#legally-blind photographer

[angstics]

on my chemical romance's history of racism:

(edit: i wont rewrite anything since that will create discrepancies in reblogs. however, i will include these important additions: post 1 and post 2)

cultural appropriation is a neutral term that turns negative when people co-opt a culture without consideration to its people and history, or their prejudices and privileges. the rising sun japanese flag is an imperialist symbol used during japan's occupation of other countries from 1870 to 1945 (the guardian 2019). unlike other symbols of terror, the rising sun is normalized because of the japanese government's refusal to acknowledge its history. the symbol's meaning was popularized a few years ago when people from south korea protested its legality in the 2020 tokyo olympics (bbc 2020). aware or unaware of its history, americans have long appropriated the rising sun. in part because of their fascination with japanese art, in part because of orientalism -- a fixation on asian cultures that centers "exoticism".

my chemical romance has been associated with the rising sun symbol a couple of times. frank iero used to have a tattoo of it. gerard way designed frank's killjoys outfit to include it (seen in concept art and music videos). it is often used in mcr fanart.

tokenism is when something contains limited diversity to divert criticisms for the lack of it. my chemical romance has had a very white cast of characters in their music videos and stories. in the "i dont love you" music video, a main character is in black body paint. in the casting call, they specifically asked for a white man (there is 100% an online source -- please let me know if you have it). even casting a black person for this role would place him in a video that appropriated his skin color to mark his "difference" from the light-skin female character.

the female character points to the band's main problem with tokenism. if they arent casting a white woman, theyre casting a light-skin asian woman. the woman in the "i dont love you" mv is fetishized for physical traits stereotypically attributed to east asian women: big eyes, daintiness. east asian women feature most prominently aside from the band and main characters in the "welcome to the black parade" music video and photo shoot. the photoshoot is the only place where an ashy-faced black man and ambiguously tribal? brown man are seen (brought in by photographer chris anthony per the "making of the black parade" book). the director antagonist of the danger days music videos (shown in "sing") is a japanese woman. she is the only main character of color in the music videos and the killjoys: california comics. the focus of this post is on my chemical romance, but the comics are important to showcase that the reality is never "color-blind casting" or "limited roles". it's mostly white creatives (band members and directors and artists) who ignore non-white people when they cant use them, reflected as much by gerard way years later (nyt 2019).

"japan takes over the world" is a media trope that is built on the late 20th century fear of the return of imperial japan. this trope frames japanese people as unique aggressors, feeding into "yellow peril" fears of asian people "taking over" the white race. this trope is suggested all over the danger days universe, where the corporation BL/ind overthrows the US government. the appropriation of the japanese modern flag and lettering on the killjoys outfits, the primary BL/ind villain being a japanese person who only speaks japanese in videos, the official BL/ind website having a ".jp" domain and english-japanese translations. japanese people and culture only exist in this universe to decorate and threaten.

the point of this post is not to punish my chemical romance. in the decade+ since, they have made meaningful changes -- the sing it for japan project to aid japan during the 2011 earthquake-tsunami, developing diversity in gerard's comics / tv show, a mexican-american main character in the 2020 summoning video. people of color treated as real goddamn people.

however. all these faults exist in frozen time. there is no discussion attached to the work. so anyone, fan or casual, may come across it and not notice or care for these important issues. i know all this shit and i still fail to see instances of what i highlighted. it's difficult locating not only your own prejudices but those of others. those you look up to.

"my chemical romance" is the product of many people from 2001 to 2013. many of these people were male, white, american, and/or, most radically, liberal. clearly laying out what they did wrong is important. being careful with history and culture and personhood is important. prioritizing growth is important. constantly. forever.

[depressedhouseplant]

🔞 Just Fucking Write - Day 94 🔞

Prompt: Straight Sex (blame @m-is-mickey for the suggestion) - Juyeon x Giselle (Aeri)

Tags: Unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids), lewds/nudes, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms

A/N: I picked Aespa’s Giselle because she & Winter did a TikTok with Juyeon & Eric. My other option was Illit, but shockingly people get their asses on their shoulders if you ship a legal member of a group if there’s any underage members. Whatever. All of Aespa is legal. Let’s move on, shall we? This is separate from both the Hyunjin & Jumil Cheating Universes.

Aeri-bae: WYD? 😘

Juyeon picked up his phone when it went off on his bedside table.

Juyeon: Lying in bed. Why?

A pause.

Aeri-bae: Naked? 😏

Juyeon snorted.

Juyeon: Has anyone told you that you think like a guy?

Aeri-bae: Regularly. Wanna fuck then get ramen?

He definitely couldn’t turn that down. Half the group was out of the country and everyone else had gone to bed. He could leave without being interrogated. The girls had just moved into a new dorm and all of them knew to turn a blind eye when Juyeon showed up.

Juyeon: Be there in 10

Aeri-bae: Make it 7. I’m soaking my sheets already

Juyeon’s cock stirred at the thought of Aeri with her pussy out and dripping. Juyeon grabbed a sweater, his wallet, and keys and was out the door. If the traffic was in his favor and he caught the bus at the right time, he could get to their dorm in 7 minutes. Everything worked in his favor. Jimin opened the door and rolled her eyes when she saw him.

”You know where to go,” she sighed as she let him in.

”Thanks,” Juyeon grinned. “We’ll try to keep it down.”

”I got earplugs after last time,” she replied. Juyeon went down the hall and knocked on Aeri’s door. He heard rustling then she peeked out from behind the door. “Close your eyes. I have a surprise.”

”Okay,” he agreed and she pulled him into her room by his wrist.

”Open,” she said. He opened his eyes to see her standing in front of him in a black lace lingerie set. There were no panties, just a garter belt, and the bra barely qualified for the term.

”Holy fuck,” he breathed.

”I want you to take some pictures before we get started. Something we can both enjoy when we can’t see each other,” she told him.

”With what?” He asked dumbly, still trying to take in the sight in front of him. He noticed a distinct glisten on Aeri’s inner thighs.

”Your phone works, doesn’t it?” She teased.

”You want me to take pictures of you in lingerie and have them on my phone?” He asked.

”In progressively less and less lingerie to be specific and I can show you how to encrypt the folder,” Aeri replied. “All the other boys were very enthusiastic.”

Juyeon knew they weren’t exclusive. They’d agreed on that early on.

”How many others?” Juyeon asked.

”Four, but you’re my favorite. And the only one I let raw me,” She grinned, climbing back on the bed. She made a point of crawling so he could see how wet her pussy was. He was dying to get a taste of her before he fucked her.

”I’m flattered,” he said as he stripped to his underwear.

”You should be,” she replied and leaned back on the bed. Juyeon began taking pictures as she posed. Then she reached back and pulled the bra off, leaving her tits exposed.

”You -,” he began.

”Keep going. I’m gonna be naked by the time this little photo shoot is done,” she said.

“Okay,” he nodded, already starting to feel pussy drunk and he hadn’t even touched her yet. Juyeon kept taking pictures until Aeri was completely naked and reclined on the bed, casually rubbing her pussy.

”Let me see,” she held out her free hand. Juyeon gave her his phone and she swiped through the pictures. “You’re also a better photographer.”

”Thanks,” he said as she handed him his phone back.

“Have I tortured you long enough?” She asked.

”Please let me taste you,” Juyeon whined, his dick hard enough to cut diamonds, but still in his underwear.

”Take off your undies and you can have my pussy,” Aeri replied. Juyeon almost fell off the bed trying to get out of his underwear and not lose sight of between Aeri’s legs. She laughed. Once he finally got them off, Juyeon plunged his face between her legs and began licking and sucking. She tasted like honey and it was addictive. She dug her fingers into his scalp and moaned as he licked every drop he could get. He stuck his tongue in her cunt and began fucking her with it.

”Fuck, Juyeon, I’m gonna fucking come all over your face,” she panted, bucking her hips in his face.

”Do it,” he pulled back for a moment. Then he resumed his position between her legs and kept tongue fucking her until he felt her thighs start to shake. Then her pussy started to flutter around his tongue. A few seconds later, she was dripping come all over his nose and mouth. Aeri had thrown a pillow over her face to muffle her cries of pleasure, mostly so she wouldn’t get bitched out by her roommates later. Juyeon sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She hadn’t fully come down from her first orgasm before he slid into her tight pussy. Even fucking four other guys hadn’t loosened her up. The fact she stayed tight was part of the appeal. She wasn’t as tiny as some of the other girls he’d fucked, but she was the one he kept coming back to. Tight, sexy, and not afraid to tell him exactly what she wanted.

”Should I make more of a mess of your pussy?” He grunted as he thrust into her.

”Fucking ruin me,” she pulled him down into a kiss. It was more teeth and tongue than was comfortable, but Juyeon enjoyed it anyway. He sat back on his heels, pulling Aeri up on his lap. He took her waist and began fucking her on his cock.

”Shit, what the fuck,” she grunted as he manhandled her.

“You said ruin you,” he smirked.

”I did, didn’t I?” She grinned. She tilted her head back, exposing her neck for the taking. No marks. That was the only firm rule in the industry. Juyeon wanted to mark her up. To show the other guys he was her first choice. Instead he had to settle for mouthing at the smooth skin as she bounced on his dick.

”Ready to come again?” He asked against her throat.

”Always ladies first,” she teased.

”And more than once if I can arrange it,” Juyeon added.

”Finish me again,” Aeri kissed him again, this time with a little more finesse. He reached between them and teased her clit with this thumb. He felt her body momentarily lock up, then she was coming again, her face buried in his shoulder.

”That…was cheating,” she panted when she finished.

”No, I just know how to properly pleasure a woman,” Juyeon teased.

”When you put it that way,” she kissed him. “Ready to fill me up?”

”Been ready,” Juyeon leaned her back down and balanced himself on his arms before fucking hard into her again. It wasn’t long before he was coming hard and fast into her pussy. He pulled out when he finished and admired the mix of their come oozing out of her red and swollen cunt.

”Can I take a picture of this?” He asked. Aeri looked surprised for a moment, then handed him his phone.

”Naughty boy,” she giggled, spreading her legs wider so he could get a good shot. He showed her the pictures when he finished. “You’re definitely sending me those.”

”Of course,” he grinned. They stared at each other for a moment like there was something more to be said.

”Time to clean up and get some food,” she said. She passed him a box of tissues as she pulled on a robe to go to the bathroom. Once they were as clean as possible and redressed, they left for the 24 hour ramen spot a few blocks from the girls’ apartment. Juyeon found himself holding Aeri’s hand. They probably should’ve worn masks or something else to obscure their identities, but it was 2am and they were both still fucked out. Dating “scandals” had been rampant recently even if it was just two idols of the opposite sex having a normal conversation.

Maybe in a different life, Juyeon thought to himself as they took a booth in the back. Aeri was about to pick up the menu when Juyeon stopped her.

”I want to get a picture of this, too,” he said.

“Seriously? I’m wearing a flannel and my glasses,” she huffed.

”Maybe I want a PG picture I can show my friends when they ask about who I’m seeing,” Juyeon said.

”Fine,” Aeri posed and Juyeon took the picture.

”Perfect,” he said and showed it to her.

”Thanks,” she tried to hide a blush and failed. “Now let’s order. I’m starving.”

[ot3]

while it's true that plenty of people who have zero respect for the skill it takes to be an artist crudely use the accessibility of AI art as a talking point, that doesn't mean the talking point is wrong at its core. and i feel like if you're going to be constructing counter-narratives about AI, 'if you think this tool could help you you should just practice more' is probably the worst possible one to pick.

i know i've mentioned this before but it really just makes me think of my dad who has always loved comics and wanted to make some. he went to school for a film degree but ended up spending like the last 20 years working as a programmer because it was steady money and he had three kids to raise. and now he's nearing retirement, but here's the catch: he had eye surgery that went wrong and now he's legally blind. looking at stuff for extended periods of time hurts him. he still would like to make a comic.

i was talking to him about ways to work around that awhile back and stuff like photobashing/digital kitbashing, taking photographs and then using faux-illustrative filters, and yes, maybe some ai image generation came up as potential ways of trying to navigate this. and it's like. okay. should my dad, who is absolutely not putting anyone out of work or infringing on anyone's intellectual property, just Hurt Himself More when trying to make art so he can have some sort of moral high ground with the purity of hard work and practice or whatever?

and this is just the one immediate example i happen to be party to. anyone is free to feel however they like about ai but if you try to pretend it doesn't have any benefits for people with disabilities that want to create stuff you just come off like a self centered jackass.

[christinebloodwrittings]

Something exactly like this

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, abuse, police brutality, hints of ptsd, cursing.

Words: 1957

Chapter four: If only we weren't strangers.

Taglist: @xoxobabe @lavndrluv @whatamidoing89 @theboyrisingfromstardust

There are moments in life that simply cannot be forgotten. When you least expect them, they repeat in your head like a catchy tune. Or at least, that's what good times sound like, like a day with your parents at the park, eating ice cream, laughing and playing, having the sun warm up your skin nicely.

But in moments of peace, my mind wanders over my decisions, entwined in infinite designs of a pattern that forms an image. It's blurry and incomplete, but each thread glows brightly, almost alive.

God knows I made bad decisions, some worse than others, like sneaking out to a party and getting my stubborn ass dragged to the police station was one of the worst, but for the sake of just going. I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have drunk, or let myself be carried away by the music, much less let one of the guys make me take a walk to get some air.

Because they didn't process me as a teenager, but as an adult.

An adult who had drunk like never before in her life, a minor, defenseless, with zero reasoning power.

The policeman who handcuffed me didn't read my rights, he just pushed my head into the car and drove to the station. He was suspiciously heavily armed, I must say.

He didn't put me in a cell, it was more of a room with a desk and pictures of a bald white guy with a loving family. I remember that desk well, especially the smooth, cold surface.

The officer just told me to wait quietly, that if I made a single sound he would break my knees, or so I think, I just remember laughing.

The rest is history... medical history.

It's funny how much you can miss after a few drinks, but at least they kept me from remembering what was important. My body and the photographs that the detectives took spoke for themselves.

During my time in the hospital room, a doctor came to me with news, supposedly to improve my mood, he told me that two policemen had entered the hospital with me, one of them blind in one eye and the other with a piece of his ear missing.

He was the typical adult who thought himself young and cool, trying to ease my pain with more or less happy news, something like "You look like crap, but you should see the others, champ!", but I doubt they were starring in their own version of the mummy.

Although of course, it was curious that when I woke up, I was missing several of my acrylic nails. Back then I did what it took to fit in, we've all been there.

My case was left unfinished, for a change. The policemen had no legal repercussions and remained intact in their jobs. It was never made public since I lived in a town in the middle of nowhere, and the detective in charge just gave me a taser in case it happens again.

I fucking hate the system.

My dad went crazy for it, who wouldn't be? That led him to call an old friend who had recently made a name for himself in the big city, in a political position.

I thought that justice would be done through human means and that the system would finally work, but unfortunately that dinner was the beginning of a terrible decision.

It was also the last time that Norman Osborn sat at our table looking completely human.

From that experience I was left with an omen, a voice, that screamed heartbreaking pleas for me to get away from the police, especially if it was V.E.N.O.M.

It has me sweating cold most of my nights.

That night I listened to it again and like an instinct I jumped out of my seat and started running. I spotted the emergency exit, I didn't think twice, I kicked it and ran in the opposite direction of the blue and red glow.

But it was as if it was getting louder, ferocious voices were yelling at me to stop, that I was under arrest, I was not going to let them take me away again, ever, over my corpse.

The burning tires, the smell of gasoline, everything led me to that night. I felt my heart in my ears, from the tears I could hardly see where I was going, and I only knew that I was moving through the cold air hitting my face, I could no longer feel my legs or my body in general. I just needed to run away.

The only time I stopped was when something grabbed me by the waist and stuck my back to his chest, looking up I realized it was Spider-punk. He lifted his finger to where I figured his mouth was, signaling for me to be quiet, but between my agitated hyperventilation, I just couldn't.

"I'm here, I won't let 'em take you" he whispered, getting a tigher hold of my body. A warm feeling grounded me a little when he hugged me, the rest of my body was so cold, I yearned for more warmth.

A loud bang resonated though the air, before the police sirens started to fade in the distance. We stayed a few minutes like that, even long after the silence settled among city's normal noise.

"They're gone now" he patted my head slightly, reassuring me. It felt nice to be held again, to feel safe for a minute.

"Looks like I owe you that kiss, huh?" I rolled my eyes, it's true that the danger was far away now, but it wasn't the right time to joke around.

"For all wrong reasons" I wanted to move, but I guess I took it too far with the escape run, it felt as if my feet were asleep. It was like the cold air built stalactites on the insides of my lungs, every breath brought a painful pang on my side.

"I don't mind settling that, but maybe I should leave you an excuse" he smiled, using my own words, "Perhaps you should".

Stepping a few times seemed to make the trick, I could feel my feet again, but the burning sensation in my chest remained, so I just walked at an old lady's speed.

"I get it, you were scared, the adrenaline is wearin' off, but you don't have to be so cold" he kept himself close, no quite beside me, but close.

I didn't respond to any of his callings, honestly I was far too tired and fed up with myself to handle anything external, except than silence, which was the last thing following me.

"Hey, 's goin on?" He stopped me by grabbing my arm, not making any pressure on it, he just hooked his hand on my elbow and stopped walking, making me almost lose my balance and curse under my breath.

"Fuck sake, why are you so fixated on the kiss thing? It was a joke, I thought I would never see you again, so it didn't mattered what I said", janking away from his hand, I managed to regain my posture and my walk.

"Well, it did to me" he muttered.

"I'm sorry, picture this for a fucking second. Normal female citizen about to be beaten up by a corrupt cop gets saved by a random dude with superpowers, among them abnormal strength. Then gets dropped off at her apartment, and the creep expects a kiss, so she jokes as to not make the mutant mad, and he keeps being flirty and pushy about the damn thing!" I lost my breath at the last sentence, and it broke me to realize how much it really hit me.

Perhaps I was being too hard on him, but pushing the issue in the first place, and in a situation of extreme stress was kind of the last drop.

"Now I was chased by cops, my heart is in the back of my mouth as well as the pie and my lunch, I'm tired, it's been a long fucking day, and guess what, the stranger keeps being pushy about a fucking kiss" then I went silent, having almost nothing else on my chest to vomit at all. Perhaps it wasn't how I wanted to say it, but I had a limit, and I couldn't find another way to draw it.

He backed up a little, raising his open palms to his chest level, "Hey, 'm sorry, I was just joking around" His voice was low and apologetic, it was like his presence shrunk from the tall and intimidating Spider-Punk, to just a guy that realized he fucked up.

I took a big breath, the burning sensation calming down a little, "Look I'm sorry, I have a bad history with cops, and men in general, the stress is all over me...I should've minded my words" down the weather was an understatement of my mood.

He hesitated, but in a slow motion, very carefully, he brushed a strand of lose hair off my face, brushing my cheek sweetly along the way.

"Forgive me luv, I pushed it" I nodded, his hand lingered on my cheek for a couple more seconds before withdrawing his touch, leaving me with a fluttery sensation.

He patted his jacket for a second before pulling a wrinkled piece of paper, which he handed to me, "Y'know, you can call this number, he's always around, 's a good pal o' mine, he'll help you if you need it" it had a phone number and a name that seemed to be a joke by now.

"Hobie Brown, the guitarrist? Met him already" he turned around to see me, "Really?" It was as if I could see his eyebrows rising.

"He pulled me out of the crowd mid anxiety attack, we didn't spoke much, but I apreciated it" he was so considerate for that, and I don't think I ever thank him for it.

"Intrestin', what do you think of him? First impresions only" I was taken aback by his question, but I didn't minded much, "He seemed nice, intimidating and surreal, but nice. My friend and her boyfriend supposedly set us up in order to date, but I don't see it happening" more like a failed ambush by cupid.

"Why's that?"

"I don't know, I guess...I guess we're too different, we don't even like the same music, and he's so..." so handsome but too much at this moment,

"So?"

"Rebel, he seems like trouble"

"What's life without a lil' trouble?"

"Are you also trying to set me up with that friend of yours? He can't be that dreamy, besides I don't know if I'm ready to jump in a relationship just yet"

"I understand"

He opened his arm to me, I thought he was going to swing us back to my place. Instead, he hugged me, his arm circulated my waist, and the other caressed my hair, "May I?" I looked up, his face was only inches from mine, "Fine, just do it" He chucked while using a finger to make me face the alley, then I felt his lips on my cheek.

When I turned to face him, his mask was fully covering his face, got to say I was a little disappointed. "We're settled then?" He chuckled again, "On my end only, can't wait for your kiss" this dude was making me crazy, "You're insufferable" this time he did wrap me with his arms and took off, "Indeed darling" was the last thing he did before dropping me off back at my place and then leaving again.

Funny, I found the crisps he promised right on my bed when I came back.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

The fallout from HonestReporting’s exposure of Gaza-based photojournalists who infiltrated into Israel from Gaza on October 7 continues. The conversation started by this organization concerning the ethics of both the Palestinian media workers and those outlets that employed them or used their work has been consequential.

In the past few days, the world’s two biggest news agencies have again found themselves in the spotlight.

Reuters Distances Itself from Gaza Freelancer

Writing in The Algemeiner, Ira Stoll reported on February 21 that Reuters “is distancing itself from a freelance photographer after a pro-Israel journalism watchdog organization found an Instagram video of the photographer on October 7 appearing to urge Gazans to cross over into Israel.”

The photographer, Mohammed Fayq Abu Mostafa was featured in HonestReporting’s expose that included his October 7 photo of a lynch mob brutalizing an Israeli soldier at the breached Gaza border.

Last month, we exposed an Instagram video in which Abu Mostafa laughed while sharing a video of the lynch and recounting his experience of being inside Israel while terrorists took innocent civilians out of their homes. It is in this Instagram video that he also called on Gazans to cross into Israel.

As The Algemeiner reports:

The media monitoring group HonestReporting published what it said was a video of the photographer, Mohammed Fayq Abu Mostafa, saying in Arabic, “Advice, whoever can go – go. It is a one-time event that will not happen again.”

While we appreciate the fact that Reuters told the Algemeiner that it “considers unacceptable the behavior in the video of Mohammed Fayq Abu Mostafa,” we wonder why the agency keeps highlighting his border lynch photo as one of its top images of the year.

Why give such recognition to a person who gleefully recounted how he had joined Hamas terrorists while they were rampaging through Israeli communities?

Is that really the standard Reuters wants to set?

Nonetheless, the “distancing” of Reuters from Abu Mostafa is a welcome success.

Lawsuit Accuses AP of “Materially Supporting Terrorism”

According to a New York Post report from February 21, a lawsuit has been filed that accuses the Associated Press of “materially supporting terrorism” by paying “alleged Hamas-associated” photojournalists for images captured during and immediately after the October 7 invasion, in which Hamas terrorists slaughtered 1,200 people in Israel and kidnapped about 250 others.

The lawsuit focuses mainly on Hassan Eslaiah, a freelance photojournalist with whom AP (as well as CNN) cut ties following HonestReporting’s November 8 expose in which we had questioned his early morning presence at the Israel-Gaza border and inside Israeli communities. A photo we produced showing him being kissed on the cheek by Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar also raised serious concerns.

The NY Post quotes the lawsuit and also mentions the questions raised by HonestReporting:

“AP willfully chose to turn a blind eye to these facts, and instead profited from its terrorist photographer’s participation in the massacre through its publication of the ‘exclusive’ images, for which it certainly paid a premium, effectively funding a terrorist organization,” the suit alleges. Questions about the photojournalists’ allegiances were first raised by pro-Israel media watchdog, Honest Reporting [sic], just days after the terrorists’ gruesome invasion of the Jewish nation.

The report adds that AP and Eslaiah did not immediately return requests for comment regarding the legal action, that has been filed as a federal complaint in the Southern District of Florida under the Anti-Terrorism Act.

We will, of course, be following developments with interest.

[jvngkook97]

So basically I’m thinking of one with like Jungkook and like it’s teacherxstudent and obv he’s the teacher and the reader and him are like enemies, but idfk 😭 😭 😭 smthing happens and theirs like a lot of angst bc I’m a angst lover 😍😍😍😍 You can choose what happens next and you can add smut if u’d like to ♥️

It could also be Namjoon because he just screams Sexy Teacher

~ K

Stain

synopsis; in which you meet the love of your life at the wrong time.

pairing; professor!Namjoon x student!reader ft. student!jungkook

genre; angst, fluff, humor, s2l, l2e, professor au, student au, college au

warnings; cursing, heavy angst, minor age gap but still within legal age (Namjoon is 28, reader is 23), student x teacher relationship (kind of you’ll see), implied smut but nothing graphic, some fluffy moments ~

rating; 21+ MINORS DNI

w/c; 4,366

a/n; let me just say…IT WAS SO HARD TO CHOOSE. And most importantly: I do not condone any type of student x teacher relationship and even though they’re both of legal age in this fic, it still doesn’t make it right (in my opinion, no hate pls) with that being said if this isn’t your cup of tea that’s ok!! pls skip this one and check out my masterlist of other fics you may be interested in!! just be sure to read the warnings before you continue! enough rambling, enjoy!!

When you first saw him, it was by chance. More of a fleeting moment, really. One that’s common between two strangers.

When he actually saw you, he saw art come to life in front of his eyes.

When your worlds finally collide, it brings nothing but chaos.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

That was the only word running through your mind as you pumped your legs, willing them to push through the ache and pain you currently felt as you dodged people left and right muttering a half-assed apology over your shoulder. The bus you were trying to catch was only a few yards ahead of you, hope filled your mind, air filled your lungs, and you made it just in the nick of time to stop the doors from closing with your hand.

The driver gives you the stink eye, but ultimately doesn’t have a say when you pay the bus fine for the day. All he does is grunt in greeting, jerking his head back towards the seats as a gesture for you to hurry it up and sit down.

You don’t have to be told twice.

Trying your best to keep your focus ahead of you, you let your peripheral scan the options of seats available. You see one near the back of the bus and make an instant beeline to it. On the way, the glare of the sun through the windows blinds you momentarily, enough for you to stop walking, hand falling on the corner of the seat next to you in order to keep yourself balanced when the bus starts moving.

A male sitting in the seat just behind is wearing a brown corduroy coat, heavily focused on the inky black words that adorn the tattered, worn book he’s reading. The way he holds it let’s you know it has to be one of his favorites, and when a ghost of a smile cracks on his closed lips, it breaks you out of your reverie, a slight tint appearing to your cheeks when you think you’ve been caught staring. When his eyes stay down as he flips another page, you allow yourself to hastily walk pass him and sit down in the vacant seat unnoticed.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

You don’t see him again until a few days later, and this time, you’re not alone.

A slender, tattooed finger flicks you on the forehead and you blink harshly, flinching back from the sudden digit and glaring at the male who is bent over in front of you laughing to himself at your pain.

“You are such an arse, Jungkook.”

“It’s not my fault that you zone out so deeply every time you come across an artwork you like and it’s impossible to reel you back into reality!”

You blow a raspberry at him. He blows one back.

The crowd within the museum is surprisingly thick, probably due to the latest still life exhibit by Elias Whitley, a promising up and coming artist and photographer. The only way you were able to see it, and be there, was to ditch school for a day. Something, your best friend didn’t mind doing at all.

However, if he knew it was going to be such a bore, he would’ve just stayed in class.

“I’m going to snack at the finger foods table until they tell me to stop, you good on your own?”

“I’m good, thank you. Just don’t get kicked out, please.”

“No promises.”

With a wink and finger guns, he’s lost within the throe of people around you. You sigh softly to yourself, and turn to walk further into the crowd. Your goal is to make it to one of his latest art pieces, one that you’ve come to personally vibe with yourself. Upon making it, you take your time with scanning each and every paint stroke you can see.

What originally drew you to it was the colors he used, much different than those he would normally utilize. This one was a multitude of purples, pinks, oranges, yellows, and blacks. It almost looked something akin to a sunset being mirrored by the ocean that you would see on the horizon. Tilting your head, you get a different angle, hip unknowingly jutting out a little too far and bumping another fellow art lover next to you.

You immediately straighten up with an apology on your lips that gets cut off midway when you see the male in front of you. Or, if you’re being more technical, you see his brown corduroy jacket first before slowly trailing your eyes up said jacket to meet his for the first time.

His smile is subtle, but friendly.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re just trying to see the art in a different perspective, I can respect that. I take it you’re a fan of Mr. Whitley?”

You blink once, twice, before your mouth finally catches up with your brain.

“I–Yes! I only recently found him off of a blog I love to follow, they travel to different exhibits and give thoughtful critiques that I tend to agree with.”

“Oh?” His brows raise in intrigue. “Who is this person you follow?”

“Well, I’m not sure his actual name, but I can give you his name handle if you’d like?”

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay–just—“ you fumble in your clutch purse for the pen you always keep just incase, as well as a little notepad. You scrawl down the name of the blog and rip off the page it’s written on, handing it to him.

He gives a low hum of approval as he reads it, nodding his head. A sly smile slowly forms, before his eyes look up from the paper to once again link with yours.

“I also agree with this ‘rkives’ critiques.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’, and you can feel the excitement build in you for having found someone to share your enthusiasm with.

“Wait, really? You’ve heard of them as well?”

“Him.”

A confused smile forms on your lips.

“How do you know it’s a guy?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking down at his phone as he types away at something. For a second, he scrolls, searching for something unknown to you. When he finds it, does he turn the front of his phone to face you. It’s an article about the blog you follow, but that’s not what catches your eye.

“No way.”

What you see is a blown up image of the person behind the blog at the bottom of the article and low and behold — he’s standing right in front of you.

He smiles, amused at your reaction, before stuffing his phone back in his jacket pocket.

“I am such a big fan of yours, holy shit.”

He chuckles, a dimple you didn’t notice before forming in the crease of his smile.

“Thank you. That means a lot. Would you like to possibly walk the rest of the exhibit together?”

“Yes!” He holds out his arm for you take, and just like that, the rest of the time at the exhibit passes by in a blur of deep talks, art styles, artist favorites, and detailed critiques from the mouth of your favorite blogger.

It’s not until the crowds begin to thin out, and the loudspeaker announces the end of the exhibit do you both make your way back to the entrance doors.

He holds the door open for you to walk through, both of you now outside in the chilly air of winter. Your breaths mingle together as you talk, and you try your best not to sound as sad as you feel for not wanting the night to end.

“I guess this is it. Thank you so much for humoring a fan, I can’t wait to see what else you post!”

A light hue blossoms on his cheeks, but whether it’s from the bitter, crisp air, or something else, you’re not sure. He clears his throat, then gives you an offer you can’t refuse.

“Would you maybe want to grab a cup of coffee with me? Or tea? Whichever you prefer, it’s on me.” His voice is hopeful, and when he sees the light in your eyes appear again, he feels his chest burst with a warmth.

“I would love too, really, but I just–,” he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed, and you can see it yourself as his body begins to deflate in front of you. It makes your soul hurt. But you need to figure out where Jungkook is before you just decide to ditch him.

Mustering up a vibrant smile, you explain.

“I came here with my friend, Jungkook, and I need to make sure he’s okay before I can agree to go with you, is all.”

Something akin to jealousy flashes across his eyes momentarily, his own smile still plastered on his face. He swallows it down with a look of understanding, which he does – understand your reasoning that is – it’s common decency of course. The thoughtful gesture you show only fuels the butterflies in his stomach as he stares at you.

“Right, yeah. Of course.”

“Just give me one second–,”

You go to your favorites in your phone, pressing down on Jungkook’s name, then put the phone to your ear as you hear it ring. It takes two rings, before his voice is blaring in your ear with a sense of urgency.

“Where have you been, you idiot?! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night!”

You purse your lips, feeling terrible for worrying him. Especially when you notice the flurry of texts and calls you failed to notice while with your new friend, forgetting that you set your phone to silent upon entering the exhibit due to not wanting to disturb those around you with unnecessary noise.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook. Where are you at? I’m at the exhibit entrance–,”

“I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up. You gape at the phone in disbelief. He never hangs up on you.

“Is he okay?”

For a moment, you’re lost in your guilt, the male in front of you becoming invisible.

“He’s fine. He’s on his way here.”

“Y/N!”

A jog of light footsteps could be heard from behind you, and you turn just in time to get enveloped into a warm chest. His arms wrapping around your small frame easily. You let out an ‘oof’ upon contact, your own arms reflexively hugging his waist.

You can feel his body sag in relief, an exhale of a sigh from him makes the top of your hair warm for a split second within the cool, night air. Your words become mumbled against his chest as you speak.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, koo.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

You smack him lightly on the back in retaliation to his words. He chuckles into your hair before letting you go. Then, you watch as his face becomes stoic, body becoming rigid. His eyesight is no longer on you, and that’s when you remember that you’re not alone.

“Oh! This is–,” you flush, embarrassed you don’t know the mystery male’s name after all this time.

“Just call me Namjoon. It’s nice to meet you.”

He politely holds his hand out for Jungkook to shake, which he does, reluctantly, grip firm as well as eye contact. You watch them both with a hesitant smile.

“Jungkook.” His voice is tight. As soon as their hands disconnect, does he make a point of standing flush to your side.

“And you must be, y/n.” Namjoon’s eyes have a twinkle in them, you think. The way your name sounds coming from his mouth sends goosebumps across your skin. “It’s been a pleasure, truly, but now that you’re in safe hands–,” his eyes cut from yours to Jungkook’s with a knowing look between the males, one you’re uncertain of, before he finishes speaking. “I’ll bid you both goodnight.”

With a light bow, and warm smile, he turns to leave–

–until he’s stopped by a warm hand around his wrist.

“Wait!”

He stops, half turning to face you, one brow raised in question and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Yes?”

“That coffee, would you maybe want to meet up tomorrow morning?”

“Sure–,”

“Y/N, you have s–,” Jungkook attempts to chime in, but you throw a harsh glare his way that has him shutting up instantly.

Namjoon waits until you’re gaze is back on him before he continues, now fully facing you once again, handing his phone over to you that’s unlocked.

“If you type in your phone number I’ll text you later so we can discuss meeting up further.”

Typing in your phone number, you triple check it’s correct before handing it back to him, fingers touching for a fleeting moment that sends pleasant shockwaves through your body. The look in his eyes tells you that he felt the same thing.

Jungkook clears his throat harshly from behind you.

“We should go, y/n. It’s getting late.”

The two of you share one last goodbye, and then he’s gone, leaving you and Jungkook alone in front of the exhibit. When he’s no longer within eye sight, does Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence in warning.

“Y/N, are you sure about meeting that guy?”

You’re resolute with your answer, tone firm and confident as you continue to stare off in the direction of which you last saw Namjoon, a newfound sparkle in your eyes that makes Jungkook frown in worry at how hung up you are over a guy you just met.

“Yes.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Text me the code phrase if you want me to call and bail you out of your date. Do you remember it?”

“The Perilla leaf is stuck.”

“Good girl.”

You roll your eyes.

“I can feel you rolling your eyes. Don’t make me get into the Perilla leaf debate again.”

You groan.

“Please don’t. Look, I’m coming up to the coffee shop, I’ll call you when it’s over.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

You hang up the phone, stuffing it in your purse, and scoff at Jungkook. That guy would try anything once, so his words mean nothing in that regards.

The bell jingles overhead as you push open the door, signaling to workers that a new customer has arrived. The elderly woman at the cash register greets you warmly with a smile.

“Welcome in!”

“Thank you!”

Your eyes scan the tables near you, and your heart begins to drop when you don’t see your date in sight. He didn’t seem like the type to stand people up, but you just never know. Deciding to take a seat next to the floor to ceiling windows, so you could people watch in the meantime, you fold your hands in your lap and wait.

Five minutes turns into fifteen, fifteen turns into thirty. Your hands fidget in your lap, eyes darting everywhere outside in hopes of even catching a glimpse of Namjoon.

Nothing.

You fish your phone back out of your purse to confirm that you did, in fact, get the date and timing right to meet today. You did. While looking down at your phone, the bell jingles. Your eyes flicker up with hope, and you sigh in relief when the familiar male locks eyes with you.

His face is full of guilt as he waves in greeting, long legs bringing him to your table of choice in no time. He pulls out his chair to sit down across from you, hands folding on top of the table.

“I’m so sorry for being late, I had to catch another bus.”

In his defense, you can see the small beads of sweat on his forehead as well as see the rise and fall of his chest, him doing his best not to show you exactly how exhausted he is from running here. Even though a part of you is upset at the late arrival, you can’t bring yourself to be mad at something you’ve been guilty of plenty of times in the past.

“Busses? Am I right? Woe is the life of the weary greyhound traveler.”

He chuckles humorlessly, but nods his head, agreeing with you.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“Nah.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Only about fifteen minutes. My bus was late too.” The lie came out so smoothly. You don’t know why you decided to lie. But when he gave you a dimpled grin, it made you feel pride in knowing you caused it.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Jungkook’s fingers tap on the top of your shared desk in your classroom for still life photography, his eyes borderline roll themselves into the back of his head with how harshly he’s doing it.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” You answer, eyes glued to the phone in your hands, fingers flying over the keyboard with expertise. A lovesick grin is on your face, and he grimaces at it.

“Looking at your phone like you want to make out with it. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re just jealous I’m getting laid and you’re not.”

He snorts, offended.

“Excuse you? If I wanted to get laid, I could get laid. Like, right now.”

You pat his knee with false empathy.

“I’m sure you could, koo, I’m sure you could.”

“You’re damn right! Tell me, what does tall and admittedly handsome have that I don’t–,”

He pauses, eyes widening at something you’re unsure of off to the side of you, suspiciously towards the front of the classroom. You follow his line of sight and let out a small gasp yourself at what you see.

‘What was he doing here?’

Well, you were about to get your question answered.

Namjoon walks to the front of the classroom, and stands directly in the middle of the ridiculously large whiteboard that takes up a full wall of the classroom, picking up a dry erase marker and writes his name elegantly on the board. As he writes each letter, he speaks, voice loud and professional.

“Hello, everyone. I’ll be taking over for Mrs. Lee starting today while she’s on maternity leave. My name is Kim Namjoon, but just call me Mr. Kim. Are there any questions?”

With one final stroke, he pivots on his heel and scans the crowd of college students in front of him. His smile is still prominent, until he unfortunately locks eyes with you, smile immediately falling and eyes widening in realization at your current predicament.

You’re dating your professor. What the f–

Your head falls into your arms on top of the desk and Jungkook awkwardly rubs your back in solidarity with your hidden suffering, all the other classmates oblivious to the life altering moment that just occurred.

‘Now what?’

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

“So, you’re a college professor, huh?”

“And you’re a college student.”

“Quite the predicament you’re in.”

Both you and Namjoon turn to give Jungkook a look, he mimics zipping his lips and throwing away the key. The head he popped out of the kitchen slowly retreats back behind the wall, and he once again resumes his task of fetching everyone some herbal tea, knowing it’s your personal favorite.

You’re all off campus, the school day now over, and no longer needing to put up the facade of being strangers. Jungkook was oh so kind(not really you had to bribe him with doing his English lit homework for a month) enough to allow his small apartment to be the hideout of your now scandalous love affair.

“What exactly does this mean for us?”

He leans back against the couch, rubbing his hands down his face with disdain, a loud exhale escapes his parted lips as he dreads what he’s about to say to you. There’s only one solution to this conflict. And even though you know what he’s about to say yourself, it still doesn’t make it hurt any less.

These past seven months have been the happiest you’ve ever felt, being with Namjoon. Everyday he made a point to send you a picture of a new piece of art he’s found on his travels, especially when you’re not able to go with him. You used to always be more of a homebody, only going out when needed, like when Jungkook would force you. With Namjoon, however, he made you see the world differently.

It didn’t matter if you were just taking a stroll down a dark and dreary street in the rain, he always had some kind of poetic or insightful thought about the smallest details that always had you looking up at him in awe. The large crack on the sidewalk that now has a weed sprouting out of it? It’s just natures way of taking back what was rightfully theirs before man came and poured cement over the ground.

Little things like that helped pave a new mindset in you about seeing people, places and things in a new light. It made you see that not everything has to be black and white, but rather it should be vibrant and demanding and beautiful.

So damn beautiful, he thought, as he let the silence linger around you in favor of watching the light of the tv that’s playing a cheesy rom-com requested by you in the background hit the side of your face, illuminating it perfectly. Your eyes are sad, though, and in turn it makes him sad. He knows you know.

A large hand encompasses your own that’s resting between you two on the couch, he gives it a gentle squeeze. You squeeze back.

Your voice is light, barely a whisper, and the lump in your throat makes it difficult to utter a coherent word. You know it’s no use asking, but still, you try.

“Maybe we can still make this work? Somehow?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand in hopes of it deterring the water in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. He hates this, every part of this. When he looks at you again, you’re biting your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He swears his heart shattered right then and there with your small, desperate plea. He knows he needs to get it over with and leave before he becomes desperate enough to let his heart overpower his mind.

“You know I don’t want too–,”

“Then don’t!”

“But I need too.”

“Namjoon, please–,”

He leans forward to close the distance and give your forehead one last lingering kiss, before squeezing your hand just to let it go. He stands up from the couch you were both perched on stiffly, shrugging his brown, corduroy jacket that you’ve grown to love over his broad shoulders with his back towards you. It’s in this moment that you hate how tall he is, his long strides taking him to the front of Jungkook’s apartment in seconds.

Jungkook is just about to walk out of the kitchen with a tray of three steaming teas until he sees Namjoon briskly walk pass him and you following close behind with false hope in your eyes. Once again, he decides to fall back into the safety of the kitchen to let whatever is about to happen occur naturally, no matter how much his heart breaks at hearing your many attempts to get Namjoon to stay.

Namjoon’s hand twists the doorknob, and the door opens swiftly. He goes to step out into the hallway, until it gets slammed shut in front of him due to you throwing your body weight on top of it. The impact makes your shoulder ache, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Don’t you love me?”

His shoulders deflate, his strong persona beginning to crack.

“Y/N, you know that I do. But that’s not the issue.”

“I’ll drop out!” You spew out randomly, and at the time, it seems like the best idea you’ve ever had. Namjoon’s eyes widen in shock, his hands coming to rest on top of your shoulders as he lightly shakes you in an attempt to break you out of your stupor.

“Are you crazy? Do you hear yourself right now? You’ve put so much of your blood, sweat and tears into just making it into this college so you could fulfill your dream! I’m not going to let you throw that away over me!”

“But–,” his grip tightens, and any word you say gets silenced by his lips pressing hard against yours. You can feel his passion, his love. You sink into it, and he allows the moment to last longer than it needs too, but damn it all that he had to lose you after taking so long to finally find you.

It wasn’t fair. But, he thinks, life isn’t fair to begin with. Why would it be any different for him?

When he pulls away, his eyes stay closed. His forehead gently falls on yours, his hands sliding their way up to lightly cradle the junction between your neck and head. His thumbs brush over your jawline and you let out a broken sob that has him biting his lip harshly enough that he can taste a hint of metallic on his tongue.

“I love you, y/n. And, unfortunately, I love you enough to know when I need to let you go.”

This time, you don’t resist when he gently pulls your body away from the door enough to slip out of the crack and out of your life. And it’s not until you’re a sobbing mess on the floor of Jungkook’s entryway that he timidly peaks his head around the corner to see you and rush over to your fallen form. His arms encase your body against his tightly, one hand on your head, and the other on your back. You can vaguely hear the little ‘shhh’s’ and ‘I’m here’ and ‘you’re going to be okay’ as you let his voice along with Namjoon’s words of love ease you off to sleep where you can dream of a perfect world with you and Namjoon together, forever.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

a/n dos; it is almost midnight and I’m sleepy. This is unedited and I personally think it’s shit but I still hope you enjoy it somehow. ha ha ha ok bye

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 21 - Far from Over

IN THIS CHAPTER: High school rumors, two really awkward talks, and Eddie makes plans for the future [6.0k]

WARNINGS: suggestive themes (very mild, just a misunderstanding with wayne), very vague mention of disordered eating (one line about chrissy not wanting to eat lunch)

A/N: in case you didn't see the announcement at the bottom of the latest extra, i'm changing update days to saturdays because things are insane at work and i really need the extra day. we're halfway done with this story so there's loads to come still! enjoy the chapter <3

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

I'm moving in 'cause I am getting closer I'm digging in I want it more than anything I've wanted

Sunday, June 1st - 1986

Wayne Munson had given up a lot for his nephew. He’d given up his dream job, his bedroom, and his privacy. He’d given up on having the freedom to go wherever he wanted whenever he wanted, dating (not that he was too interested in that these days, but still), the childless life he’d always envisioned for himself. And yet, if you asked him, Wayne would tell you truthfully that he’d never regretted it. How could he, when he loved Eddie like he was his own even when he was probably the reason he was balding? He carried a picture of an eight-year-old Eddie in his wallet from their first Christmas together, he had two mixtapes Eddie had made for him when he was barely 13 and still figuring out who he was and what music he liked, he had Eddie’s birth certificate and the papers he’d signed to become his legal guardian in a manilla folder at the top of the hallway closet along with a newspaper clipping from the time a photographer had taken a picture of a bunch of smiling kids at a pumpkin patch for an article, his boy’s grin the brightest of them all. No, there was virtually nothing in the world that could convince Wayne Munson that becoming Eddie’s caretaker had been the wrong choice, but when he walked into his trailer that Sunday at 6:30 in the morning and immediately tripped on a pair of shoes that had been abandoned at the door, he couldn’t wait until the moment Eddie was all grown up and would leave for greener pastures.

He bent down to grab the shoes, fully intending on throwing them down the hallway for Eddie to pick up later when he realized these weren’t Eddie’s shoes. They couldn’t have been, because for one, they were a size much smaller than his nephew usually wore, but also because they were black kitten heels with a strap and a silver buckle at the sides. These were women’s shoes, and he had no idea who these belonged to but judging by the fact that they were lying by his front door, the owner was still in the trailer. Turning on the lights, he looked around and saw something a parent never really wants to see: signs of their kid’s sex life. There was a dress lying on top of the couch, clearly haphazardly thrown, a white frilly sock next to his armchair and another one in front of the TV. Wayne took in a deep breath, fully intending to pretend like he’d gone temporarily blind, but when he took one step further into the living room and noticed the white cotton bra dangling from the corner of his coffee table he couldn’t stop the indignation from bubbling up his throat.

“EDWARD!” he bellowed, not caring if the mystery girl in his nephew’s bedroom was still there or not.

“Shit!” he heard Eddie yell, accompanied with a loud thump as the boy hit the floor, clearly startled out of his dreams.

Eddie had been enjoying a peaceful sleep - probably the best sleep of his life - when he heard his Uncle Wayne yell his name from the other side of the trailer. During the night he’d shifted from the position he’d been in when he initially fell asleep and was now currently being spooned from behind by Dottie, who jolted awake at the same time he did; her scared gasp on his neck sent him straight onto the carpet and scrambling to open his door. Bleary-eyed, he spilled into the hallway, heart in his throat and ready to fight an intruder or call an ambulance.

“Boy, get over here now,” Wayne gritted out, jaw tight.

Oh, fuck. He knows. Someone probably called the cops, he knows Dot broke Andy’s nose, shit, was all that was running through Eddie’s brain as he approached his Uncle meekly. He looked equal parts terrified and confused, and Wayne softened, remembering how skittish Eddie used to be whenever he accidentally raised his voice too much when he first came to live with him.

“Wayne, I can explain,” Eddie held his palms up, trying to control the situation.

“Look, Ed, you know I don’t care what you do and who you do it with as long as you ain’t bein’ stupid ‘bout it, but at least have the decency of not treating our home like a goddamn love motel,” Wayne said, voice lower but his tone still strict.

“Uh- what?”

“I don’t think that lady friend you got in there would appreciate me knowing what her undies look like-”

“Fuck,” Eddie flinched, but Wayne continued.

“-so please, get her her stuff and take her home so I can get some sleep, would you?”

“It’s not what you think, I swear.”

“Eddie, I don’t give a shit.”

“No, you don’t understand- it’s not a lady friend, it’s Dot,” the youngest Munson said, eyes wide begging his Uncle to shut up for a second.

Wayne looked at him quizzically for a few beats before directing his eyes to the hallway where someone was poking their head out of Eddie’s bedroom. And lo and behold, a sleepy-looking Dorothy was staring back at him with the most shameful look on her face he’d ever seen on anyone in his entire life. Wiping his face with his hand, the old man sighed and motioned for her to come out of her hiding place. She rushed forward, head bowed until she reached Eddie’s side and grabbed the back of his shirt for comfort, gnawing on her lower lip.

“Son,” Wayne looked back at him with a pointed look. “Can you please pick up her clothes before we have this conversation?”

Eddie nodded and leapt onto the coffee table, hiding the offending bra under the rest of her clothes before throwing them inside his bedroom for them to deal with later. Dottie waited in silence, wanting for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She didn’t know what was worse, Wayne believing they’d hooked up or them having to explain that actually nothing had really happened and have the older man think they were liars. He looked at her and noticed the gauze covering her hand, frowning at the idea of her being hurt.

“You okay there, kid?” he asked, nodding towards her injury.

“Y-yeah. I… I kinda got into a fight last night,” she admitted shamefully.

“You got into a fight?” he asked, disbelief clear all over his face. “With Ed?”

“Actually yes, but that’s from a different fight,” Eddie said, coming to stand next to her again.

“Okay, Jesus,” Wayne muttered to himself. “Sit down.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Munson. I promise this is not what it looks like,” Dottie said, looking up at Wayne who stood on the other side of the coffee table with his arms crossed.

“You don’t gotta call me Mr. Munson, you’re not in trouble,” he reassured her with a wry smile. “Now, wanna tell me about these fights you been getting into?”

“We went to a party in Loch Nora,” Eddie explained. “Some bullshit about saying goodbye to senior year, whatever. The basketball meatheads were being assholes so Dot punched one of them.”

“This guy called me names,” she said, fidgeting in her seat. “Said some really ugly stuff, and I was so pissed I just kinda… hit him.”

“Pretty sure you broke bones, princess,” the youngest Munson said, pride tingeing his voice.

“Damn,” his Uncle said.

“He threw beer all over my clothes and I didn’t want my Dad to see me like that so I asked Eddie if he could bring me here to get cleaned up. Nothing inappropriate happened, I swear.”

“Kids, I don’t mind if it did-” Wayne started saying, but Eddie cut him off.

“Wayne, we’re telling you, she showered, I gave her clean clothes and then we went to sleep. That’s it, we just slept in the same bed,” he looked at his Uncle with red ears. “Nothing else happened.”

“What about that fight you two had? Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he looked at Dottie and they both smiled at each other shyly. “Was just a misunderstanding, we sorted it out. I was being dramatic and threw her stuff around, you know me.”

“No, you weren’t,” she sighed. “I wasn’t listening, you had to get me to shut up somehow.”

“I mean, I could have picked up your clothes after we made up,” he chuckled, and she snorted, still a little embarrassed at the situation.

“Okay,” Wayne said, scratching his beard. “If you say nothing happened, then I believe you. But-” he looked at Eddie. “-if anything ever happens, and I’m not saying it will, but I still gotta tell you this… don’t be an idiot, son. Got you those condoms for a reason.”

“Jesus Christ, Wayne,” Eddie flinched.

“Actually, I threw them out when we cleaned his bedroom last month,” Dottie said, mortified but also holding in a chuckle. “They were kind of… old?”

“Old?” Eddie asked, his brows rising on his forehead.

“Expired, Ed. You do know those things have an expiration date, don’t you?” she said, and Wayne let out a loud chortle.

“Do I look like I knew that?” he replied, looking at her like she’d just blown his mind. “Why do you think that box was sealed?”

“Didn’t really need to know that, but I’m glad there won’t be any little Munsons toddling around here then. God knows we ain’t got the space,” Wayne said, putting an end to the conversation. “You two gonna hang out here today?”

“No, I should get home,” Dottie said, turning to Eddie. “Gotta tell my Dad I broke someone’s nose eventually.”

“We could always tell him you were defending my honor,” he joked, getting up. “That asshole threw me onto a table, Wayne, I think my ass is bruised. Look!”

“Ain’t nobody wanna see those pale cheeks, boy, pull those pants up!”

It was around 8:30 when Eddie pulled up to Dottie’s house, parking his van in the driveway just outside of the closed garage. James was already awake as evidenced by the open living room windows; he was a light sleeper and his body was so used to waking up early for work during the week that he hadn’t known what a lie-in looked like since he was in his early 20s. The teens had stopped at a bakery on their way to the house, planning to have breakfast together and maybe spend a little time away from the trailer so Wayne could have a well deserved sleep without being disturbed by their loud chatter. At the looming sight of her own house however, Dottie couldn’t get her legs to move to hoist herself out of the van. Eddie circled around to get to her side, bakery bag swinging from his fingers as he opened her door and waited for her to get out, always a gentleman.

“Okay, what’s wrong? Want me to go home so you can talk to your Dad alone?” he asked, tapping on her knee to get her attention.

He’d barely been able to look away from her while he drove, mesmerized by the fact that she was just calmly sitting next to him, in his clothes, browsing through his tapes, mumbling the lyrics to whatever Black Sabbath song was playing from his radio. She had swapped her borrowed boxers for a pair of Eddie's old sweatpants that barely reached his ankles anymore; they were too long for her and he'd rolled them up for her so she wouldn't trip when she walked, her cute kitten heels barely visible under the surplus of soft dark blue fabric. Dottie interlaced their fingers, stalling until she felt like she could finally face her Dad and tell him she’d gone all Rocky Balboa on some dude’s face.

“He’s gonna kill me,” she muttered; Eddie didn’t have to ask what she meant.

“No, he’s not. You defended yourself, it’s not like you went after the guy while he was distracted. It’s gonna be okay, I promise,” he reassured her, slotting between her legs to give her a one-armed hug.

“Please don’t go.”

“I won’t. I’m gonna be there for backup the entire time, okay?”

“...Okay.”

“Okay! Good. Wanna get out of the van now so I can give you a kiss before your Dad catches us out here like two idiots?”

Laughing softly, Dottie finally let herself drop from her seat and let him lock the van before he sneaked a hand around her waist and pushed her into himself, kissing her temple first, and then her lips. She sighed, content to be safe in his arms where no one was mad or upset for a little longer.

“Good morning, darling,” Eddie muttered against her mouth.

“Good morning, Ed,” Dottie replied, squeezing him once before letting him go and making her way towards her front door, wringing her hands nervously.

The house was so quiet it might as well have been empty, but the curtains moving softly in the breeze coming in from the opened windows were inviting and cozy, the air heavy with the scent of coffee and upcoming rain. Dottie took off her heels, leaving them against the entrance table in the foyer before hanging her purse from a hook next to the door and heading towards the kitchen. Eddie followed without hurry, the bag filled with warm baked goods crinkling with the movement. As they approached, they could hear soft noises coming from the coffee machine mingling with James’ voice, calm frustration noticeable in his tone.

“Dad?” Dottie called.

“I’m in the kitchen! No, Dad, I’m talking to Dot. Yes it’s still leaking! Yes, I know how to- you don’t have to tell me again, I’ve done it a million times before,” James looked up from where he was crouching under the kitchen sink and saw the kids enter, confusion painting his face as he took in his daughter’s appearance.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, not wanting to delay the moment any longer.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just… I really need to talk to you. Like, right now.”

“Uh, Dad? Yeah, I’m gonna have to call you back, okay? Uh-huh. Yes, I’ll tell her you love her-”

“I love him too,” Dottie said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips at the thought of her Grandpa Ken on the other side of the phone.

“She says she loves you too. Okay, talk to you later. Bye-bye,” James hung up and eyed Eddie curiously before turning back to his daughter. “What happened to your dress?”

“Someone spilled beer on me. We washed it last night but I think we probably should wash it again,” she lifted her hand, the one that wasn’t injured, a plastic bag containing her clothes dangling from her wrist. “Eddie gave me some of his clothes so I could take a shower.”

“I can see that. You stayed over at Eddie’s?” James crossed his arms, face carefully schooled into a stoic mask.

“I’m sorry I lied. I was upset and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to come pick me up,” Dottie pulled at the hem of her Garfield shirt.

“Did you get into a fight with Jeff?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Okay. What does that mean?”

“I got into a fight, just not with Jeff,” she moved her other hand from where she was hiding it behind her back letting her Dad see the gauze.

“Dorothy, what did you do?”

“I… I punched a guy in the face at the party?” she grimaced.

“Dorothy.”

“He deserved it,” Eddie said, pulling James’ attention to himself. “That guy, he’s- well, he’s a bully, sir. Him and his friends were shoving us, and he was saying all these nasty things-”

“Eddie, I appreciate you trying to defend my daughter right now but getting into a fight and hitting someone isn’t how you deal with things.”

“I know that, but that asshole- sorry, that guy isn’t someone you can reason with. He’s a jock, he’s been bullying us for years. He had it coming,” Eddie explained. “He’s a racist, sexist piece of trash that thinks he can get away with everything he does because he’s popular and has money.”

“I get that, trust me, I do but-”

“He called me a whore,” Dottie said, silencing them both. “He has it out for me because I told him to stop bullying my friends or else I’d tell our Spanish teacher he cheated on a test, so he said I was a slut in front of everyone to make me look bad. He would have hit me and Nancy if one of his friends didn’t tell him to back off.”

“He threatened to hit you?” James’ eyebrows rose.

“He raised his hand at us. His friends pulled him away before he could do it.”

“He also emptied an entire beer can on her head,” Eddie added, jaw tight.

“And he pulled Eddie’s hair and pushed him into a table,” she ended the story, eyes glued to the floor.

“Well, in that case… fuck that guy,” James scoffed. “Who is this kid?”

“His name’s Andy, he’s on the basketball team,” Dottie said, but Eddie was way ahead of her.

“He’s Carson Humphrey’s son.”

“Of course he’s Carson’s boy,” James turned to Eddie. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You know his Dad?” his daughter asked, curious about this turn of events.

“Everyone knew Carson back then. Popular, had money, shoved everyone into a locker if we looked at his girl wrong. Can’t believe Adelaine married that asshole.”

“He’s still a piece of shit,” Eddie said. “He’s one of the suits at the plant my Uncle works at. Wayne hates him, says he’s always treating everyone like trash.”

“That really does not surprise me.”

There was a moment of silence that passed between all three of them before James moved to get a mug from one of the cabinets. He filled it with coffee, stirring one spoonful of sugar into the dark liquid, and turned to the teens who were still standing on the other side of the island, awaiting judgment to pass upon them.

“You two had breakfast?” he asked, taking a sip.

“No, we left as soon as we could. Wayne worked last night and we didn’t want to disturb him,” Dottie said, wondering why she wasn’t grounded yet. “Am I… Are you mad at me?”

“Come here,” James said, opening his arm so she could tuck herself into his side. “Am I happy you got into a fight? No, I’m not. But you stood up for yourself and your friends, and I am proud of you for that.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am, honey. I’m proud you didn’t take his shit lying down,” he sighed. “Just… don’t lie to me again, okay? You could have told me hey Dad, I’m gonna stay over at Eddie’s, I’m upset and I don’t want you to pick me up and I would have respected that. You know I would have. I know you’re old enough to do whatever you want and I can’t stop you from doing that, but what if something had happened, huh? What if there was an emergency and I couldn’t find you? It’s just you and me, Dot, you gotta help me out here a little bit.”

“I’m sorry. I promise you I was safe, we stayed at Eddie’s all night. Mom’s dress was gross and I was so upset, I just… I don’t know. I didn’t want you to see me like that,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, honey. Nothing a good wash can’t fix,” James muttered into her hair. “Ed?”

“Y-yes, sir?” he looked awkward as hell, avoiding staring at them while they shared a tender father-daughter moment.

“You want some coffee?” the older man asked, but Eddie understood what he really meant to say. Thank you for being there for my daughter when she needed you.

“I’d love coffee, thanks. We, uh- We got donuts on our way over if you want some.” Thank you for letting me be there for your daughter; here’s a peace offering.

“Which kind?”

“A dozen. Half glazed, half with jelly,” he smiled.

“Atta boy,” James grinned at him, and the tension in the kitchen dissolved to nothing.

After breakfast, Eddie helped James fix the leaky sink in the kitchen while Dottie put a new load in the washing machine, her Mom’s baby blue shift dress finally on its way to normalcy. From the laundry room next to the kitchen she could hear what were possibly the two most important men in her life talking like they were family, and in a way, she supposed they were. Whether Eddie and her stayed together forever or not following recent developments, she knew he would always occupy a big space in her life, and she was grateful that her Dad was so accepting of him. Once Eddie had left, she’d most likely have to give James a full rundown of what had happened at the party and how she’d ended up at his trailer instead of going to Jeff’s house, but she wasn’t afraid of him getting mad at her anymore.

Officially not in trouble, the teens retreated to her bedroom to hang out while James finished up his morning routine. He came out of the bathroom after a shower, dressed up in his cozy Sunday clothes fully intending on going downstairs and lounge around until lunchtime when he walked past Dottie’s room, the silence coming from behind her almost closed white door startling him. He’d heard them talking animatedly all morning, had Eddie left already while he was in the shower? Peeking inside, he saw the two teens asleep on top of the comforter, Eddie spread out like a starfish and Dottie curled into a ball next to him, her pillow on the verge of falling to the floor. James watched his daughter turn in her sleep towards her friend, the soft cushion finally hitting the rug with a barely audible thud, her head perching on Eddie’s arm and her hand resting on his chest. He would have laughed at how her sleep-addled body had betrayed her if he hadn’t seen Eddie shift to accommodate her new position better, turning onto his side to drape an arm around her middle and pulling her to him, his leg tangling with hers. He snored once as he settled and they both carried on sleeping like nothing had changed, but James knew without anyone having to tell him, that everything was different.

With the heavy heart of a Dad watching his little girl slip away from his fingers in order to grow up into the wonderful woman he knew she’d become one day, he closed her door again and headed downstairs, trusting that the boy who held her like she was precious cargo when he was unconscious would do exactly the same while they were awake.

Monday, June 2nd - 1986

“So is it true? Did you really break Andy’s nose?”

“For fuck’s sake, Fred, I think people in Indianapolis couldn’t hear you. Wanna ask a little louder?”

By lunchtime, Dottie was already tired of people coming up to her and asking about Andy while the boys in Hellfire were having a lot of fun scaring nosy students away. Nobody was denying the general story - how could they when half of their senior class had seen the fight go down - but as the rumor spread like wildfire, the specifics of it all were becoming more and more convoluted. Some said she had punched him because Andy had tried to slip a roofie into her drink, others said that she hit him during a lover’s quarrel, and her personal favorite was that she’d actually been upset over him getting a better grade on a Spanish test than she did and went psycho on him. Her friends were stuck to her like velcro, arguing that they were worried that someone in the basketball team would try to retaliate but it quickly became evident that they were keeping their distance when during her AP Spanish class on third period, Andy sat as far away from her as possible, a butterfly bandage decorating the bridge of his nose.

Nancy told her one class later during AP Research that Andy’s nose hadn’t actually been broken, but that he was probably still going to be sporting the white bandage and a purple eye during his prom pictures. The damage was superficial, which is why the basketball team was so willing to pretend like it hadn’t happened, particularly after their teammate had been so ready to punch two girls much smaller than him in front of their entire year over what seemed to be a mere misunderstanding. Much to their chagrin, their need to protect one of their friend’s girlfriends was very unneeded, as evidenced by the fact that Chrissy greeted both Dottie and Eddie with hugs and big smiles in the hallway when they crossed paths. No one wanted to fight the freaks on Chrissy’s behalf if she wasn’t going to play her role as the damsel in distress.

“Get lost, Benson, we’re trying to have lunch in peace,” Gareth told him, shooing him away with his hand like Fred was a bothersome fly.

“Good luck I wasn’t talking to you then, Coleman,” Fred said, turning again towards Dottie. “Come on, Dot, aren’t we friends? Just tell me what happened, Nancy won’t say shit.”

“You’ve never called me Dot in like the three months I’ve known you,” she said, pointing at him with her lettuce-filled fork.

“No time like today to start, huh? So why did you do it? Did he really try to feel you up?”

“That’s a new one, hadn’t heard it yet,” Dottie looked at Jeff across the table from her and he snorted. “I hit him because he was being rude, kinda like you are being right now.”

“You’re absolutely no fun, did you know that?”

“I’ve been told. Now scram before I punch you too,” she smiled at him sweetly.

“You’re spending too much time with the weirdos. Drop by the newsroom before you leave, got your final stack,” Fred said, finally relenting and going back to his table.

“Okay, I know you’re upset about it but you gotta admit that punching a jock on the nose is a really cool story,” Dustin laughed. “Best part is that he can’t even do anything about it because he’s too embarrassed everyone saw him getting hit by a girl half his size.”

“Yeah, that’s… not the pick-me-up you think it is, Dus,” Dottie sighed. “I’m just tired everyone keeps trying to talk to me about it.”

“Look, you’re only gonna have to deal with it for two more weeks and then you’re out of here forever,” Mike said. “No one will care anymore after the holidays start.”

“Speaking of being free from this hellhole,” Donny said, tapping the table excitedly. “Are we still on about the summer jobs thing?”

“Absolutely, yes,” she nodded. “I wanna save up as much as I can before Michigan.”

“You two getting summer jobs?” Jeff asked, curiously.

“She’s gonna cover for my sister while she’s on her pregnancy leave,” Donny explained.

“Aw, man, you two are gonna work together?” Gareth complained. “My Mom got me a job at the fucking supermarket, one of her aerobics class friends is a manager or some shit like that.”

“You gonna be a cashier?” Jeff said, laughing when Gareth nodded. “You can barely do basic Math, who’s the fuck is trusting you with money?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he threw his straw at his friend.

“What are you gonna do, Jeff?” Mike asked.

“Dunno yet, might walk some dogs again to get some cash before college.”

“Aren’t you allergic to fur?” Dustin frowned.

“Cats.”

“Ah.”

“Does anyone know what Eddie’s gonna do?” Donny wondered.

“What do you mean what’s he gonna do? He already has a gig,” Gareth said, mouth full of mushy carrots.

“You really think he’s gonna keep selling weed after graduation?” Jeff said. “I bet he’s gonna ask Dave for a job or something.”

“Who’s Dave?” Dottie asked.

“He owns The Hideout. He’s known Eddie for years, and he’s always saying he needs a bartender. I think Ed’d be good at it.”

“Who knows. Doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a job anyways,” Gareth shrugged, but Dottie knew that wasn’t true.

As the conversation kept going and Dustin talked about his summer camp and being reunited with his girlfriend, Dottie stared at Eddie’s empty chair at the head of their table and wondered how they were going to navigate the changes in their relationship if they were both about to have completely different schedules.

“I’m telling you, Chris, it was something straight out of a fucking movie.”

“It sounds like it!”

Eddie and Chrissy were hanging out in the woods, enjoying what was probably going to be their last time together at their spot. Hellfire was officially on hiatus and cheer practice had ended last week, so there were no more reasons for them to stay after school on Friday evenings, and thus no more secret smoking sessions would ensue. Still, when Eddie opened his locker to find Chrissy’s note asking if he wanted to have lunch with her at their table, he took the opportunity to update her future Maid of Honor-Best Woman-Whatever That Shit Was Called on his developing love life. Yes, he wasn’t actually supposed to be telling anyone what had transpired after they’d left the party, but he figured that letting Chrissy know wouldn’t be too bad considering how much help she’d been providing to him all along.

“I’m really proud of you, Eddie,” she said, pushing a cherry tomato around her little Tupperware container. He’d noticed she wasn’t really eating but didn’t say anything about it; maybe she didn’t like the salad her Mom had packed for her. “You put yourself out there even if it was scary, you set goals and worked hard to achieve them, and now you’re about to graduate while dating the girl of your dreams. You must feel so relieved everything turned out great.”

“Actually, it feels weird,” he admitted. “Like, all this time I was psyching myself for it, y’know? And I thought it was gonna be this huge thing once it happened, and it was! But… I feel, I don’t know, calm? Like for once in my life I’m not just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“That’s great. I’m happy she makes you happy. I’m happy you’re both happy!” she smiled, reaching across the table to grab his hand. “You’re really cute together, and you deserve to feel loved.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, a little out of breath. Dottie loved him. Dottie loved him. That was gonna take some time to get used to. “Anyway, enough about me being a fucking softie. What’s going on with you? What happened after we left?”

“Nothing much,” Chrissy shrugged. “People kinda went back to their own stuff, it was pretty normal. Jason and I got into a fight on Sunday though.”

“I’m sorry. Did we-”

“No, no, it’s okay. He was being an idiot,” she rolled her eyes. “Everything is fine now. He was… well, he asked me if there was anything going on between us.”

“What? Us as in like, you and me?”

“I know, right? So weird. Apparently Andy told him you were, like… being a perv about me at the party?”

“Fuckin’ Andy, man.”

“You can say that again. But really, it’s fine now. He calmed down after I told him I had it on good authority that you liked Dottie.”

“You told Jason Carver I had a crush on Dot?”

“No, I told Jason Nancy told me you had a crush on Dot,” she giggled. “He didn’t ask anything else after that. Every time I bring up girly gossip in front of him he mentally checks out.”

“Yeah, no, that seems reasonable. No sane man likes girly gossip.”

“You love girly gossip.”

“Who said I was sane, sweetheart?” Eddie grinned.

“Ugh, I’m gonna miss this! I’m gonna miss you!” Chrissy groaned. “My Mom’s gonna be looking at me like a hawk all summer.”

“Lie to her and come hang out with us. We’re probably gonna be at the lake most of the time, it’s hot as hell and none of us has a pool,” he said, munching on his last bit of sandwich.

“I’d love to go but I don’t wanna say yes and then flake out on you. She’s… overbearing when she wants to be. And I need to start training for the preseason so she’s gonna be on my ass all the time. She already ordered my new uniform, she’s insane,” she let her head fall onto her arms.

“I bet Dot can help you out with that. She won’t suspect too much if you’re going out with another girl, right?”

“Maybe,” Chrissy said, not putting too much faith into the idea. “I need to figure something out though because I think I might freak out if I can’t smoke anymore.”

“Actually, I kinda wanted to talk to you about that,” Eddie scratched his neck awkwardly. “I’m not gonna sell anymore after graduation.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I don’t want Callahan to bust me again now that I’m 20. Hopper didn’t give two shits about it but that asshole is gonna tell Chief Powell, and I think he hates me,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “But I can give you the number of this guy I know, I’m gonna buy from him too probably.”

“Okay, that sounds good. Can we, like, buy together though? At least the first time. Until I know he’s not, y’know, a murderer or something,” she laughed nervously.

“Yeah, we can go together,” he smiled. “Can’t go until a week after graduation though. Gotta take a pee test and I don’t wanna risk it.”

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No, I… I’m applying for a job.”

“Are you serious?” Chrissy beamed at him.

“Yeah! But I don’t wanna jinx it, so don’t ask me anything about it until it’s a done deal,” he said, lifting a finger at her in warning.

“Okay, okay, I won’t. But that’s so exciting, Eddie, oh my god!” she got up from her seat and went to hug him. “Look at you, being all grown up and stuff! Who are you and what did you do to my Eddie?”

“I’m still here, haven’t gone anywhere,” he smiled, leaning into the hug. “Just decided to stop dicking around for once.”

It occurred to Eddie, once he was sitting in his English Lit class after lunch, that he owed much of his recent maturity to the girl sitting next to him. Dottie was playing with the rings on his fingers as they relaxed at the back of the classroom, a boring movie playing during their last period to fill up time while their teacher tried to finish grading all the finals she had in front of her. He pulled her hand up to his mouth silently, not wanting to attract any attention towards them, but no one cared. Half of the class was asleep anyway. He kissed her injured knuckles over the colorful band aids he’d gotten for her, and she smiled at him, eyes soft and heart soaring.

“Thank you,” he muttered; she looked at him inquisitively but he didn’t say more.

When his lips pressed to the inside of her wrist, she understood what he had meant: thank you for believing in me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being here. And when they were finally alone, hiding away in what was now known as their clearing at the edge of the lake, he told her he believed he couldn’t have gotten to where he was without her and she replied that all she’d done was to simply return what he’d given to her since the day they’d met, which was kindness, understanding, and above all, a whole lot of love.

taglist (comment below or send me an ask if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean @every1lovesanunderdog @eg-dr3amer3

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Have you read this article about the revelation of CDAN’s identity? It’s messy. There’s a mention of Meghan in the article, saying she’s one of the actresses that CDAN absurdly claims to be a yatch girl. What do you make of it?

https://www.vulture.com/article/enty-lawyer-crazy-days-and-nights-john-nelson.html

The article isn’t really a big deal. The people who follow celeb gossip and blind items like this are a small, niche group. And everyone knows Enty made a lot of things up, extrapolating from one photograph or one incident and turning it into the celebrity’s personality without any proof. He’s been problematic for YEARS, but he gets away with it because much of what he does is relatively harmless (comparatively speaking) and he covers himself legally with words like allegedly and supposedly and not naming names until there’s proof or receipts that he can point to.

The rumors about Meghan being a yacht girl have been around for a long time, long before she came into the scene as Harry’s girlfriend. Harry and Meghan both have even said said things (probably accidentally, because we know they can’t help themselves) alluding to Meghan’s potentially being a yacht girl (or the Soho House equivalent) so it actually isn’t absurd, it’s rather plausible.

Archived Link

[saintsir4n]

CAPTURE THE MOMENT

In which the Mikaelsons and Lumiéres take pictures throughout their holiday.

PAIRINGS: MIKAELSONS X LUMIÉRES

__

“SAY CHEESE!” Adrienne exclaimed, holding the camera in front of her family, who all reluctantly posed for the picture. Of course, Rebekah and the little mikaelson heir were all for getting photographed but the men of the family were completely against it, each and every time. Flash, Flash, Flash, they couldn’t stand it. “And again,”

“You’ll blind our child,” Klaus spoke, repairing forcing a smile in most of the pictures.

He raised a hand in defence, watching his wife shoot daggers in his direction. The baby in his arms was the only thing protecting him from her wrath, they all knew it.

“You’ll blind me with that bloody light,” Kol rubbed his eyes and moved out of frame. He was losing his patience. Although the holiday had been fun, he wanted to get back to the green-eyed brunette resting in his suite, “no more pictures for goodness sake.”

Hadeon chuckled, “Christ Adri, what is with your camera?”

“Damn, You sure that flash is legal?” Marcel wondered, staring at the object in confusion.

“It is quite bright Adrienne,” Elijah agreed with them, growing tired of the constant photographs.

Sure he liked to look back on the memories of their trips, however, he believed it took away from the moments. Not everything needed to be documented, not the food on their plates or when they napped or swam, but the women seemed to disagree.

“I got it for her, for your information,” Rebekah sassed, feeling offended by the number of complaints. I love it, Adrienne’s voice cut through the memory of the gift exchange.

“No surprises there,” Hadeon grumbled, then winced that the glare he received from his sister and Marcel.

Rebekah stepped closer to him, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kol sucked in a deep breath, “It’s loud and annoying —“

“— and attention seeking, just like you,” Klaus finished, earning a scowl from Rebekah who began to run after him.

“Sweetheart,” he passed his child over to his wife, before escaping his sister’s grasp.

“Here we go.” Elijah went to sit back down, not interested in stopping the squabble for once. So instead he pulled out his phone and began messaging his girlfriend.

“Who do you think will win?” Marcel's eyes darted between the fighting siblings. He knew his side wouldn’t hurt Rebekah, not in front of so many people, but dread lingered around him.

Kol took out his phone, laughing when his sister threw a shoe at the hybrid’s head.

“Bekah,” Hadeon chuckled, “definitely Bekah.”

“Look at daddy,” Adrienne held her son up, giggling just like he did, watching the siblings bicker and fight, “Look at the man I married.”

“And don’t you regret it,” Kol spoke up, earning a few laughs, “I bloody would.”

“Shut up Kol.”

a/n:

Decided to end it on this note. Something light compared to most of work I upload onto both apps.

[darkwitch1999]

Ronan Odeja OC Headcanons

Ronan Odeja

Age: 40s

Ronan is the father of Michael, Noelle, and Anais Odeja.

He has been happily married to Alyssa Odeja for over 20 years.

Ronan is a photographer who owns his own photography studio. He is well known in his profession for taking pictures that reflect "absolute perfection" by revealing the truth behind each photograph.

In other words, Ronan has a talent for telling whether a picture reflects genuine emotion or fake.

He has spent his lifetime taking pictures of perfect happy families. Ironic given that his own family is nowhere near happy.

Ronan does photography work for Gabriel from time to time. He's taken every family portrait of the Agreste family since Adrian was born.

Ronan is a kinder, more loving parent who loves all his children unconditionally.

Unlike his daughter, Noelle, who has no problem with blood and gore, Ronan cannot even endure talking about such graphic details let alone the sight without becoming nauseated. He still tries to support his daughter's interests by asking her about them even if he ends up feeling sick to his stomach.

Has an amazing singing voice. He always sang lullabies to his children when they were younger and still sings to them whenever they are sad or having night terrors.

A combination of stimuli such as flashing lights and loud noises causes Ronan to have panic attacks.

Ronan is old friends with Gabriel Agreste (Gabi Grassette), André Bourgeois (Anaximandre Bourgeois), Harry Clown, and Emilie Agreste.

During his freshman year at university, he met Alyssa at a party, and they both had a drunken hook-up, which resulted in Alyssa getting pregnant with Michael.

Not wanting to abandon his child, Ronan thought that the "honorable" or "right" thing to do was to marry Alyssa, a decision that his friends were strongly against (they had only met her once at that point and they could already tell she was a huge bitch).

They tried to convince him to not go through with it and to think about if marrying Alyssa was what he truly wanted. Gabriel, of all people, even made a big speech about how Ronan should marry for love and not out of obligation.

Despite Gabriel's speech speaking volumes, Ronan had already made up his mind to go through with it, even if he would end up regretting his decision for the rest of his life, he wanted to give his child a chance at a normal childhood.

Despite being in a loveless marriage, Ronan did everything he could to make their lives "comfortable" for them, even if it meant having to put up with his wife constantly berating him.

Tensions began to rise higher in their marriage when their son, Michael, came out as a boy. Ronan was supportive of his son's gender identity, but Alyssa was beyond pissed.

He paid for Michael's hormone therapy and had his name legally changed.

Took Michael to have gender-reassignment surgery at the age of 18 behind Alyssa's back. This act led to a MAJOR fight between the married couple, resulting in Alyssa nearly blinding Ronan with a glass vase that she threw close to his eye and kicking Michael out of the house.

Ronan continues to support Michael and help him through his struggles with depression and pill and alcohol abuse.

Had an affair with a family friend on Anais's last birthday, who also happened to be the widowed father of one of Anais's friends. Noelle witnessed the affair and called for her mother without even thinking first due to the shock.

Their marriage became unbearably worse after that day. Alyssa brings up the affair at every chance she is given and torments and berates Ronan even worse than before.

The affair is still ongoing; they just think that they are doing a good job at keeping it hidden.

The word about Ronan's affair had gotten around at Noelle's old school, which led to the bullying that she was already dealing with becoming worse. This also led to the decision for Noelle to transfer to Dupont.

While Ronan likes Noelle's new friends, the only friend that he doesn't completely trust Lila Rossi. In his words, "There's just something not right about that picture".

Despite his miserable and depressing home life, Ronan has yet to become akumatized. Hawk Moth/Shadow Moth/Monarch is lying in wait for the moment that Ronan reaches his "breaking point" and is at his lowest.

@princessbutterflysposts

[johnschneiderblog]

A feast for the senses

No smoked turkey breasts yet. but I shot (photographically speaking) these two jakes (young males) from my blind on a recent morning. They're legal game but I decided to let them grow up.

So far my timing seems to be a little off; when the big toms are out there, I'm not; when I'm out there, they're not. That's the general lament of hunters and anglers: We shoulda been there yesterday.

But spring is a good time of year for forest baths. The bugs are still asleep for the most part, while everything else is hyper-alive. The green is greener than ever, the aromas are therapeutic and dawn is a symphony of birdsong.

[mariowritesforyou]

Dogs, Bots and Blogs:

A content creation horror story

This is a long one, but my mind can only contain so much madness.

So yours truly decided to start an online presence.

I want to write and be a creative as a vocation, and it was time for me to build the bridges that would connect me to an audience.

My first bridge was built Wordpress, where I'm uploading a web serial currently. It's not terrible, check it out.

Degenerate self-promotion aside, I was quite excited to see who my first subscribers were, people who got to me through the Wordpress Reader, the feed of all the posts made in the platform.

A couple of human-seeming accounts, they had that soulful controlled randomness to them, along with the kindness to give my stuff a chance. I checked their blogs back, until I stumbled on a particularly canine one.

A pomeranian blog.

Nothing but.

I have considered against outright saying the name of the blog or the name that the creator goes by because 1, saying their names might bring more power unto them and 2, I don't want to be cruel.

It's carnage trying to get the blind behemoth of the internet to set its eyes on your content. As long as their methods are not malicious, I am hard pressed to judge someone for how they do the grind. That's why I'm also pasting screenshots that are not too revealing.

It's all gray.

(This is all true for how creepypasta it sounds. I swear to god.)

But yeah, pomeranians.

Pom-poms galore.

The blog howled till its chords were raw about the beauty and caretaking needs of the dog breed, to a point of an almost hypnotic suggestion of it's necessity.

Odd, but garden-variety odd. The internet has seen wilder bursts. I thought that until I took a closer look at the furballs.

Like stuck between mediums, not quite a photograph and not quite a digital painting. Both too blurry and too sharp.

Artificially generated images.

A fraction more odd to my expectation, but still adhering to logic in function.

I can perfectly picture a Pomeranian enthusiast, with unbridled energy and capacity for writing of the children of the German Spitz, but incapable of illustrating their texts on their own. Perhaps wanting to avoid the legal headache of copyright with their incomplete understanding of it, they turn to AI (which is a copyright nightmare of its own, but I digress) in order to get their images.

Cut and dry.

But I wanted the character I had conjured to be real, their love for Pomeranians real, so I checked the posts' content.

I'm not an expert, but the text does have a mechanistic aftertaste to it. Huge amounts of fluff (heh) with aimlessly vague topics. No citations of experts of any kind. No personal experiences with their own pom puppies. No typos.

You've got around 3500 words a post, putting them in a word counter. So, how many posts?

20 PAGES OF 10 POSTS EACH?!

(What are they looking at?)

(There's nothing particular about their eyes.)

This is the first post. No "Welcome to my blog!" post or "This is why I love poms so much" post or "You're pet too, aren't you?" post, but an article about poms alerting impending seizures.

I'm writing this on the 13th of August (Why does that sound like a last captain's log?). 52 days since their last post.

200 posts in 52 days. Approximately seventy thousand words in honor of the breed, like warm drops spilled at a stone altar. This is definitely automated to crap.

There's no heart pumping blood that is creating this.

It's necessarily something else.

(What can you be other ecstatic? Ungrateful?, you little shit.)

The best part (if you're inclined for human definitions of "good" and "bad") is this:

THEY HAVE ANOTHER FULL BLOG FOR JACK RUSSELL FUCKING TERRIERS!!!

They are also following me.

(No one's laughing at you. No one cares enough).

(What is purpose?)

HOW CAN YOU WRITE SO MUCH ABOUT DOGS???????

(Is there any?)

(Where can I find it? Certainly not their eyes.)

(There's nothing particular about their eyes.)

(There's nothing there.)

(Nothing.)

[rome-theeempire]

I'm swarming but I just wanna say I totally forgot to post about this movie I saw yesterday but I remembered cuz I saw:

This is problematic

why? cuz it's from this:

And if you've watched thirteen like I have you should understand why wanting to be EXACTLY like these two characters when they're together is a big NO NO.

🚨If you have NOT seen thirteen and you're wanting to see it plz give this post a real big swipe away cuz I will spoil it in order to prove my point.🚨

My point: They have the potential to be fantastic friends but they're NOT.

I'm not gonna be detailed with the plot but miss Tracy who's 13!!! Is in the 7th grade and becomes friends with the popular girl, Evie, she's giving very much y2k grunge which I live for

However I do not live for her stealing, drug use, underage drinking and alot of other things I will not explicitly say cuz I just don't want to.

And Tracy begins to this stuff too but ONLY because she's friends with Evie. Her and Evie only become official friends once Tracy steals a woman's wallet and now she's "cool"

Alot of ppl who say they want their type of relationship are extremely blind to the movie. One the aesthetic the clothes, the hair that's the overall aesthetic:✨THE 2000's✨ but alot of ppl think the coloring is also the aesthetic it pulls it together ig...

BUT that's not what that's for. The color scheme of the movie changes as the movie progresses

What else is progressing??🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

Oh yeaaa TRACY'S PERSONALITY CHANGE

In the beginning it's average, bright:

She starts the change veeeery slowly when she throws away her cute socks, dolls and stuffed toys and gets new clothes:

Then while she's with Evie it's like this:

Green and blue also light blue.

The green is when she's off her rocker, in the clouds trippen heavy (high) green is a "gross" color these scenes are never focused, it's messy.

The blue, very sad color, and also a color ppl can turn to when they're dying is the color that is constant and the color that is changing in the film.

And while there are scenes where she's smiling with Evie it's still turning blue cuz even though she's enjoying this wild ride Tracy is dying, when it's not just her and Evie she's flipping out, upset, crying she's just so angry.

Evie's habits that she literally taught Tracy are killing her to the point where she's in the car with her mom about to flunk 7th grade and says how she can't even remember how to spell "photographer"

They COULD be good friends. Evie had scenes where it showed she actually enjoyed hanging out with just Tracy even choosing Tracy over her old friends, telling her over and over that she loved her They even created their own LANGUAGE I almost missed it but I had the subtitles on and they spoke to each other twice in a secret code. Me and my twin brother had a secret language, so they were THAT close. It could've been a really amazing teen friendship without the drugs and betrayal

Oh and Evie getting upset that Tracy's mom wouldn't adopt her even though she LEGALLY can't and decides to blame TRACY for her bad behavior and then move away leaving Tracy like this:

COMPLETELY blue, and sobbing.

Wow what a friendship...

[oh-my-damn]

I applaud you trying to reason with zionists. But they’re beyond reasoning with. They’re people experiencing some intense cognitive dissonance. So be warned they won’t probably come around. Coming around would mean completely rejecting everything they’ve been taught their whole lives. And it’s real intense what they’ve been taught. Think of it as someone who’s christian being exposed to information that makes them question everything. I’ve been through it and it’s a hell of a battle.

Reminds me of people who are so deeply ingrained in the patriarchy, they don't even realize (could be men or women)

Regardless, it doesn't matter.

What matters is the truth.

I only know of one way to get through to people. And that is to keep repeating the truth, whether I have to write it or yell it in their faces until it sinks in.

What is most surprising to me about zionists is that they absolutely know what their own people went through. They know it all because of the evidence presented and the subsequent trials that followed.

They went through years of people denying what was truly going on during WWII.

So how could they deny it now? How do they not see it?

As people who were directly affected by something so similar to this, they were rewarded land on another country's territory, and I am absolutely baffled how they are so blind right now.

It doesn't make sense to me.

World War II didn't make sense to me, the Holocaust never made sense to me. Because how could human beings abandon each other like that? How could they let their neighbors, friends, family members die and suffer like that?

But I excused it with the fact that they didn't know, they didn't see. The internet wasn't a thing back then, photographic evidence was hard to come by.

But we live in the age of technology. Proof takes less than a second to find.

How are these people still in denial?

Part of me wants to just yell at them for their ignorance, but another, bigger part of me, wants to question it. I want to ask how. I want to ask why. I want to ask what makes them believe that killing thousands of children is okay, if it's in the pursuit of a few hundred 'terrorists'.

I want to ask why it's okay to destroy millions of homes to pursue a few hundred 'terrorists' who did minimal damage compared to what they're doing in response.

I want to know why they think it was okay to occupy lands that were given to them as refuge. I want to ask why they thought it was okay to trap people in open air concentration camps. Not just as human beings, but even more so as jewish people whose ancestors lived through it.

I want to ask all the questions. But I want proper answers.

I want proved answers. I want evidence. I want rational answers. I want statistics. I want empirical evidence.

If the answers are "you're just a nazi/anti-semitic cum dump who could never understand because you don't live in Israel" then I am not going to listen.

Because those are not real, rational, or legal answers.

I study the law. I know the law. I know for a fact that what is happening is not in accordance with international law.

It is not in accordance with the law Israel ratified in 1951. It is not in accordance with the Hague conventions that Israel chose to, conventiently, NOT ratify, but is now considered common law, which means they are expected to follow it.

I want to know real answers. I want to know real answers backed up by evidence. I want PROOF.

I don't want to hear any type of misdirection, or misinformation, or slander towards anyone asking these questions.

Because that is exactly what the Nazis did in WWII. Misdirected, misrepresented, misinformed, slandered, anyone who questioned them.

How do they not see the comparison? How do they not understand what is going on? How do they not see that this entire thing is because of how poorly they have treated the Palestinian people for 75 years?

These are the questions I want answered.

And I may hit a brick wall. I may have to fight zionists for eternity. But then at least I will die knowing I fought for humanity.