. Them’s the rules, right? A goat and a beautiful, pure woman?”

Your laugh comes to a halt in your throat, causing you to choke on your breath. “Pure?!”

“Yeah, y’know. You’ve only ever had, like, good intentions. You’re wholesome.”

“Oh, Eddie.” Your tone is condescending, pitiful even. “You have to know that isn’t what that means!”

Eddie bats his giant, pretty eyes at you. “You mean… you’re not a virgin?” He barely gets the words out before descending into laughter. 

“Oh, fuck you!” You shove him, and he topples over, rolling dramatically into the grass while he clutches his heart, all still while cackling.

“I’d be honored.” He sputters finally as he catches his breath. 

It takes you a second to understand what he means. “Eddie, stop. Seriously.”

“Oh, come on! You’ve never had a problem with my stupid jokes before.” Eddie plucks a joint from behind his ear, flicking his lighter open as he puts it between his lips. He has a point; he’s always been a little, well, inappropriate with his humor. You’d always laughed along, despite missing the joke half the time because you were too naive to understand the innuendo. Now, though, the subtext of his jabs are making your stomach flip. 

“Just. You’re such a guy!” You groan, frustrated when you can’t even defend yourself. 

“And you’re a prude!” He mocks your tone, exaggerating your whiny cadence. 

It’s then that you have what could either be a fantastic idea, or a horrible one. “I’m a lot of things, Eddie, but I promise you that is not one of them.” You lean back on your elbows to soak up the sun rays, exposing your neck to Eddie’s direct line of sight. You squint into the sky, pretending you can’t feel his eyes on you. 

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’ll prove it, if you want.” You swear you hear him gulp. 

“H-how are you gonna do that?”

You shrug. “Ask me something. I’ll answer honestly.”

“How will I know you’re not lying?”

“You won’t. You’ll have to trust me.” You wink at him, and he rolls his eyes. “I’ll give you five questions, but you have to answer them too.” 

“Fuck. Okay, give me a second. I gotta think.” He grabs his backpack again, digging for a full minute before pulling out his campaign notebook; a thick, leather bound journal falling apart along the cracked spine. He throws the book open to a new page, clicking his pen furiously, tongue sticking out through his teeth. You could tease him for this, call him desperate or pathetic, lighten the mood. Instead, you watch his brain work as he scribbles what you can only assume are the questions he’s about to ask you. His eyes flick across the page as he rereads them, mouth moving silently like he’s rehearsing his lines. it all feels… vulnerable. After what feels like forever, Eddie looks up from his notes. “Alright, I’ve narrowed it down.”

“I’m all ears.” You cross one leg over the other in preparation. “Shoot.”

“Okay, first. What’s your favorite position?”

You snort. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I’m asking the questions here.”

“Sorry, okay. Probably cowgirl.”

“Ah, you like to be on top. In control. Makes sense. Have–.”

“Ah! Hey, you gotta answer too!”

“Oh. Right. Definitely cowgirl.”

“You’re lying.”

He shakes his head. “Fuck, no. I get a perfect view and she does most of the work? Bliss.” The image of Eddie on his back underneath you flashes in your head, and you physically have to shake it from your thoughts. “Anyway, next! Have you ever… sixty-nined?” 

You groan. “Yeah, and it fuckin’ sucked. No pun intended.”

Eddie leans over, resting his elbows on his knees. “Really? Why?”

Fuck it, what pride do you have to lose? “He couldn’t get me off. Said I was ‘too good’ at it and he couldn’t focus. Never returned the favor either.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“What about you?”

“Nope.”

“No?!” You’re not sure why it shocks you. Eddie seems so… experienced? Curious? Horny. He’s definitely horny. 

“Swear to god. Never. The subject just never came up, I guess.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“Is it?” You shrug. “Right… Okay. Next question. What’s your stance on oral?”

You tilt your head. “Like, giving? Or receiving?” This conversation should be way more uncomfortable than it is, and yet you’re more at ease than you’ve been since you’ve come home. Eddie passes the joint to you, one you haven’t hit yet. You can’t even blame it on the weed!

“Either. Both! But it's still only one question. Two parts.” 

“Of course, the classic two part question. Giving, yes. It makes me feel in control, y’know? Powerful. Hot. And I love watching my partner melt and writhe at my touch.” Who are you? “Getting, also yes, but only when it’s, y’know, good. And that’s rare.” When you finally look from your lap back to Eddie, he might as well be drooling, his expression blank as he stares through you. “You okay over there?” You wave a hand in front of his face. 

“What? Shit. Fuck. No, I’m fine. Fantastic. Jesus christ.” He’s huffing between words, and you can’t help but love what this is doing to him. “Wait, hold on. You haven’t gotten like, good head?”

You frown. “I think it’s my fault. I get too in my head, and worry about what I must taste, smell, look like. I freak myself out of coming.” 

You wait for Eddie to respond, and worry when he doesn’t right away. Maybe you’re going too far. 

“Anyone lucky enough to be invited between your legs should relish in the way you taste. Anything less is a dishonor to you, and should be publicly shamed.”

You must have blacked out. There is no way he just said that to you. “Wh-,”

“I bet I could make you come with my mouth.” It doesn’t even sound like he’s talking to you anymore, the words said under his breath like he’s weighing the risk of them on his tongue. You pretend you don’t hear it, because you have to. You don’t know what to do with that information. 

“Eddie?”

“Sorry, hi. My turn?”

“Yeah, it’s your turn.” You shift in your seat, desperate for comfort, or friction, you can’t tell. 

“Well, obviously I love giving head. I talk too much, it’s a great way to shut me up.” You try to prevent the thought of shutting Eddie up by sitting on his face from being sucked to the front of your mind. It doesn’t work. “Getting head’s nice too, makes me feel special and shit.” You have no idea how to respond, wondering what series of decisions have brought you to this conversation. “Bee?” You blink.  “We can stop. Sorry, this stuff isn’t, like, taboo to me. I forget some people get uncomfortable-,”

“No! I’m okay. I told you, I’m not a prude. This is fine.” Your face is hot. You’re probably visibly sweating, but you need to see this through. You’re not an awkward teenager anymore. That doesn’t mean you’re not inclined to get extremely riled up, though. “You have two more questions, better make ‘em good.”

“Right, yeah. What was your first time like?”

The question relaxes you, somehow. It’s much easier to talk about, a horrible experience that you can laugh about now.

“It was awful. We were like, seventeen? He took me to Enzo’s and gave his fuckin’ dad’s name. We’d been dating for maybe a month, and we’d talked about it for a week in advance. He promised me it would be soooo beautiful, and that ‘I’d remember it forever.’ Then! He took me to his room, thrusted for, like, three fuckin’  minutes, came on my stomach without asking, then cried. For an hour. I did not get off. Duh. I left immediately, and I cried myself to sleep.” You finish the story with a pout. 

“Sure was memorable though, I’ll give him that.” 

“Oh, my god.” He’s trying really hard not to laugh, but ultimately loses the battle with his gut. “I’m sorry! I'm not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the situation. Poor fella was so overwhelmed.” 

“Oh, boo hoo. He could have at least tried to make it up to me. He broke up with me a week later.”

“Oh, well in that case, fuck him!”

“That’s how I got into this mess in the first place!” 

It’s all said between laughs, quick jabs to continue the joke on, comfortable enough to make fun of each other. 

“Right, my turn to answer. Do you even care about this one?”

“Nice try, buddy. Spill it.”

“Ugh, okay. I was nineteen. She was a cheerleader. She offered to blow me for free weed.”

“Eddie,” You hate this story already.

“I said no. I told her I’d do it if she could get me a date with her friend. She agreed, for some reason, and we started dating. Well, I thought we were dating. Turns out she’d been told she only had to have sex with me. Which was fine, but it wasn’t what I wanted from her. Broke my heart.”

When he finishes, you don’t know what to say. You sit there, the silence growing past awkward and into territory you’re afraid you won’t come back from. 

“I have one more question.” You nod, grateful for him changing the subject. “You ever wish we’d given it a shot?”

Good christ, will you ever catch a break? “Eddie.”

“You said you’d answer honestly.”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

Fuck. Fuck! “I guess you could say that.”

“Oh?”

You pinch between your eyes, squeezing them shut. “Please don’t make me do this.”

He backs off, much to your surprise. “Okay. Fine. I get it. Think about it, though. I’m gonna want your answer at some point.”

And just like that, the tension washes from your body. Eddie grabs his guitar from where he’d rested it against a tree, and unlatches the case to reveal a pretty acoustic, plastered in stickers sporting bands and guitar string companies. “Now, the real reason I brought you out here.” He doesn’t even mention his own answer to the question, and you already feel that gnawing at you.

“I wrote a new song. I wanted your opinion.”

You try to return to the present conversation, shoving his question deep into the recesses of your brain, only for it to slip right back out. “You couldn’t show me at your place?”

He shrugs. “Weather’s nice. Needed a change of scenery.” You could press him for a better answer, but there’s too much information already swimming in your brain to muster the strength it would take. Eddie fills the silence, strumming idly, humming under his breath. 

“Either my ears fucking suck, or you’re whispering right now.”

He looks up at you, revealing a pair of blushing red cheeks. “I’m on the spot!” “This was your idea!”

“I honestly wasn’t confident I’d get this far.”

“I’m trying this new thing where I trust you.”

He leans back, as if repelled by your words. “It’s weird.”

“Whatever! Show me the damn song!” 

You’re familiar with Corroded Coffin, obviously. The loud, dramatic, metal band, heavily inspired by 80’s hair bands, including elements of modern metal and punk. You’re not certain you’d call yourself a fan, but you can recognize that the music is objectively good. It’s well written, and Eddie’s a powerhouse behind the mic. And he writes it all, from the first chord to the last lyric.

That band, those songs, are his baby, and the rest of the band are there to raise it with him because they believe in it. In short, Eddie is super fucking talented. Usually, he’s the first to admit it, but that version of Eddie seems to have disappeared before your eyes. He’s been replaced with a fantastic dupe physically, but with the mannerisms of a terrified baby deer. 

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

You offer out your pinky. “And I keep my promises.” He doesn’t retort, but hooks his pinky around yours. The brief, innocent skin to skin contact still manages to make your brain fuzzy. 

He releases you and returns to his instrument, this time without stalling. He’s not using a pick, instead plucking individual strings with incredible dexterity. You like the way his calloused fingertips scratch along the strings, lending an authentic, raw touch to the clean sound of the guitar. You catch yourself watching his hands, the way they flex as he changes positions, stretching to reach a higher fret without any strain, and fight with yourself until ultimately, your eyes drift to his face. Big mistake. Huge. He’s studying you through the wisps of his bangs, but averts his eyes as soon as you catch him. 

“I haven’t written any lyrics yet, but I have this line stuck in my head that I wanna use.” He studies his hands as he talks. “It’s something like, Returning to earth sworn to be scorched / wish I hadn’t lit the torch.” The air is thick with the silence that follows. You’re in awe of him, the talent he possesses and the sudden lack of ego. 

“You are quite the enigma, Munson.”

His posture seems to loosen. “What?” He chuckles as he asks, placing his guitar down beside him. 

“I just had no idea you were writing a bedroom pop song.” 

“First of all, absolutely not. Gareth would rejoin the band just to kick me out if I did anything like that. This is all mine. I haven’t shown anyone, and I don’t plan to.”

You blink once, twice, three times. “Why did you show me?”

“It’s only fair that I show the muse what she’s inspired in me.” He shrugs. Like it’s nothing! Like he isn’t charming the pants off you currently. 

“Okay, Eddie. What gives?”

“Last I checked, quite a bit.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to this.”

Eddie frowns, repositioning himself to lay on his back, placing his head beside your outstretched legs. “There is no right or wrong way to respond to having a song written for you by the guy that abandoned you out of cowardice. At least, not in the handbook I studied.”

You snort, backhanding his chest lightly. “You know what I mean. It’s not everyday you have a song written for you by anyone!”

“‘Cause that would be weird.” He rolls his eyes up to look at you, lips stretching over his slightly crooked teeth in a big, pretty smile that makes his cheeks look like crabapples. 

“You wanna smoke some more before we go? It’s gonna be gettin’ dark soon.” 

“Yeah, sure.” You nod, and Eddie raises his head, and you think he's going to sit up right, but he just shifts to lay his head in your lap. “This okay?”

You nod, wordless. You’re much warmer, suddenly. You could sit here for another three hours. Eddie flicks his lighter, cursing as it flickers a few times before it catches, and offers you the half smoked joint. You take it, placing it between your lips quickly as Eddie raises the flame until it catches on the paper. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes while the tip of the joint illuminates as he sucks. He pushes the smoke from his mouth into his nose before exhaling through his nostrils, opening his glassy eyes as he passes you the joint. Plucking it from his fingers, you bring it to your mouth slowly, still unable to pull your eyes away from him. He’s the first to surrender, his eyes drifting from your stare to the sky above him. 

–​​​​​

The sun has retired by the time Eddie pulls into the complex garage. Eddie pulls into his assigned spot, killing the engine and cutting off a blaring guitar solo from his speakers. 

“What’re you up to tomorrow?” He turns to face you, throwing his seatbelt over his shoulder. “This might be annoying but I really, really wanna see you.”

“I work tomorrow, but not ‘til five. I have a lot of shit to do around the house…” You trail off, because why would house work be the first excuse you come up with? You do have a lot to do, though. “If you wanna come sit on my couch while I do laundry, be my guest.” You offer pathetically, shrugging. 

“Sounds good. I’ll be over by noon.”

“You don’t have to–”

“I know. I just told you, I wanna see you. If you’re not completely sick of this giving me a chance thing. I’ll bring snacks?”

With the way he’s pouting at you, that lilt in his voice, how could you say no? “Okay, fine. Maybe bring some more of that weed, too? The good stuff, not whatever you oversell to the freshmen.” You give him a grin, and he returns it with a shy smirk. 

“Anything you want, sweets.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He throws his van door open and makes his way to your side. You’ve stopped even reaching for the door now, used to his hospitality. To add, he walks you the five feet to your own vehicle. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

“G’night, Bee. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before you can move another inch, Eddie snatches your hand in his own, bringing it to his lips to plant a small, soft kiss on the top of your knuckles. “Drive safe, okay? Text me when you’re home.” He then, to top off this fever dream, opens your car door for you with a grand sweep of his arm. You curtsy, for the second time in the last week, and slide into your seat behind the wheel. He closes the door gently, and gives you a wave that you return, suddenly shy. 

Once you’ve pulled onto the main road, now lit every hundred feet with flickering lights, you crank your music. You can’t think about the series of events that took place today, not right now. Right now, you drown the thoughts, the fear, with loud guitars and guttural vocals, screaming along to songs nowhere near your vocal range to expel whatever this weird, heavy feeling in your chest is. 

The porch light is on when you get home, but the windows are dark. Chris must be out, thank god. You rush right to your room, tossing your clothes into the hamper before climbing into bed in your underwear with a quickness, like it’s safer under the blankets from the thoughts refusing to cease tumbling around in your brain. Eventually sleep comes, pausing the spiral for at least a few sweet hours.

–