#like it really does baffle me that people will just post those

[winter-spark]

Me: Gee I wish I could easily join communities of people with the same/similar interests as me.

Person with same/similar interest as me: If you like this feel free to join the discord server!!! *posts link to discord server*

Me: Wow, people are so wild. Just inviting possibly hundreds of people to one discord server, ah so many people. That's wild, couldn't be me.

[lionblaze03-2]

sometimes I think about writing and singing music not because I’m an incredible singer but because no one has my fucking voice, especially in popular music, and its disheartening to be born a girl, told you’ll only get girl roles or try to voice match other girls, or ‘sing with the girls’ and then only be able to match male voices because you’re a fuckin tenor and not anything higher. I can’t think of any girl Broadway roles I can hit all the notes on. Most songs I love I have to pitch down for myself or use falsetto for singing along to. It bothers me a lot less now because I’m an adult who’s more secure in myself but as a teen in kids musical theatre it FUCKED with me, BAD style. And I know for a fact that even now when I hear people with a voice like mine singing I get excited and immediately invested in their work because they’re like ME, finally, for once. A brother in this world of being afab and having the voice of a recently pubescent boy forever. Maybe I should be that brother too.

[fragmentedblade]

.

[francisforever2014]

my friend with the awful older boyfriend called me today for the first time in a while and i asked how he was and she was just so unenthusiastic talking about him and i made a face and she was like. i just can’t go through a breakup rn. the way she lives is genuinely incomprehensible

[polinsated]

@polin-erospsyche said these tags i wrote shouldn't be tags, and i trust her with my possible-inpending embarrassment, apparently, so, here you go:

i adore this look so much. the way colin looks at pen here will never not be used as a defence against people saying polin are 'rushed', or 'have no chemistry', or whatever it is they're saying now. and here's my little take on it.

-> you know how they say, you don't know what you have until it's gone. in this case, colin didn't realise how much he needed pen and her letters until they were gone....

—

this lonely, weary traveller has been away for months. we know his family doesn't often reply to his letters. and although he jokes about it, and they do too, we can all agree that he's upset by this, yes?

so in this moment, he turns around and sees the only person who has been corresponding with him throughout his journeys. he sees the woman who not only responds to every letter he sends but also who does so with genuine interest and fondness. the person who has made him feel like he has had a friend there with him on his travels. i personally believe he was alone for most, if not, nearly all of the time he was away. though, even if he did have some companionship; penelope was his constant for that time.

she has probably been keeping him entertained with stories, making sure he knows his family is okay, and asking him about every detail of his adventures. and in my opinion, i believe she barely ever mentioned herself in these letters. she has really been there with him every step of the way via her open ears (nay eyes) and written words.

and so finally, he sees her there, and i don't think he knows what to do with himself.

does he want to just say hello? probably not - look at his face! does he want to sit down with her right away and ramble on about things he has yet to say? or maybe just tell the same stories - because he knows she will listen, and she will understand, and she will enjoy hearing about them. maybe. does he want to hug her and say thank you? possibly.

my point is that i think he doesn't know what to do. it's such a short look that he doesn't have time to decide. and he's suspended in those moments when he sees her looking back at him with a huge smile on her face. he's overwhelmed.

i may be wrong in this part, but i also think he's a little surprised. he knows pen hangs out with his family a lot, but i don't think he expected her to be there right at that very moment he walked in the door. the man is baffled, to me. and in love.. despite not knowing it yet, hehe.

and it leads me to the sudden and heartbreaking point of 3.01. when colin has finished greeting his family, he turns to look at the featherington house because he notices right away that pen is not there like last time. and now it feels wrong that she isn't.

and if you watch that moment, the exact part when he turns back to his family again, there is something in the way his hands swing loosely at his sides, like a defeated sigh from his body - if you know what i'm trying to say.

his body language, to me, just screams disheartened... dispirited, or whatever other fancy word you'd see fit to use. but it's so subtle...

and then later we find out that penelope didn't respond to any of his letters this time. and i can only imagine how confused he is. because, honestly, he probably forgot about the horrible courting comment he made, and even if he remembered, he doesn't know then that pen heard it. so in his mind he is wondering where on earth his friend is. the possibility that she could be unwell has probably also crossed his mind. he is just - desperate, most likely - at this point to find out what's going on.

the thought of him, on his travels, everyday wondering why there still hasn't been a single letter signed 'penelope' absolutely breaks my heart.

and while i was about to end this post, i just thought about colin actually writing his own letters, and how he might've changed his tone along the way... do you think they ever included such words as something like: "i eagerly await your response." / "i hope to hear from you sometime soon." / "are you well, pen?"

or even this soul destroying, lump in the throat inducing quote that my mind has just come up with: "i've begun to think that there's a possibility you have not received my recent letters. for several weeks i have not heard back. not even a single tidbit about your mama, or my bothersome siblings. i must admit, my travels have not been as such fun or as fascinating as when i have my good friend to tell them to. i hope my writing finds you soon enough, or that yours finds me."

......

anyway, i don't write metas.. or i do and i never post them because i feel stupid and rambly and i'm never sure if it makes sense, but, i'm being a little brave here, haha. (thank you, luwen)

[cozage]

Would you write HCs for Sanji, Zoro and Ace (separate) with a dominant s/o who always manages to leave them all flustered and shy even if the s/o barely does a thing?

A/N: God Sanji was so painfully easy but the others were SO hard. I loved the challenge and I hope I served them justice. They got really dirty really fast- i hope that was okay 😭

Characters: gn reader x Sanji, Zoro, Ace

Cw: NSFW!!! Some kinkiness in this one. Flirting, edging, bondage (kind of), a little bit of humiliation

Word Count: 1.5k

Hey Minors- DNI with this post! I have so much more content for you to check out! If i find any minors interacting with this post, I’ll block you! (and then you won’t be able to read any of my work, so just skip this one!)

Flustered

Sanji

Quickest way to get him flustered? Corner him in the kitchen. Anything in the kitchen. Anything at all. This man gets flustered over anything and everything.

Your favorite thing to do is to come up behind him while he’s chopping up ingredients, peek over his shoulder, and ask if you can have some. If it’s a fruit or vegetable, you just reach over him and grab it off the cutting board, pop it in your mouth, give him a kiss on the cheek, and continue on your way. At first you didn’t even realize it made him flustered, but now that you know? Oh you do it all the time. Sometimes you even lean in on him and grind against him a little bit, just for extra fun. 

The first time it happened he almost fainted. He’s gotten better about it, but his knees still get weak every time you come up behind him like that and whisper in his ear. 

Another thing that absolutely flusters him is the way you eat fruit. Not just the obvious banana, but cherries, strawberries, oranges, everything. If you catch his eye while you’re snacking, you just hold his gaze and slowly nibble away at whatever is in his hand. You’ll swirl your tongue around it, pucker your lips out, anything you can think of in the moment. 

Most of the time he’s captivated by the way you sensually bite down on each morsel, excruciatingly slow, while you only watch him. When there are other people present though, his eyes nervously flit around the room, trying to make sure that nobody notices your seductive moves (not that you’d care even if you were caught)

Ohhh but your absolute favorite thing! to! DO!!! And damnnnn, does it get him worked!!!! Up!!!!! You love to see something weird or adventurous or just totally random and nudge Sanji to point it out to him. “Wanna try that in the bedroom?” you purr in his ear.

Sometimes it’s obvious, like handcuffs or food, but other times it’s less obvious, like candles or obscure clothing accessories. His eyes practically jump out of his skull every time you whisper those words to him. He ALWAYS nods enthusiastically, to which your response is always “Wanna go there now?”

This poor man is so in love with you he practically races back to the bedroom with you in his arms, eager to see what you’ll do to him next. 

Zoro

Zoro started out as the dom in your all's relationship until one very fateful, life changing day. 

You walk into his weight room, seeing him bench press an ungodly amount of weight. You saunter right over to him and straddle his stomach right in the middle of his bench press. 

“What are you doing, woman? Get off me!” Zoro pushes the barbell up with some difficulty and holds it in a locked position. “I’m trying to train!”

“You’re always training,” you pout. Your finger starts at his collar bone and traces down his chest until it reaches his belly warmer. “You never pay any attention to me.”

“Don’t be a brat! I’ll get to you when I’m done!” He struggles under you, trying to shake you off, but you squeeze your legs together to keep yourself on him. You sit back slightly, your weight now against his cock, and he gives you a baffled look, surprised at your boldness. 

“You just stay right there,” you murmur. You bend down to kiss the nape of his neck and begin working your way down his chest, mimicking the trail you just make with your finger. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

And you certainly do take care of the rest. Zoro stays in his locked position, the weight of the barbell trapping him in his current stance. After that, Zoro only ever wanted you to take the reins in the relationship.

Anytime you walk into his workout room after that, he drops whatever weight he’s currently holding. His arms hurt for DAYS after that first encounter, and he does not want to be trapped in that position again. Sometimes you just wink at him and relay the information you went to tell him, sometimes you tease him about it. On a rare occasion-the occasion he always hopes it will be-you’ll command him to pick whatever he dropped up again, and you’ll get to work on him. 

Sometimes you’ll just suck him off, sometimes you’ll do a quickie, sometimes you’ll sit on his face, but the most glorious moments are when you have him hold a stance while you slowly work on him. Edging him close and then stopping right before he cums, hearing him curse at you while you moan his name. Oh, those are your favorite moments. And they’re his too.

You guys made a code word for “I’m horny and want to fuck”, which is “I don’t know, Zoro, what do you think?” and GOD it is so hilarious to watch his face grow red in public when you seemingly ask him an innocent question. The crew always makes fun of him because they think it’s funny to watch him get worked up over having to be a part of a conversation, but you know better. 

Honestly even just the little things like winks or little kisses on the cheek as you pass him makes him unsettled. PDA in general makes him so awkward and tongue-tied, and you love watching him get flustered over the littlest of things. 

Ace

People always think that Ace is the dominant one in your relationship, but they just aren’t paying enough attention. And neither of you ever care to correct them. 

Sometimes you joke about it when people make jabs at your alls sex life. “Oh Ace, you want this rope for later?” some crewmate will jest. “He won’t need it, but I might,” you respond. Ace always goes beet red when you make lewd jokes like that, but everyone just laughs it off. 

This man will do anything you tell him to, without ever needing incentive to. Sometimes you like to put the promise of a reward in place, just to see how quickly he can get a task done. Little rewards like kisses are usually enough to get him moving, but sometimes you like to offer extra special rewards in the bedroom to see just how fast he’ll work.

You love to sneak up behind him and trace the outline of his back tattoo. The second he feels you, he tenses, but he quickly relaxes into your touch when he realizes it’s you. He’ll even lean his head back to see you, silently begging for a kiss from you. Of course you always give him what he needs. 

Sitting on his lap always gets him flustered too. He’ll just be sitting, casually talking to his friends, and you’ll just sit down on his lap, like it’s the most normal thing. If he’s eating, you’ll take a bite of whatever he’s having. When you’re feeling really devious, you’ll just straddle him and wrap your legs around his back and your arms around his neck, completely demanding his attention until he gives you a kiss. 

Oh and you also LOVE to take his hat from him. Just as you walk by him, you’ll take it off his head and swiftly place it on your own without saying a word. If he starts to protest, you just look back at him and wink, and that shuts him up real fast. 

He gets a little bratty occasionally, trying to act dominant in front of his friends. You’ll grab the tassel hanging from his hat and pull him down to your level. “What was that now?” You taunt him so only he can hear you, daring him to defy you now that he was eye level with you. He will instantly start stumbling over his words, embarrassed. You always give him a kiss on the lips and let him go off. As long as he knows who is in charge, that’s all that matters (and honestly, it kind of turns him on, you acting like that). 

In the bedroom, Ace loves letting you take control. He is such a pillow princess if you let him be. He’ll just lie back and watch you act on your own volition, letting you ride him all the way to both of your orgasms together.

Of course, he loves to love you. He’ll do literally anything you tell him to, and he loves to try new things and experiment with new ideas, and he’s always very vocal about how he feels about those ideas. He loves making you feel good and hearing you moan out for him, and he loves seeing all of your ideas and fantasies come into play by his motions.

[hellspawnmotel]

well you guys really called my bluff on this one, haha. I have a lot to say on the topic so this will probably turn into a long post but the answer really depends on this: what interests you about astro boy, pluto, and the franchise/tezuka's body of work as a whole? what do you want out of this experience?

if you're just looking for places to read/watch these things and that's it, I'll put some links here at the top so you don't have to dig through this whole mess.

you can read astro boy (original manga) here (there are occasionally missing pages on this website, if/when you run into those you can switch to this one which is harder to navigate but complete)

you can watch/download the 2003 anime (english sub) here

you can read naoki urasawa's pluto here

so you're interested in astro boy but aren't sure where to start: my opinion as someone whose point of view you respect for some reason

it didn't occur to me until recently that for a lot of people who follow me, your cultural touchstone for the concept of astro boy is most likely to be the 2009 american movie. I didn't watch that as a kid, I was 14 when it came out and fully into my "anime is superior to western animation" phase, but I've watched it now and well.... if you like it that's great! I did not. I'm not going to dwell on that, but I think it's worth noting that whatever your opinion on it as a movie is I don't really think it's a good representation of astro boy and its themes. moving on.

the manga

if you want the pure, unfiltered astro boy experience, this is as close as you're gonna get. it's gonna be a little haphazard though because the dark horse publication, which is probably the only way you're gonna find to read it in english, does not order the stories chronologically. I don't think that really matters because there's not a lot of continuity so as long as you understand the basic premise you can read in whatever order you want, and this puts a lot of really good stories first anyway so it's nice too. personally as far as all versions of astro boy proper go, the manga is my favorite. it's not always an easy read, for reasons I'll get into in a moment, and it's not always good either. some stories are phenomenal, some are just plain silly, and some are downright terrible. but given how long it ran for and how consistently and without breaks tezuka worked on not just it but all his other manga too I think that's too be expected. but even the bad ones I think are worth a look! this is the history of manga as a medium right here! and I love the manga, it's fun, funny, wonderfully drawn, compelling, shockingly dark at times, and just a fascinating read for those with an interest in classic comics.

all that said, I think it would be irresponsible of me to recommend it without also including a big fat disclaimer, which dark horse was kind enough to put at the front of the book.

if you have an interest or familiarity with classic/vintage manga, anime, comics, and cartoons, you probably saw this coming, but some of this shit gets REAL racist, most often in terms of how people are drawn. some of tezuka's biggest inspirations were the rubberhose american cartoons of the 20s and 30s, and all that implies. for whatever the opinion of a white american is worth, based on his writing I really do believe he had good intentions- he consistently speaks out against racism and bigotry in general, in astro boy especially. you can tell he was very passionate about it. but I'm not gonna defend the guy either, you can't be drawing people like that, even if it was the 40s-80s. a lot of the experience of getting into tezuka is reading a story where the moral is "racism is evil! end discrimination!" accompanied by straight up racial caricatures in the art. it's baffling and infuriating. if I could I would travel back in time and hire the man a sensitivity reader, but I can't, and he's been dead for 35 years so we'll never know what he would've done about it today. all we can do is take it as an opportunity to learn and do better. but, if all that puts you off getting into the manga or the series at large, I don't blame you!

with that out of the way, the size of the manga might intimidate you. there's a lot of it. lucky for you you don't have to read all of it if you don't want to! I've read the entire thing because I'm a completionist at heart, but I've had several friends come to me for a smaller and more manageable reading list, which is as follows:

(stars for my personal favorites, grimaces for "I did enjoy this one and I think it's worth reading but I don't feel good about recommending it". I also think "the artificial sun" and "atlas" are important reads if you're interested in the history of the franchise because they get referenced a lot, but they are VERY racist and I don't think theyre good enough overall to make them worth putting on the list despite that.)

that was long. next up:

the 2003 anime

I am not quite done watching this one but I'm pretty close so I feel confident in saying: on the whole, it's great! it looks absolutely fantastic for a tv anime from that era, the character and world design is top-notch, and overall it does a really good job adapting the best and most important parts of the manga into a continuous story, although it softens the blow of the darker moments quite a bit (which might be a good thing for you, depending on your tastes). it's pretty beloved by western fans, and for good reason.

I do have my issues with it, for one this might not be a popular opinion but I think they majorly screwed up on adapting the "greatest robot on earth" arc (my favorite arc btw, yes I might be salty), for another they really sand the edges off of uran's character compared to the manga and make her a lot more meek and girly. but that's just my opinion and if this show is the only one you've watched you wouldnt know that anyway. so don't let that deter you if you're interested, you'll be missing out on a pretty fantastic kids show.

so, if you're looking to really dive chest-first into astro boy as a franchise and understand all there is to know: maybe don't start with this one. it changes a lot from the source material and kind of does its own thing. but if you're just looking for a good story thats fun to watch and total eye candy, go nuts!

pluto

pluto by naoki urasawa is an adaptation/reimagining of astro boy's most famous and beloved arc, "the greatest robot on earth". it's also what got me into the franchise and one of my favorite manga ever! pluto reinvents the story as a detective thriller set in the aftermath of what is effectively, and obviously, the iraq war. it's brutal and harrowing, and beautiful and cathartic and hopeful. to me it is the gold standard for "dark and gritty reboot of a children's story" because urasawa adores tezuka and respects the original version, which was always a dark tragedy anyway, just presented differently. you might have seen pluto got an anime adaptation last year as well. I've watched it, it's pretty good! it doesn't change all that much (I don't like the few things they DID change but whatever) but I just think urasawa's artwork, paneling, and pacing are completely unmatched so I'd recommend the manga first. I'm not gonna be that asshole who insists you gotta read the manga over the anime though, if anime is easier for you you're better off having experienced pluto that way than not at all.

(if you ARE interested in both astro boy and pluto and are considering which to get into first, it's important to know that reading the arc pluto is based on will spoil a loooooot of things about the story. so weigh the pros and cons of that before making a decision!)

so, that's basically what I have to say. I haven't watched the 60s or 80s anime adaptations so I can't give insight on those, and I'm by no means an expert on any of this. I only started reading the original manga like three months ago and before that my memories of the other stuff was pretty faded, before I revisited it. if you're interested though I hope this helps, and I hope you enjoy yourself if you decide to take the leap! it's kind of a rabbit hole. I did not know what I was getting into when I decided to reread pluto, but I'm sure glad I did.

if you have any other questions about my personal opinions, feel free to shoot me an ask as well!

[spopsalt]

How to show and how not to show a serious topic, Hazbin Hotel and Rick and Morty comparison.

WARNING THIS POST CONTAINS GRAPHIC DECEPTIONS AND DISCUSSIONS OF S//A AND ASSAULT TOWARDS MINORS. IT IS ALL FICTION. IF ANY OF THESE ARE TRIGGERING FEEL FREE TO LEAVE

So I was watching Rick and Morty Meseeks and Destroy and it baffled me how they handled a sensitive subject much better than Hazbin Hotel. Let's start off by Hazbin Hotel's depiction shall we? For context for those who don't know, Angel Dust is a porn star who gets s//a by his boss Val for what seems to be in the regular. This is shown in a song with very suggestive lyrics while he is heavily sexualized. Feels a lot like fetish content.

But that's not even the worst part, there are s//a scenes made by someone who fetishizes s//a. Warning these images are graphic and can be triggering. These are also randomly shown throughout the song, they also give no warning for this so you can't even fully skip the scene since its not one scene.

And they also joke about s//a in a later episode,which I like dark humor,but make it make sense. What do you want people to take seriously?

Now, how does Rick and Morty handle it? They do show a different subject,with Morty nearly getting violated by Mr. Jellybean. You may not need context since this scene did get popular,but Morty made a bet with Rick that they could do a simple, fun adventure. Morty is around 14 while Rick appears to be in his late 50s early 60s.Rick agrees to the bet and they go on the adventure. They do make a joke about r*pe but it is done by Rick which is in character with him being cycincal and this was done before the scene.

Now eventually they are walking down steps and Morty stops by the bathroom. In the bathroom he meets Mr. Jellybean.He appears to be nice which shows how predators aren't obvious. They normally seem nice

Now everything seems fine, but then Mr. Jellybean gets...touchy. Morty gets uncomfortable and attempt to leave but Mr. Jellybean forces him to stay.

Now this is where the triggering scene starts, trigger warning. Nothing happens thank god due to Morty being able to fight him off. And the scene, while triggering can be skipped easily since it's one scene as a whole.

This scene was made to show how horrifying attempted r*pe is. There is a dark joke about how Rick is having a good time but this does fit with the show's dark humor

I do believe they should've put a trigger warning,but that's my only complaint about the scene in general. Morty goes out of the bathroom and begs Rick to just go home, Morty cries for the first time in the series and it's really easy to feel bad for the poor kid who was clearly traumatized.

Rick catches onto what happens and choices to comfort the kid, arguably the biggest piece in the show is nice for the first time here.

This cheers Morty up for the moment until they see Mr Jellybean again and Morty immediately leaves with Rick.

He does eventually get his karma shortly after by getting shot by Rick

Rick and Morty handled this better by not sexualizing their character while spreading awearness, treating the situation seriouslt and showing how horrifying it is, and not getting some who fetishizes r*pe to make the scene. We also get to see the biggest piece of shit in the show be nice for the first time. It shows how predators often come off as nice. This is definitely the darkest I'll ever get with my posts, but I hope you enjoyed reading it and agreed with me.

[waggledoogledoggle]

⚠️Spoilers for Hazbin ep 4⚠️

⚠️Also, this post will talk about Abuse and SA, it is briefly mentioned a few times throughout the rest of this… whole long thingy I wrote⚠️

⚠️Also, brief mention of the scene where someone tried to drug Angel⚠️

Ok, I am just genuinely baffled at the people who somehow find a way to hate on 'Loser, Baby'.

Like, if you don't like Huskerdust that's fine... but 'Loser, Baby' is not overshadowing/brushing off Angel's SA. It's not victim blaming. And it's not Husk telling Angel to just shut up and get over it.

Like I've seen it so much, and you know what? Fuck it. Welcome to my TedTalk on why it's not all of those things.

For starters: Husk doesn't know about Angel's SA

When Angel has his vulnerable outburst (Side note, props to Blake I mean, they said 'take 5' he heard 'change lives') he talks about how he feels like he has to act the way he does to keep Valentino happy because he stupidly sold his soul to him. That he wants to get drugged up because that’s his escape. That he wants to be broken because maybe, just maybe Val will let him go. He wants to be free, but he can't and he has no one to blame but himself.

"What's the worst part of this hell, I can only blame myself" is literally the pre chorus to his song (Poison), and that is what he shares with Husk.

Not once does he bring up his abuse or SA. If he did, do you think a song would have even happened? Look how Husk reacted when someone tried to drug Angel's drink! Now that Husk actually genuinely cares about him? Dead. Dead. Valentino would be dead.

Us knowing about Angels situation in full is dramatic irony which is, essentially, we as the audience know more/are given more insight than the other characters. We were given the insight of Angel's true trauma that he deals with on the daily. Husk and the rest of the Hotel were not and have no idea what he deals with, the only one that even has an inkling is Charlie and even then we still know WAY more about Angel’s situation than her, so you can't really get upset at Husk for not knowing something he would have no way of knowing unless Angel shared it with him directly.

Moving onto the song itself, it's a song of empathy.

Allow me to explain.

Husk pinpoints perfectly what Angel is feeling in this moment:

"So things look bad, and your back's against the wall Your whole existence seems fuckin' hopeless You're feelin' filthy as a dive bar bathroom stall Can't face the world sober and dopeless You've lost your way, you think your life is wrecked"

When Husk starts singing, you can tell that Angel is expecting Husk to pull the whole "But that's not true! It's not hopeless! You're life's not wrecked!" and is very surprised when Husk doesn't.

Instead, Husks says "Yeah. You're right." And this is when a lot of the haters get angry- but hold on a second.

When someone is feeling all of those things, saying things like "That's not true! You'll be ok!" aren't helpful at all. That's brushing it off. Even if it may be true, that doesn't help anyone when they're feeling like hopeless, lost, losers.

Because that's sympathy, not empathy. Sympathy is feeling for someone, and trying to make them feel better. Empathy, is not trying to make them feel any certain way- better or worse- empathy is simply feeling with someone. And that's what Husk does.

During the first chorus, Husk is clearly teasing Angel a bit while doing so, but not without good reason. It's keeping Angel from closing back up again, he's being a little bit silly with him and teasing him. I mean, did you see the silly lil walk he did crossing in front of Angel? And Angel is super confused because he's like "how tf is this supposed to make me feel better??"

That's the thing. It's not. That's sympathy's job, not empathy's. Empathy just want's you to feel felt with, it doesn't want to tell you how to feel. And adding that bit of silliness gives Angel's vulnerability a chance to breathe and it prevents Angel from closing in on himself.

The next verse, pre-chorus, and chorus is when the empathy though really kicks in.

The next verse, is the first part of empathy: Sharing about a similar experience you went through.

In this verse, now that Angel is listening not just hearing, Husk shares that he has been gruesomely damaged. Calling back to what he shared literally seconds before the song. That he knows what it's like to sign away your soul, and constantly look back at it with huge amounts of regret. That knowing that moment is what turned him into the mess he is today, and that he has no one to blame but himself. Just like Angel.

Then in the pre-chorus where there's the whole:

"I sold my soul to a psychopathic freak Haha! And you think that makes you unique? Get outta here, man!"

That isn't Husk telling Angel to get over himself and this isn’t him undermining what Angel’s been through. That's him saying 'I did too, you're not alone’

And then the very simple word change from "you're" to "we're" in the chorus is SO FREAKING HUGE. Because Husk is essentially saying "You feel like a total loser right now. Ok. Then if what happened to you/what you went through makes you a loser, then I'm a loser too. Let's be loser's together." Instead of trying to make Angel stop feeling like he's a hopeless loser, he decides that he is too.

He meets Angel where he is.

Aka: ✨empathy✨

Angel finally feels seen, understood, felt with. All the goals of empathy. He no longer feels alone in what he is struggling with, which is HUGE! Especially for people going through/dealing with SA and abuse.

The bridge of the song, is also extremely important, because this is where they acknowledge the differences in what they're going through. Their root problem is the same, but how it messed up their lives and created the problems they deal with now are completely different

And that's around when the song begins to shift from just Husk showing empathy and comforting Angel, to them both finding comfort in each other.

Which you can clearly see by the chorus under the umbrella, where it's not just one of them singing the chorus, but it's both of them. Because they have found a place to go to and confide in, a place of comfort, with each other.

Like, I am genuinely concerned that people find this song toxic like... have- have you never experienced empathy before? Are you ok?

So yeah, to wrap this up, if you don’t like ‘Loser, Baby’ just because you don’t like the song in general? That’s fine (odd, but fine)

But if you hate it because it “undermines Angel’s experience and what he goes through” I…

words.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[monzamash]

anonymous: no. 27 screams Pierre 👀

— it really does. i actually got a few sent in for pierre so i'm gonna bunch this prompt and “good girl" together bc it just felt right and i got carried away writing for him 🙏 (and i had to re-upload this because i couldn't edit the ask after posting, sorry!)

pierre gasly x you (femreader) | 1.1k 18+ minors dni

Pierre was a menace to society; a playboy, someone you swore you would never give yourself to again – no matter how charming those steely blue eyes could be. They were agonisingly alluring at the best of times but you’d been celibate, by choice, for months now, so much as a brisk wind making your thighs clench together.

You were borderline cock-staved, embarrassingly so and when Pierre, your friend, invited you to a club night he was hosting, you should’ve said no.

A polite decline and a promise to catch up with him next time he was home in Milan would’ve sufficed but you couldn’t. Your fingertips had a mind of their own, swiftly texting back a simple ‘see you there’ before tearing your wardrobe apart to find something to wear, desperate to impress and to find someone, anyone to put you out of your own self-inflicted misery.

“But why would you do that?”

Pierre couldn’t comprehend your staunch declaration of abstinence, baffled by the decision to starve yourself from something so good, so enjoyable. It was something he hoped he would never have to do, god-willing.

“Um, because the last guy I was dating fucked his secretary…”

Pierre almost laughed at your response, not because what had happened to you was funny, hell, he almost put a hit out on the guy – he laughed because of how ludicrous that relationship was to begin with. You deserved more than some washed up tech dude, fumbling his way through Italy trying to scam a bunch of old people who didn’t know how to use the Internet. You deserved a man, a real man.

“Why exactly is that funny to you?”

“It’s not,” Pierre cleared his throat, “Darling, that guy was an asshole, a scumbag… I told you that a million times.”

You rolled your eyes at his reply, “Not really looking for an ‘I told you so’ from you of all people, P.”

Pierre was quick to hold his hands up in defence, realising that you were actually hurt by this asshole and he didn't need to add to that.

“Eh, I’m not telling you that. I’m saying that you should want for more and at least find someone who can satisfy you like you deserve...” He was testing you, watching for your reaction and he got one, quirked brow and pursed lips.

“When did I say anything about not being satisfied?” You were curious to know when you had ever aired that unfortunate tid-bit to the man beside you.

“You didn’t have to, ma belle. I’ve known you. I know what satisfied looks like in those eyes. I’ve seen it.”

His blue irises were unyielding, threatening almost, tempting you back into the arms of the man who had sworn himself to you. Sure, he fucked around and sampled most of Italy but you were the pinnacle of his fickle heart; you were his.

“Remind me again.”

Three simple words ignited the simmering desire deep within Pierre’s soul, eyes darting across your face as he caressed your warm, rosy cheek in his hand. He was soft with you, careful not to break you in the chaos of his want but when your lips crashed onto his, he knew you burned for him too; desperate to feel something again, with him. Your fingers grappled his short beard, stubble tickling your skin as he deepened the kiss, tongue battling against one another, starved for passion.

Pierre subtly inched back, lips hovering over yours as he whispered, “Where should I fuck you? Your choice.” His eyes flickered between yours, waiting for an answer while he savoured the way your pupils dilated in the darkness.

With a devilish grin you asked, “Did you drive here?”

A soft chuckle rumbled in Pierre’s tightening chest as he processed your words, fingers instantly entangled with yours as he dragged you out of the club and into the dimly lit street. He didn’t need to be asked twice to fuck you in his Mercedes, the idea making his already snug slacks a lot tighter. Even in the midst of his excitement, Pierre still rushed around to the passenger side and opened your door; endlessly chivalrous even if what he was about to do was anything but gentlemanly.

“Thank you,” You whispered, mimicking his smirk before sliding into the passenger seat with a nervous sigh.

You watched Pierre strut around the front of his car, chest puffed out and head darting in all directions to check the surroundings. A small smile tugged on the corners of you lips when he jumped in beside you with a boyish grin, hand immediately reaching down to push his seat back as far as it would go while the other roamed your bare thigh.

“I don’t think anyone can see,” Pierre muttered as he leaned back in his seat and started unbuckling his belt with his free hand.

“Don’t care if they can to be honest,” You sweetly replied and shuffled the hem of your tight skirt up your thighs, peeling it up around your waist and out of the way.

Pierre tutted as he palmed himself over his briefs, watching you carefully crawl over the console and settle your knees on each side of his thighs, “That’s very naughty,” He hummed, gripping your waist as you settled on his lap, his heart racing under your shaky hands.

“I thought you knew me, darling.” You taunted and tugged his stiff cock from the tight confines of his Calvin Kleins, craving to feel his soft tip teasing your hole.

“That is why I’m not surprised,” Pierre exhaled, fingers gripping your sides even harder as you slid down slowly and bottomed out. He was bigger than your ex, bigger than anyone you’d been with, full stop.

The grimace stitched between your furrowed brows always gave Pierre the ultimate satisfaction, dick twitching at your shallowed breath and tiny moans. You were beautifully unholy, panting and clutching at the necklace hanging loosely around his neck, whispering expletives and praising the lord for the best dick of your life.

It was nearly too much for him.

“Good girl – take all of me. My god.”

You fell forward and pressed your forehead to his as you got reacquainted, the fullness really pushing you to the limit as you bounced. The sound of Pierre moaning against your parted lips was perfect encouragement and as hard as he tried to stay still and let you take control, his rutting hips had other ideas. He couldn’t stop himself from nudging you along, meeting you halfway as you circled your hips, ripping moan after moan from his perfectly pink lips.

“Don’t do this to me,” He practically whined with a stupid smile, hands clutching for power as you fucked him into a muttering mess. His flushed face was covered by his messy hair until you reached up and pushed it back, eyes locked and riddled with lust.

“Aw,” You cooed and pinched his chin between your thumb and pointer, angling his gorgeous face up to yours, “I know you can take it, handsome.”

Pierre’s raspy laugh echoed through the stifling car as he bucked his hips and sent your flying into his chest. You’d missed these brief moments of joy and the unadulterated pleasure he could give you. And it was moments like this where you wondered why you ever fought the desire to have him.

Because he could give it to you – every which way you wanted.

thoughts? feelings? let me know! askbox masterlist if you want to read more x

[bambi-kinos]

people’s arguments about why john has to be a bottom and not paul tend to regurgitate the same critique these people have about paul (“you say he’s a bottom just because he’s feminine!”) by bringing up john’s appearance and more femme attitude after ‘68 and then saying how paul is more masc because of his body / facial hair. i also feel like a lot of people still conflate dom/sub with top/bottom when it comes to mclennon. though i haven’t thought about the societal perception of receiving / giving, i had an ohhh moment when i read that in your post. i personally will always be a fan of service top john paired with a power bottom paul, but john being servicy to me doesn’t mean he’s “submissive” in the typical way. i think he can be dominant and aggressive with paul but that’s because paul allows him to be. like what you said about paul enjoying being john’s second and being put in his place by more domineering and strong men. there’s a lot of power play that goes on in their sexual relationship and it deeply fascinates me!

people’s arguments about why john has to be a bottom and not paul tend to regurgitate the same critique these people have about paul (“you say he’s a bottom just because he’s feminine!”) by bringing up john’s appearance and more femme attitude after ‘68 and then saying how paul is more masc because of his body / facial hair.

Yes, it gets very transparent for exactly those reasons. What makes me roll my eyes about the “you say he’s a bottom just because he’s feminine!” thing is that anyone who bitches about this can only imagine switching the roles and having Paul by a hypermasculine stoic (which breaks characterization) and having John be a hyperfeminine bottom (which is also OOC). I don't think that the original complaints are necessarily a bad thing, there is an iteration problem in McLennon fandom where Paul can sometimes be reduced to a weepy princess, though I haven't heard of any fics coming out in the past 5 years that actually made this mistake. But it does annoy me that fandom can only imagine flipping the script and having John be the weepy bottom princess. It never leads to something more creative or interesting being produced where John and Paul's roles, both self assigned and imposed on them, are discussed especially for the effect it had their relationship.

It would be interesting to explore John's femme qualities but I think that fans are hesitant about going there because they would have to admit that John's passivity in 1968 was induced by his heroin addiction which destroyed his life and his relationships. There's never any appreciating John's femininity when he wasn't on heroin even though 1965 is arguably when John was at the most soft spoken and open minded. I find it a little sad that John's feminine qualities are only appreciated when he was at the peak of his hatefulness and addiction.

i also feel like a lot of people still conflate dom/sub with top/bottom when it comes to mclennon.

A lot of that is wish fulfillment IMO. Especially since Paul fans are usually the ones driving it and it's pretty universal that we want to see him get railed, not really the other way around. We like him because he's so poundable. So it's nice that he has a built in boyfriend who's willing to fuck him until he cries, you know. And it's easy to classify that as top/bottom::dom/sub.

McLennon is very subtle in some ways because of the give and take between John and Paul was so weird and it's just really difficult for us as outsiders to grasp. John and Paul themselves are baffled and confused by it. It makes me wonder if part of their dissolution was the fact that they didn't understand how much power they held over the other one which meant that they couldn't understand why their decisions were having such profound effects on the other person. They seem profoundly frustrated and bewildered by the undercurrents of their relationship where they perfectly fulfill each other in all ways except one, and how deeply unsatisfying their other relationships have been in comparison.

I think @amoralto damaged the fandom for this in some ways because she ended up having a popular blog which meant that her interpretations of John in particular were xeroxed over and over. The problem with this being that I don't think amoralto fully appreciated the power dynamic between John and Paul and her bias against John crept into her opinions which means that they screwed up the fandom discourse. If you go purely by her public posts then amoralto appears to be under the impression that John was a hysteric that was perpetually shitting himself about Paul one upping him. There is some truth to that but it's also not the whole story because Paul's ability to pull the rug out from under John was always a source of pride, fascination, love, and eroticism for John. Yesterday rocked John's world but he was also proud of Paul for being such an incredible artist and he was always pleased about being the one who discovered Paul. He was always aware that Paul had a lot of power over him and John both reveled and despaired in that.

This relates to the top/bottom::dom/sub thing because this dynamic would naturally play out in an erotic relationship between John and Paul. There's the surface layer where John is railing Paul but then there's the additional layer where Paul is the one enticing John to do it by showing his ass off (like really, who do you think those tight cut trousers are for?) and inviting John to put his cock inside Paul. And then there's the part where John's butch attitude and even some of his violence was egged on and encouraged by Paul who was most likely turned on by John punching people out. Paul was not the slightest bit put off by John being a violent person or else he would have bailed within a year of knowing him. When Julia died, Paul is the only one who had patience with John who was getting drunk and getting into fights…meanwhile there's a femmeboi in the background making soothing noises and cleaning him up so that he's fit for company. Really makes the your mind run wild with possibilities huh? Who is to say Paul didn't say "c'mon Johnny, just put it in me mouth and I'll fix you up." Or something!

The point is Paul is ultimately in control of the situation. This is supposed to be what dom/sub set ups are supposed to be anyway, subs are the ones who dictate the conditions in the bedroom. But considering how John built Paul up in his mind, it seems clear that Paul had a lot of overt power over John too. They don't fit neatly into the dom/sub set up either.

They switched power positions constantly and they got a lot of pleasure out of dominating but also being dominated. Paul liked being on top and being on bottom and John liked it when he got to be on top of Paul and when Paul crushed him. The pleasure was in the struggle itself, not necessarily the positions in of themselves.

though i haven’t thought about the societal perception of receiving / giving, i had an ohhh moment when i read that in your post.

It's not nearly as prevelent now though it still lingers. But heteronormativity really dictated the nature of a lot of relationships in the past.

i personally will always be a fan of service top john paired with a power bottom paul, but john being servicy to me doesn’t mean he’s “submissive” in the typical way. i think he can be dominant and aggressive with paul but that’s because paul allows him to be.

IMO there's a lot of truth to this! @zilabee has a really nice post about how John and Paul could afford to be gentle with one another and wrote love songs together. I think that a service top john/power bottom paul really fits this dynamic because it allowed John and Paul to express themselves to each other which solidified their mutual trust and their bond.

In a lot of ways Paul was an ideal partner for John in that he was someone John could have sex with that didn't have consequences (such as pregnancy) while Paul also had the feminine beauty that John really loved. (There's a quote from Yoko I think that John claimed if he fell in love with another man then that man would have to be extremely beautiful. Handsome is not enough.) John could probably be a lot rougher with Paul who could stand up to being tossed around a bit if needed but was beautiful enough for John to fuck tenderly too. Paul wasn't afraid of John's rough side and even encouraged it and decided to love it. In some ways John being a service top lets him express that roughness sexually with someone who won't break in half from being treated like a sack of potatoes. And there wouldn't be judgment from Paul either because he is still a man and experienced the same puberty and testosterone that John did including the same struggles with temper, the bodily changes, etc. He knows where John is coming from whereas a 1960s woman would not. (The transwomen, crossdressers, and homosexuals in Hamburg may have been John's first explicit taste of this. People who were familiar with what growing up as a male would be like so they didn't judge John for his proclivities and interests.)

In other words, John could express himself sexually with Paul in a way that he probably couldn't with women. Paul was fine with it judging from that photo of John's nutsack against his back and it fulfilled his needs as well!

like what you said about paul enjoying being john’s second and being put in his place by more domineering and strong men. there’s a lot of power play that goes on in their sexual relationship and it deeply fascinates me!

Yes! John overwhelms and dominates Paul but it's because Paul wants it to happen. He relied on John's intuition and discernment and ultimately his trust in John to carry it through. John has a partner who can't get pregnant when he climaxes inside him and then can take it on the chin when John is rough and/or degrading. All while he's sharply aware of how much Paul likes it which itself feeds into John's eros, and so on and on…

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

Chapter Warnings: spoilers for the movie franchise Star Wars | mentions of the holiday Halloween being celebrated by others and reader enjoying it | Leigh is not my character creation, a shared character who @sweetsweetjellybean originally created & I put a little twist on for this story with her permission.

Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

9.4k words | A/N: I can't begin to express my gratitude for those who've read this story & those that helped me get through writing it, especially my beta extraordinaire @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz for helping me break that pesky wall of self doubt and writer's block always. I have a big long A/N on the epilogue that's posting right after these two chapters with more sap. Thanks for being here, I love you immensely if you've made it this far from the beginning or you're just arriving 💛

In the movies, they like to make those big plot twists drag out for the protagonist to let it really sink in. Or maybe it's more for the viewers. Special effects, camera angles, flashbacks, and poignant music playing - all to make seconds feel much longer than they are. 

In your experience, these plot twists are usually predictable. Of course that guy’s the villain, it was the best friend all along, he’s Luke’s father, et cetera, et cetera. You’re utterly baffled every time by a character’s lack of intuition to see it coming. You’ve booed at writing and acting and told yourself that in real life, it’s so different. 

Sure, surprises happen. Reality does not care about predictability, the fragile state of the human heart, or what’s fair. You get that. People cheat, they make mistakes, they die, they lose - and there isn’t some fade-to-black-happy-ending guarantee when they do. There isn’t a countdown on the bottom of a screen letting you know there’s still time left to make it all back from whatever happened, no assurance that it’ll all work out. 

To call something real - something happening directly to you - a plot twist, seems horribly wrong though. Is there another word for it? Those moments that manage to catch you off guard, that come without warning or a build up. Moments that hit you repeatedly like a knife to a chest in a slasher flick. Or feel like the instant demise of oxygen leaving your lungs as a door opens to space. That sucker-punch from a red glove to the jaw when you think you’ve just won the big fight. 

What do you call that shit?

Robin’s voice is an echo, muffled and distorted as if you’re deep underwater. “Oh my god, hi! Wow, you are so much prettier than Steve mentioned.”

Who is with Steve?

Robin keeps going, putting her entire foot in her mouth, oblivious to the way Steve’s eyes haven’t left yours. You only stop staring yourself, after what feels like hours, to finally take in their intertwined hands as Robin babbles. “Wait, I mean…no, see…alright, he told us you were pretty is what I’m trying to say, but like you’re even prettier…”

Who the hell is with Steve?

Her laugh cuts through the fog and your eyes finally focus on the woman attached to the sound. 

She’s pretty, just like Robin keeps saying over and over again.

Dark, shiny hair, piercing eyes that you can see - even from this distance - are a hazel to almost match his. A hypnotizing smile, curves and a confidence radiating off of her… everything you wish you were but aren’t.  

She laughs again, assuring Robin she gets it (in an infuriatingly humble way), introducing herself as Leigh Kensington.

Nancy perks up at the name when Robin gasps and shouts, “Oh my god! Nance!” Robin looks back, waving her over, “Just like Legally Blonde!” Her voice attempts to lower as she sighs to Leigh, “She loves Reese Witherspoon. It is Vivian Kensington right?” The question louder and directed at Nancy again. Robin doesn’t even take a breath to let her answer though, “Which is hilarious because Steve’s mom’s name is Vivian and you’re dating Steve and you work in legal, right? And-“

Emerald glass shatters around your feet as the bottle of beer falls from your hand, the sharp shards scatter quickly, too broken to ever be put back together. Your legs turn to lead and muscles are no longer in communication with your brain as it finally makes the connection to what you’re seeing and hearing and what that means for you. 

“Shit! Jesus, woman-“ Eddie jumps back from you as the glass skirts across the pavement further. 

Robin finally turns in your direction at the commotion, her brows knit together in worry. Face progressively getting more concerned as it tightens. Her hand lets a bean bag fall to the board with an echoing thump. “Hey, you look-“

Not waiting to hear the end of her sentence, you will your legs to work and spin, taking off in search of literally any place that isn’t there. Your feet pound against the pavement, thuds that vibrate through the rubber of your soles all the way up to your eardrums.

It’s seconds, less than a minute, and it’s as if the entire stadium - hell, your entire world - has spun upside down. Roars to your left, the rumbling of fan’s excitement from the nosebleeds down to the field mingle and harmonize with the rapid beating in your chest. As you keep running with no real destination other than away, your shoulders bump stranger’s, meeting their frowns and scoffs with whispered and rushed apologies. The familiar sting behind your eyes forms, eyelashes growing damp as you suck in a sharp breath. No more running, you need somewhere to hide. 

You’re not going to cry about this. You’re not. How could you be so stupid? How could you let this happen?

The familiar long line all women are accustomed to grabs your attention and you’re off again. Disgruntled and shouted annoyance from everyone in line echoes across the dull gray tile as you rush past them, yelling something about an emergency. You slam a turquoise door, sliding the silver latch with shaking fingers as your forehead rests on the cold material of the stall. You focus on breathing through your nose and out your mouth, this is fine. You’re fine. 

A buzz in your pocket once, twice, and then a third time, and you don’t have to pull your phone out to know they’re texts from him. Despite your better judgment, you look:

It buzzes a fourth time and you lock the phone, debating just chucking it into the toilet. 

The sleeve of your sweatshirt presses to your mouth as you clear your throat. No tears are falling for him, not today, not ever. 

You hate Steve Harrington. 

This was always the plan.

You hate Steve Harrington. 

It’s not like you were in love with the guy. 

Even as you think it, the panic turns to defense inside of yourself - scrounging around for rocks and bricks, reinforcing the wall around your heart you had started to let crumble for a boy you thought was worth it. 

“Girl, what the hell?”

A familiar pair of red converse with writing and doodles covering any space they can, mirror your feet at the base of the stall. You step back, fingers hovering over the latch, ready to tell her it’s fine. Robin isn’t an idiot though, and you’re certain that despite your denial, she’ll take one look at you and make you spill your guts. 

Her feet move closer, the familiar clink of rings meeting metal hits your ears, letting you know she’s pressing her palms to the door. Robin’s voice is softer and for one brief, horrible moment, you think she knows. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The guilt that’s hovered over you for months like a storm cloud, releases, engulfing you completely, the promise of sunlight no longer on the horizon. Funny how just hours ago, you were thinking about Robin finally knowing, about how she couldn’t be mad, not when you were both so happy. Your gut twists. You’ve lied to your friend for so long, and for what? 

“Just, um, cramps.” The lies keep on building, pushing at the dam you’ve created to keep it all from her. You’re just buying time now, the pressure is going to reach its breaking point soon and you’re worried your friendship with Robin will be washed away when it does. 

At the mention of cramps, the disgruntled voices of those in line turn to understanding - muted solidarity in the form of tampon and painkiller offerings. 

“Robin, why don’t you grab her some food or something? Maybe a ginger ale? I’ve got stuff in my bag and we’ll meet you all out there,” another familiar voice suggests. 

“But I can-“

“That would be really great, Robs,” you interrupt her protest, pushing out the words to sound as eager as you can. 

A pair of white tennis shoes sneak between Robin’s and the stall door - like Nancy is trying to put space between the two of you, shielding her girlfriend from any more of your lies. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Robin starts hesitantly, “I saw this gourmet grilled cheese stand thing and-“

“No!” Fingers curling over your mouth at the severity of your interruption, you take a beat before quietly continuing, “Uh, um, actually, just some chips please?”

Your eyes close, willing the memory of your last grilled cheese away. Now is not the time to remember the man you shared it with.

How he looked at you.

How he asked you to open up, how it made you feel when he said he knew you.

How he kissed you.

You hate Steve Harrington.

The initial shock has stopped sizzling and is now a full burn, anger releasing over your frazzled nerves. What else has Steve claimed, what other things could be ruined when all you can do is relate them to him? But as quickly as the anger for him forms, you have to glance down and realize there are three fingers pointing back at yourself.

Why did you give him the opening?

“Roger that, kitten!”

You’re sure she gives a salute to your closed stall door, the red sneakers turning on their heels, her footsteps fading away. The pristine white of Nancy’s twist slightly towards the door. Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Can I come in there?”

Clearing your throat once more, you try to brush her off, “Nancy, really, I’m fi-“

“Bullshit.”

Maybe it’s the way she says the word - that a girl you don’t know all that well can see through your lies, be so sure you’re not fine. Maybe it’s because you desperately wish that you could have opened the door for Robin, to leave the football game and go drown in margaritas and dissect every little thing that led to this moment and let her tell you it was all going to be okay and boys are stupid. Or maybe, it’s the fact that you’ll never get to do that, never allowed to tell Robin, that makes you slide the latch unlocked for Nancy Wheeler.

She slips in quickly, her brown curls that are clipped in a half up-do bounce as she tilts her head quizzically at you. Her arms cross over the embroidered team logo on her sweatshirt, her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She’s got this way about looking at you that, without saying anything, makes you want to tell her everything. An energy radiates off of Nancy, a quiet curiosity bubbling under the surface - or perhaps it’s frustration. You’re being studied, a puzzle she can’t crack. 

Her lips twist as she clearly debates her words before she finally settles on a simple, “You didn’t know?”

Nancy’s question makes your stomach drop, solidifying that she not only knows about you and Steve, but that Leigh is not a new or unknown development. Your mind swirls to their argument on the beach, Nancy finding you in the bathroom - how long has Steve been seeing Leigh? 

“No,” your response comes out in a half laugh, trying to cover up any feelings that attempt to sneak out and reveal too much. The toe of your sneaker scuffs at a knick in the tile as you avoid her eyes. 

She tucks a curl behind her ear and sighs. Her face pinches into that quizzical look again, huffing, “He’s an idiot.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. You don’t want to dwell on how she connected the dots about you and Steve or how you’ve all been lying to Robin, and you especially don’t want her pity. “Nancy, I really don’t need you to comfort me. I’m fine. Can we just go?”

At the clamp of Nancy’s mouth shutting and the purse of her lips, you regret the icy tone almost immediately. Squeezing your eyes closed, you try again. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” trailing off because where do you even start? You’re mad, hurt, confused, blind-sided, the list could go on and on and you don’t care to reach the end at this moment. You force a smile, changing the subject all together, “Don’t you want to get out there and hear how incredibly little Robin truly knows about sports?”

Nancy’s lips twitch and her arms drop to her sides with a sigh. “Right, well, if you change your mind, I like to think I’m a pretty good listener if you ever want to talk about anything.”

Sometimes, people say things to say things - like they feel as if they’re supposed to say a certain thing when a certain situation calls for it. One look at the kindness in Nancy’s eyes, the small smile on her lips, and you know that is not the case right now. She genuinely, truly means she’s there to listen if you need it. Despite lying to all of them, despite barely knowing her, and the realization has tears forming behind your eyes for an entirely different reason than earlier. 

“Thanks,” the word leaves you quietly. It feels small and inconsequential in return for a gesture you’re not even sure Nancy realizes the weight of. 

That is, until she turns from the door, her hand hovering over the latch as she faces you again. “I should mention though, that one of you is going to have to tell Robin. Sooner rather than later. And I make no promises it won’t be me, but she should hear it from one of you.”  Her tone is adamant with absolutely no room for arguing.  

Your guilt tugs you down harder now, only able to nod in response. 

Nancy’s head bobs once in return, silently agreeing to drop the subject unless you bring it up again, and she leads the way out of the bathroom. 

You hear Robin before you see them. She’s passionately arguing her case about a new musical group that Eddie is scoffing at. Leigh holds her hand up at Eddie’s argument and begins agreeing with Robin, who beams before sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Hey.”

The word freezes you and Nancy clears her throat as she makes her way towards the others. Steve pushes off from the brick wall as you turn to face him. 

You’ve seen many looks in his eyes before now. When they glint with mischief and charm as he flirts, how they soften as you tell a story. When they’ve turned darker as clothes are shed and they get to roam freely over your body, taking you in like an artwork. How they seem to melt like honey all over you when you’ve found them staring and they don’t care to appear ashamed he’s been caught. 

Now, they’re looking at you with far too much pain behind them that doesn’t seem fair. He shouldn’t get to look at you like that, he shouldn’t get to look sad. 

Steve extends his hand, a green can with beads of condensation running down the sides of it in his palm. You ignore how your fingers touch and they way his try to linger as you take the soda from him.

When you don’t say anything, he pulls the sleeves of his maroon sweater over his fingers, the toe of his boot scuffing the pavement as his brows meet in the middle. Several pieces of hair fall over his forehead that’s wrinkled with concern, letting you know he’s run his hands through it too many times to have already broken whatever products he’s put in it. 

“Can we go somewhere and talk for a sec?”

A sec. 

A quick conversation, one he just wants to get over with. To tell you what? Things you’ve already concluded from his surprise today? That he’s with someone. He wants to stay friends. He never felt the way you were starting to feel for him. This was always the plan. 

You’re not interested in anything Steve has to say any more. 

“Game’s about to start, Harrington, maybe later.” Your tone is clipped and short, smile forced. 

His brows pinch closer together as he tilts his head, the harsh line of his jaw flexing. “Really? Cause the way you ran off and that tone could have fooled me.” 

“I’m fine, I don’t know exactly what you’re hearing, but if you have something you’d like to say, by all means Steve, let’s hear it.” 

Steve closes his eyes and a long breath leaves his nose, “Please-“ his plea is cut off by her. 

“Hi, I’m Leigh. It’s so nice to meet you, Steven’s told me so much about you! I hope everything is okay? Everyone was so worried…”

She reaches forward, arms wrapping around you and your stiffening body. 

She’s fucking hugging you. 

“Uh, yeah, you…too. And yes, thanks, I’m fine. This will help.” Untangling yourself from her, you hold up the can and force another smile. “Thanks Steven.”

Leigh beams at him, grabbing his hand and you just can’t help yourself, turning to him again. “Actually, Steven was just letting me know he had something to tell me, what was so important, buddy?”

Eddie coughs as Steve narrows his eyes. Nancy claps her hands, interrupting the tension filled moment, “Alright, ready guys?”

Robin points towards the bleachers. “I’m ready for tip off! To our seats!”

Nancy gives you a look, some sort of attempt at bringing light to the moment in front of her, before she wraps her hand around Robin’s arm and starts to walk away. “It’s kick off, hun.”

Leigh laughs as Robin lets out a long ‘Oh’, Steve and her following. When Steve glances back over his shoulder at you, the full can of soda meets the trash as you turn towards Eddie. Stealing the fresh beer from his hands, the plastic cup tips to your lips, foam slowing you down as you chug. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy killer.” Eddie tugs on the cup, pulling it from your mouth. “From my understanding, football games are long and we need to pace ourselves. Stevie is not worth a two in the afternoon black out.”

Your mouth opens to protest and he waves his hand in front of your face, “Ah, ah, ah, you can squeeze my fingers or something whenever you feel like punching him instead.”

“Ed-“ you begin, adamant you need another drink (or twenty) to deal with the day you’re about to have. 

He begins to walk away, waving his hand dismissively, “No really, I’m a secret masochist, I’ll love it.”

Your eyes narrow, hating the way your lips fight a smile that wants to meet his mood. Despite everything, you’re grateful for him and Nancy. Unsure of how to even attempt to show them how much you appreciate them. Especially after Nancy’s reminder that someone was going to have to tell Robin eventually, and these two had been lying for the both of you, keeping your secret when they didn’t need to.  

Up ahead, you hear Leigh laugh, catching her head thrown back and his smile, the squeeze of her fingers on his bicep and you gulp. Your feet plant to the ground harder and you tug on Eddie’s wrist. As the group rounds the corner, heading to their seats, he turns to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

Eddie must see something in your expression because he mumbles, “Such a fucking idiot,” before he turns to the nearest vendor. “Yeah, hi, I need four very large beers. And I’m talking take your idea of large and triple it.”

This time the smile wins just a little. It’s quick to fall though, when Eddie taps his cup to one he hands you and proclaims, “If you can’t date ‘em, drink about ‘em. To the losers who break our hearts.”

“I-“ ready to tell him that’s not it at all, but his look makes your mouth close. 

You don’t say it out loud, you don’t dare to speak it into existence - Eddie is wrong. You’re not broken hearted, you’re just mad Steve didn’t tell you. You’re mad that clearly they all knew, so why not you? That’s all. 

Your cup taps Eddie’s again and you let the beer wash away the bitter taste in your mouth. 

Screw Steve Harrington. 

As the third cup of cheap beer hits your lips, you risk a glance down the line of your row again. Immediately regretting it like you have every other time. Leigh pushes the loose strand of hair on his forehead back and your eyes return to the field quickly.  You’re sure your skin is turning just as green as the artificial turf, the beer making it a little easier to admit to yourself that you are jealous of the intimate moment. Your gut twinges slightly at the remembrance of only a few short weeks ago when you purposely tried to make him feel what you are now. You have no right to be mad at him. 

The players blur as they move in an intricate dance only they know before anyone else. You’ve always liked sports, but today has been a good reminder as to why. Players and teams practice and memorize skills and plays that work - but there’s no guarantees. They need intuition to know when to use certain moves, to have a good defense and follow their gut and deviate from the plan when they think the other team is pulling a new play. 

It’s all predictable, but not at the same time. Risks and playing with the odds, yet revolving around something incredibly low stakes like a ball in a net or getting past a painted line on fake grass. It’s also realistic. Sure, there are once in a lifetime passes like the Minnesota Miracle or a ball sinking into the net from a distance unfathomable as the final buzzer sounds - but most of the time, it’s just about who’s the best that day. Who ran faster, who slipped through someone else’s mistake. You like that the players can pour themselves into it and it’s still not going to be a win every time, because it’s just not sometimes, and that’s okay. They lose and they get up and they do it all over again. They also know that if they win, it doesn’t mean they’ll keep doing so without hard work and dedication. 

Poetic to your circumstances, really. Steve was just better at the game, and you knew the eventual outcome of your deal with each other. So really, is there anyone to be mad at here other than yourself?

Steve’s laugh echoes down the line and your jaw clenches, because maybe Steve was better at the game, but he certainly wasn’t playing fair. 

Yeah, you can still be mad at him. 

Your eye twitches as Robin and Leigh gush over horror movies they both love, a breath you didn’t know you were holding leaving you when they head off together for a bathroom break. 

His eyes actually burn your cheek from the way they stare down the row in your direction now that he doesn’t have her to focus on. Clear to you now that all you are - all you ever were - is an afterthought, something to pass the time. 

Refusing to look his way, you try not to feel bad about the sigh you hear all the way from five seats away. 

Oh, I’m sorry Steve, are you mildly upset that I don’t want to talk to you after you got me to open up just to blindside me?

You’re not surprised when a dark denim leg presses against your shoulder, his large brown boots landing on the open seat next to you as he climbs over. As he sits, you stand, quickly making your way down the row, occupying Robin’s empty seat on the other side of Nancy. 

Steve stands, hands on his hips as he frowns. “Are you being fucking serious right now?”

Turning your attention back to the field, your knees bounce with restless energy, anticipating his next move. An intricate dance just like the players below you. 

Steve climbs back over, and you can’t help but relish a little in his groan and mumbled comment about being twelve under his breath as you shimmy between Eddie and Nancy, shoving Eddie into your old seat, ignoring his grunted protests. Unable to help yourself, you smirk into your beer, watching out of the corner of your eye as Steve’s jaw clenches. Making him irritated seems only fair under the circumstances. 

You’re ready for his next attempt, sure he’s going to make Nancy swap with him or come up behind you. So when he puts his foot on the chair, you move to the edge of your seat. Steve pounces, tumbling over the back of the row in front of you instead. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed pink as his hands land on the armrests of your spot. His arms cage you in as he leans over the back of the blue metal chairs, ignoring the grumbled complaints of those he bumped out of the way in his pursuit. 

His face fills your vision, freckles that dot the sharp slope of his nose, the light scruff he’s let grow more highlight’s the angle of his jaw and the curve of his cupid’s bow. For a second you forget you’re supposed to be mad when you finally meet his eyes. They steal all of your attention and you hate that you can’t look away. 

You hate him. 

“We’re gonna talk,” he huffs, catching his breath.

“You should hit the gym.” A sad attempt to change the subject, to hurt him a little. Your eyes flit down to his lips in a mistake. You can’t look at his eyes again so you settle on his cheek, trying your best to ignore the endearing pair of freckles. 

“I know you’re mad, and if you just let me explain, I-“

“You’ve had plenty of chances to explain before today Steve!”

The hush of the people around you makes your eyes close, taking a moment for a calming breath. Eddie coughs into his fist on your left and squints at the field, Nancy scratches the denim on her thigh and clears her throat on your right. 

Steve’s eyes narrow, his top lip pulls in, tongue licking over it before he lets out a cold laugh, “Jesus Christ, what was I supposed to do, tell you while we’re fucking? Or how about after you told me about your parents? I-“

The beer in your hand splashes across his face as he coughs and sputters. His fingers wipe over his eyes and you stand, pushing past the gawking crowd and down the stairs. 

Nancy and Eddie were right.

Steve Harrington is a fucking idiot. 

You’d rode the train past your stop twice, both your airpods in and a look about you that dared anyone to even glance at you the wrong way. At the sight of the sun sinking past the horizon, you bite down on your cheek, willing your gut to stop twisting as it attaches a thing you love to him. Steve Harrington was not going to ruin sunsets for you, you draw the line at fucking grilled cheese and football. 

The flick of your entryway lamp illuminates your place, the lyrics “You call me strawberry wine…” drift out of your airpod as you remove it from your ear. You’ve had enough of the universe’s poetic irony today. Tossing the case and your keys into their dish as you turn the lock on your door. 

The sunset is the least of your worries, what didn’t he touch here? Your door, the coffee mugs he proclaimed as his favorites, the counter, the fire escape. You reach for the bottle of wine on top of your fridge as you click on the Instagram notification. 

A caption reading ‘We just hope both teams had fun🏈 ’ below her photos. A selfie first, Robin’s bashful face filling the screen, getting her cheek kissed by Nancy. Another, this one with you - she must have caught it during bags - a shot of Eddie and you mid-laugh. The last one clearly taken after you left, the group in the stands, Steve’s sweater gone, replaced by a dry light blue t-shirt. You click your phone locked again and drink straight out of the bottle as you walk down the dark hallway. Old wood floors creak underneath your feet as you make your way to your room. 

Fuck, your room.

It’s a moment that perhaps you should be crying during, do normal people cry when boys like Steve Harrington blindside them? When a man you start to break down for was spooning you fully clothed at the start of the day and getting a beer tossed in his face by the end, shouldn’t some sort of despair come out in the form of dramatic tears? Nothing leaves your eyes though as you strip the sheets off of your bed. Steve’s not worth any. No guy is. 

Tugging harshly at the last corner of the fitted sheet with a frustrated grunt, you throw all of your bedding out into the hallway and slam the door. The flutter of paper on your desk as the door swings closed catches your eye, your chest tightens at the realization of what you left there. 

The glow from the setting sun outside washes over the photobooth strip as you walk towards it, lit up in a perfect square of tangerine. Your thumb brushes the last photo as you pick it up, wondering how it all went so wrong, so fast.

It rips easier than maybe it should have, diminished to something small and as broken as you can make it before you toss it in the trash in your bathroom. Your eyes linger on the shower curtain and then your shampoo. The wine bottle presses to your lips again as you make a mental note, adding those to your list of things to replace tomorrow as well. 

Your phone pings again, the group chat you’ve just been recently added to: 

Your thumb presses the lock after turning it to silent, the dots from Robin appearing letting you know you don’t want to keep reading all of them talk. Your bare mattress stares at you as you drink more wine. They’re home. Together? In his apartment? In his bed?

It doesn’t matter, good for Steve, hope he’s happy. Good fucking riddance, right? 

Opening your bedroom door, you sigh at the pile of bedding, stepping over it and making your way to your couch. Your protective wall is still standing, your armor dusted off and polished once more. It’s time to pick up the pieces, replace what’s broken, and move on from what others like Eddie may want to tell you is heartbreak, but you would argue is just called life. 

And life is pain, and anyone who tells you differently is selling something, right?

Halloween season used to be one of your favorite times of the year. Parties and opportunities to dress up like someone you’re not. Evenings to be a character in a story far different than the one you were living, with lines already planned for you to say, an ending meticulously thought out. Now, however, the red fabric that clings to your body serves only as a reminder of how your life is the furthest thing from picture perfect. 

Originally, when you found the dress thrifting with Robin, it had felt a little like fate. A tiny and gentle nudge from the universe in the right direction - a sign. Now, you’re sure it was actually some twisted joke. Someone, somewhere out there, is laughing it up as they play with you like a plastic doll. Because even meeting Robin, a thing you were positive was divine intervention, is now wrapped around him. Some evil force at work as they had you meet her, then him, while they cackled and said ‘Ha! Watch this! This one’ll be good.’

Your costume now a cruel oxymoron - a girl who resents love dressed as someone who cherishes it. Pretending to be a girl who loved a boy endlessly, so devoted, she claimed to die the day he supposedly did. A girl who-

“You know,” a finger pokes your cheek, “For a princess, your sour look is not very princessey.”

Robin raises her eyebrows at you, hands on her hips, orange fabric of her skirt swishing around her thighs as she turns. Her sparkly red turtleneck and shine of her black mary jane’s glint in the strobe lights that are making sweeps over the room. 

You try to smile, if only for the fact that Nancy actually got her to wear the costume. Crossing your arms, your eyebrows raise as you respond, “Well, you must be a detective or something, Miss Dinkley.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but fights a smile, fiddling with the magnifying glass in her hands. When you don’t say anything more though, her big blue eyes soften as they glance up at you through fake glasses, and she reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, is everything okay? I feel like…” she trails off, shaking her head, at a loss for words it seems - an unusual thing for her. 

The line for the bar shifts forward and you nod, that terrible feeling still sits heavy in your stomach like a bag of rocks - you’re weighed down, to be left at the bottom of your guilt to drown. “I’m fine, Robin,” it slips out when you repeat the words quieter, because maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aha!” She points a finger in your face, “You just said be fine, implying something is in fact not fine currently and-“

“Robin,” your laugh is unconvincing even to yourself. You rub your temples as you face the bar. “Quit being a meddling kid.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out with a little more bite than you intend and her mouth shuts quickly. It’s silent for only a few seconds though, before her shoulder bumps yours. Her question quiet, “How long were you waiting to use that one?”

Your head rests against her shoulder in a silent ‘I’m sorry’, hers against yours in an equally unspoken ‘You’re forgiven’ as you sigh. “Oh, just since you put on the costume.”

She hums and then lifts her head and faces you. “Last thing, and then I’ll drop it, I swear.”

Facing her, you swallow harshly as she stares at you with eyes that feel like they can see everything. Even more so when she says, “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but you’re important to me. And if there’s something going on…” she trails off before smiling sadly and continuing, “You can tell me, okay? You can open up and I’ll probably talk too much and offer too much advice, but comes from a place of love and-“

You hug her tightly, Robin wraps her arms around you just as fiercely as her sentence breaks off. Your response sticks in your throat, an alarming hope of ‘what if I told her?’ rising in you that you need to squash down quickly. She can’t know, despite Nancy’s warning that she should. If she did find out, you’re not certain she’d be on your side anyways. It was all your idea to lie to her, it’s selfish of you to ask her to comfort you in this situation. 

Especially after you made her practically drag you to the party tonight. Eventually giving into her puppy dog pout (for a girl who easily falls for it, she has a pretty convincing one herself), your guilt all but consuming you at this point. You could put on a smile, a brave face - you could pretend to be someone you’re not, just tonight, and just for her. 

You haven’t seen Steve since the football game, ignoring any sort of notification related to him in your phone. But in the process of trying to remove anything Steve from your life, you’ve removed Robin from it as well - a packaged deal. Each ignored message, each call you watched ring and left unanswered, every dodged lunch, were just more punches to your gut, pieces of your heart ripped off and stepped on. You missed Robin so much, one night out, forced to make small talk with him, was a fair price to pay for the deceit and lies - if it meant you got to see her again. 

When you break away from the hug, it’s your turn for the bar finally. Both of your eyes widen at the sight of the specialty drink menu. ‘Bootini’s’ and things like a cocktail called ‘Vampire Kiss’ making both of you frown at the dollar signs next to each. You’re suddenly grateful for the tequila that’s still filling your stomach with warmth and Eddie’s insistence on taking the shots before leaving Nancy’s. 

“They do have like, a regular bar, right? Cause your girl is on a budget and…” your sentence trails off as Robin smiles at something, someone, over your shoulder. 

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.” 

His voice alone is enough to make your shoulders go up, to cause your stomach to twist, but when you spin to see him, you know it’s not the tequila making the room feel fuzzy and your stomach heave.  

He can’t be serious. 

He is not wearing that. He’s not.

“Come up with that all by yourself, did ya?” Robin pats Steve’s shoulder and before he can reply she’s holding up a hand in front of his face, letting out a low whistle. “Hoolly cooww.” She motions for Leigh to spin who blushes and laughs, but obliges as Robin keeps going, “Miss Morticia Addams, if you wanna ditch Dingus here…”

Steve puts his hands on his hips, an edge to his tone you may have found amusing if it wasn’t because of his best friend hitting on his girlfriend. “Seriously, Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

Robin rolls her eyes at him and Leigh laughs more, squeezing his shoulder. “I should be the one saying holy cow! Look at you two! Y/N, where did you find that dress?”

God, you hate that she’s nice. 

Her dress is phenomenal. The low cut, black fabric that hugs her curves and drapes over her flattering in a way it simply wouldn’t be on you. She’s got the perfect gauzy sleeves, the rings and red lips and nails, she’s even got a rose and scissors in her hand. 

You hate that you want to like this girl. 

Your smile is tense, “I, uh-“

The bartender clears her throat and you point, saved by the bell, turning your back on the group. A name of one of the drinks leaves your lips and you’re vaguely aware of Robin saying something about finding the others and to not order her something with whiskey in it because he remembers what happened last time.  

The deep breathing through your nose is a sad attempt for composure when you get a longer chance to take Steve in. Even with the dim bar lighting, the mirror behind the shelf of various liquors gives you a perfect view. You’re not sure whether you want to kiss him or punch him. 

Steve’s dressed in all black, head to toe, the v-cut of the flowy top revealing quite a bit of his dark chest hair and you swallow, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. You always hated how Buttercup couldn’t tell it was Westley, in fact, you hate it in any movie when a character has a mask over their eyes and suddenly everyone is unable to tell who they’re dancing with, hell who’s kissing them. If anything, the black band of fabric across his face only makes the lips below and the eyes underneath it stand out more  - the curve of his top lip you can still feel under your tongue. The colors of his iris’ so distinctly Steve that you’d recognize anywhere - instead of a sea after a storm, a forest. He really went all out, even his scruff shaved to have a thin mustache, he’s wearing the black cap pushing down his normally styled and perfectly messy hair, and when you glance down, you’re not surprised to find matching pirate boots standing next to you. 

His hand reaches across your chest with a matte black card - that kind that isn’t glossy like a normal one and you quickly hand the bartender crumpled bills instead, earning a sigh from Steve. 

“You’re not seriously wearing that.” Weeks of no contact, and you hate that your voice doesn’t come out strong and confident when that’s all you can think to say. 

Risking a glance his way, you find his eyes are already on you, his jaw clenching before he asks, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Your inhale is sharp - how can he be this cruel? How can he act like that costume means nothing, or like the last few weeks weren’t awful? Weren’t they awful for him? To go from talking almost every day to nothing?

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?” Gesturing up and down his body as you ask. He truly can’t be this much of an asshole, he can’t-

Steve shrugs. “I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Turns out, he can be. 

Before you can even start to formulate something nasty to respond with, a person walking by shouts out, “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!” Clapping Steve’s shoulder as they waltz past like it’s the 90’s and people still say ‘dudes’ to strangers. 

Dude did just make your point for you at least, though. 

You hold your hands out to the retreating body in a show of ‘see?’ and then childishly flip Steve off. “The case rests, your honor.”

“It was last minute and I didn’t-”

His weak and pathetic attempts at excuses fall on deaf ears as you push your way through the crowd towards the beacon of red neon announcing an exit for this god forsaken bar. 

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, but you don’t think it is - screw Steve Harrington for ruining a fucking bar, for ruining the word dude, for ruining The Princess Bride, for ruining everything. 

Screw everything.

The sting of rejection and the quiet anger that’s been sitting at a simmer since the game rests over an open flame now. Your insides quickly grow to a rapid boil. Apathy and anger rage for the top spot as everything you’ve tried to keep under a lid steams, ready to overflow and burn. 

Ignoring the calls of your name, something still makes it past your seeing red rampage of an exit, connecting the voices, aware of Steve saying something to someone, but you can’t really find it in yourself to care who or what. The cool air hits your body as you push outside, stinging against the damp skin under your eyes. 

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, his voice quiet, “Y/N-“

“Don’t touch me, Steve,” you warn, taking a step backwards after yanking your shoulder from under his fingers. Your hands balled into fists as you spin to look at him. 

He runs a hand through his now uncovered hair, face fully revealed without a mask too. He watches you closely, his voice gentle, as he raises his hands up, “Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-“

“You don’t get to check on me anymore, or worry about if I’m okay, you’re not my boyfriend,” your tone scathing. 

Steve’s gaze bounces over your face, his jaw hardens as the vein in his forehead dances. Somehow his voice is soft despite the bite to it, “Yeah, I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But I am your friend, and I -“

Your laugh causes him to break off. You gesture inside and then to his outfit. “Friends don’t treat each other this way, Steve.”

He drags his palms down his face, his own disbelieving laugh echoes against the brick of the bar. “Are you kidding me? I have been nothing but your friend! I am sorry about what I said at the game, but really, when was I supposed to tell you? And this costume…I…” He shakes his head, licking his lips as he takes a step closer to you. “Look. I should have told you about Leigh sooner, but if you would have given me five minutes to-“

“Five minutes. A sec.” Your hands move in quotation marks as you recall the conversation he wanted to have at the game too. Your face pinches into an irritated scowl as your hands drop in front of you, palms open. Exasperation laced around your words, “What the fuck is there to explain anymore, Harrington? You’re dating her and you didn’t tell me - the story is over.”

Steve stands just in front of you now, that gravitational pull at silent work again, even weeks apart unable to switch it off. Your bodies move with each other, your voices rise in sync, your chests fall with shared breaths. A different sidewalk, that same feeling of flight or fight, but you know that it’s too late this time. Even turning the heat off isn’t going to fix the damage that’s been done. 

Another laugh huffs out of him, “You’d like that, right? That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything.” He shakes his head and points to his chest, towering over you, “This is all such total bullshit. You’re mad at me for something that was your idea, because you didn’t get to decide when it was over.” He shrugs, waves of nonchalance carrying his words through the air to hit you hard like a slap across the face. “You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

Any maturity you attempted to have towards the situation has evaporated. 

“Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

Your chests almost touch with each ragged breath as his hands run through his hair and he pulls. A frustrated groan at your words, while the volume at which his come out becomes louder, “I’ve got plenty of fucking mirrors, why don’t you take your own advice! You’re a hypocrite. You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you? Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you didn’t ask me for this arrangement. Tell me that the words ‘no feelings’ and ‘just sex’ didn’t leave your mouth. Tell me what you have to be upset with me for then!”

Your chin quivers at his words, the truth of them daring the tears behind your eyes to fall. 

Steve gulps, his fingers dance on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes shine with his own held back tears, like he regrets how he said it but not that he did. His voice quiets as he pleads, “Tell me.”

He doesn’t get to look at you like that. He doesn’t get to say those things to you and then look at you like that.

What happened last time Steve Harrington asked you to open up and tell him something?

Tequila lingers on your tongue, aiding in the formation of words that are meant to sting - you want to hurt him like he’s hurting you. You bite down on your jaw, the anger and pain ready to fall down your cheeks as you remove yourself from him. 

Your hands press against his chest, “You’re bullshit. This is bullshit.” A small shove as you practically growl the next words, “I’m a hypocrite? How about the fucking bathroom at that party where you told me I couldn’t have it both ways, but then you’re dating someone while getting all jealous?” Another shove, this time his fingers brush your wrists, a halfhearted attempt to get you to stop. “Begging me to open up to you? For fucking what, Steve? This costume? You…” you close your eyes and let your hands drop, letting the words do all the work now, “You’re a liar. You’re an asshole.”

Steve’s head ducks down, his fingers brushing his nose before he rolls his shoulders back. When his mouth opens, you step backwards, shaking your head. 

“Lose my number, Steve.”

His eyes roam over your face, waiting, searching. He only nods once and takes his own step back. 

“As you wish.”

Your breath sucks in sharply, a sob you’ve been holding in since the moment he said the words ‘Sorry we’re late’ threatens to finally crack out of your chest. You wish you had another beer to toss in his face for using those words at this moment. 

It’s not said with the kind of reverence of the movie. There isn’t a narrator to let you know what he actually means by the phrase. But you know. It’s not an ‘I love you’, not like this. No, it’s merely a promise to do as you asked. 

All you can do is turn away from him, hold your chin up and roll your shoulders back as you walk down the sidewalk.

There is no hopeful glance back over your shoulder, no loud smacks against the pavement made by his feet chasing after you like in the movies.��

Like you said, your story is over. 

'One New Voicemail':

“Hey, just thought I’d try ya, I know you’ve been busy. Um, well, Steve and I are heading to the Rocky Horror show tonight and I know he’d love someone to aid in his teasing of how totally into it I get. Right Steve?” 

[muffled sounds of movement and whispers]

“Hm…yeah, I uh-” 

[a clear smack to his shoulder]

“It feels like forever since I’ve seen you or we’ve done something just the three of us! Anyways, call me back, text me…beep me if you wanna reach me…ugh, sorry that was so lame, okay bye. Love you!”

If you were surviving before them, you could survive without them. It seemed simple enough. 

You’ve never stayed in one place for long, friendships like Robin, Eddie, and Nancy had been left before. Friendships that were never given a chance to really even start before you were gone. The promise of any relationships packed into boxes and off to the next city. Addresses and phone numbers and notes of ‘Keep in touch’ left to collect dust until forgotten about completely. 

So, it should have been easy to continue to ignore their messages. To ignore the holes in your chest, to ignore the want to call or text one of them when something happened as mundane as a stranger calling another stranger ‘toots’ in your mailroom. If Steve touched things in your life and now caused them to wilt in your memories and sights, the other three made things bloom. They breathed life into you again. 

You weren’t going to let Steve Harrington take something like that away from you. 

Which is why you found yourself curled into your father’s sweater for courage, walking down the sidewalk towards the cemetery with a promise to meet them there.

Orange and brown leaves crinkle underfoot before they blow across the pavement. The moon is full, the sky that deep indigo it seems to only get this time of year. Both a perfect backdrop for the bare trees that dance in the wind and the blocks lined with homes with glowing porch lights. Orange buckets overflowing with candy rush past in a blur, laughter and squeals of children echoing down the street past you. 

As you make it to the black iron fence, your eyes roam the blankets and patrons occupying them in the park next to the cemetery. Apple and brown sugar meet your nose and you take special note of the mini donut booth attached to the scent. Which is where you see Eddie, shoving two in his mouth and rolling his eyes at Nancy. He spots you and grins around the sugary dough, nudging the shoulder to his right and nodding in your direction. 

Robin spins and you see her shoulders visibly fall and a grin spread across her face. She says something to the other two who head in the direction of the blankets and she races through the crowd. Muffled oofs and sorry’s meet your ears as she dodges and spins around people balancing concessions.

You reach the front of the line, a sandwich board proudly displaying the original ‘The Evil Dead’ poster sits next to an older woman on a stool at the gate. She smiles at you, holding a flashlight towards the ground. “Ticket, dear?”

“Rose! Rose, she's my girl!” Robin shouts, breathless as she makes it to the gate. 

“Oh!” The elderly woman smiles wider, ushering you through, “Have fun ladies! Tell Edward I’m still waiting for my hot chocolate.”

“Yes ma’am.” Robin salutes with two fingers and then grabs you in a hug. “Jesus Christ I missed you!” Her voice is loud and she shrinks in your arms as the lights of the booths go out and the crowd surrounding you turns and shushes. Her voice shifts to a whisper, “Whoops. Come on, we’re towards the back and we still have all the commercials to chat without too many nasty looks.”

Robin holds your arm in a death grip, a silent promise to not let you out of her sights and clutches so long as she can help it again it seems. When you reach the blanket, Nancy and Eddie’s conversation stops abruptly and their smiles seem painted on as they look up at you. 

It’s one of those moments, those silences that are too stilted and too abrupt, letting you know exactly what was being discussed just seconds before. You wave a little, ears burning since you have no doubt about who the subject of their interrupted conversation was. 

“Eddie,” Robin begins, huffing as she falls to their cushy spot with extra blankets, trays of drinks, and several bags of sweets littered around them, “Rose is fiending.”

“Oh shit!” Ducking and wincing when someone turns around and glares at him. He grabs one of the cups with a big R on top and squeezes your shoulder as he stands, “Be right back! Glad you came!”

Sitting as Robin pats his now empty spot next to her. “Can I get you anything? We have cocoa and cider, donuts, popcorn, candy corn, caramel corn, basically any kind of corn and-“

“Robin,” Nancy hums, almost singing, as she sips from a cup. She squeezes her fingers. “You have to actually take a breath to let her respond.” 

“I’ll never say no to a cider or donut,” you point to the items with a laugh. 

Robin grabs them and hands it to you. She whacks pillows and squishes around, rolling and frowning and readjusting. 

Eventually, she sighs, content, and grabs Nancy’s hand and then a donut from your bag and knocks it against one in your fingers before taking a bite. 

“Happy?” Nancy asks as Robin hums around the sugar she licks off of her lips. 

“You know it. Only thing that would make tonight better is…” she trails off with a grin.

You take her words as a warning to look around, wondering where he is and mentally preparing yourself. 

Nothing could have prepared you though. 

It happens quickly and yet not at the same time. 

Your head turns to see them walking hand in hand. A swing of fingers as they walk past twinkling lights, the breeze blowing her hair perfectly.  

Nancy says “Shit,” under her breath as she sits up. When you turn to look at her with a frown, she opens her mouth but no words come out. 

The movie starts.

Eddie slows down as he makes his way back towards the blanket, looking at Nancy then over his shoulder then back at you. 

Robin waves her arm too much and you turn to look again, trying to figure out what you’re not getting.

Steve’s eyes meet yours and he stops, tripping over his own shoe.

Leigh waves and something sparkles on her hand in the moonlight.

Robin beams and squeezes your wrist. “Oh my gosh I can’t believe they actually came! I figured with the whole engagement thing they wouldn’t. Now it’s all officially perfect. All my favorite people together on my favorite day.”

Plot twist: Steve Harrington is engaged. 

WCIL taglist:

@loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii

[eclaire-went-bam]

i'm annoyed at how much the left values empathy specifically. you can do good things without having empathy, empathy is not an inherently good quality, and lacking it isn't inherently bad. i hate seeing lefties dunk on someone for "having no empathy," which may or may not be true, but considering how many people preach empathy as an inherent trait of the left & "goodness" is irksome. just dunk on someone for the bad actions they have done, it's not hard.

i know it's a good look to be empathetic, but it really does feel like the end-all-be-all here.

i can still have good politics and want better for people & the world without necessary having empathy for these things. i can still be passionate about certain issues just from a factual standpoint, i can still listen to people affected by them, without necessarily feeling empathy for those most affected by them.

it's just like that one tumblr posts where a user pointed out "yes, even free healthcare to annoying ppl like those who went blind at the nft convention" ;;

i doubt many people are empathetic towards them, but we still acknowledge they should benefit. generally speaking we're trying to benefit even those opposed to us with stuff like free housing & healthcare. those are our politics & beliefs, and they don't suddenly "turn off" when you seee someone you don't like. or, they shouldn't. i can hate someone & still believe they deserve the same rights as me. i could not care if someone died, & yet still believe they should at least be able to keep themselves alive with a minimum wage job

frankly, to suddenly change your beliefs on some specific cases bcs you don't like them specifically is fickle, just like how the left is all restorative justice, until it comes to a specific person or crime that is too far, then it's "maybe we should give the state the right to execute people !"

so it does baffle me why so many people here value empathy like it's an inherent trait in the left, or that those opposed to the left are incapable of empathy & therefore evil & demonic.

empathy can ignite action in most people who have the ability to experience it. but that doesn't mean only those people are or do good, and the language the left uses is real isolating for that.

[chososhairbuns]

just now someone left some tags under one of my other posts saying they don't get the ritsu hate and okay i was already gonna say something and this may very well be a sign for me to do it now

people really really REALLY like to misconstrue ritsu, a 13-year-old boy dealing with as many issues as the rest of the cast, as some kind of jerk who hates everyone and is overprotective of mob which is really weird because that's like... not true to his character? at all?

i mean i know where this fanon comes from it's pretty obvious imo that people took 1. the big cleanup arc 2. his prickliness around reigen and made it so those two parts of his character became his entire personality - some grumpy brat who hates everyone who isn't mob. however i feel like a key point in his character is that he's actually... really passive? and constantly fretting over what other people, especially his brother, are thinking and feeling? in other words, instead of being overprotective, it's more so that he's afraid and takes precautions?

he behaved questionably during the big cleanup arc yes, but people seem to have taken his behavior then to be his Real Personality instead of him simply... lashing out because he was sick and tired of cowering away? he had spent years acting like the Perfect Golden Child and didn't feel like he could just be himself, and it caused him to break eventually. he even felt genuine remorse for his actions by the end, come on now. and don't even get me started on how ritsu haters will forever hold this arc over his head as if literally every other character hasn't had their own villain phase. i'm really baffled at how he's the one people like to single out as a mean bitch

and god all i'm saying about the reigen thing is that some certain people need to realize that woobifying a grown man for getting bullied (allegedly) by a kid less than half his age is like. weird. objectively speaking it's weird. reigen in canon literally does not care

idk ritsu's just a kid and people need to cut him some slack. him being a hater to one (1) loser doesn't mean you get to remove all his other dimensions please it's so dark in here

[foreverisntenough]

- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, smut (unprotected sex,) the word daddy is thrown into this once* mentions of pregnancy, love bombing, occasionally sad, kind of angsty, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

INDEX

Chapter 28 - ‘You’re Mine’

Dianne and you sat in her kitchen while she explained something she had seen on Instagram the other day. You smiled and nodded. All the time that you spent with Dianne made you miss your own mum a lot. You'd always end up calling her after you left her house on your way back home.

“When does he come back?” Your mum’s voice echoed through the car's speaker as you drove to your house. Your eyes fixed on the road as you rounded a windy corner before your neighborhood.

“Thursday, so that’ll be nice to have him home.” You cooed dreaming of Trent’s return. He was coming back from preseason in the next few days and you had found yourself glued to the rest of his family, missing him just wanting to be around the familiarity. Being in your house without him always was a little lonely so being at Dianne’s was nice to hear the accents, see photos of him as a little boy, have their dogs be with yours, eat dinners with family, those types of things. It also made Trent feel better you weren’t by yourself and happy that you got along with them so well.

“Have you spoken to your dad? He’s trying to plan a trip over but didn’t want to bother you.” You mum spoke cautiously. Her hesitancy baffled you. What did she mean spoken to dad? You always talked to him.

“He doesn’t bother me ever?” You said confused and a little saddened by the statement. Sometimes being away from your family hurt your heart. You couldn’t always feel the emotion the same or understand the sentiment of words over texts and calls. It upset you that the distance could possibly strain your relationships. You tried to visit one another as often as you could but it wasn’t all that frequent.

“Just give him a call. I don’t think he wanted you to feel like you needed to involve Trent.” You started to laugh at your mum's discretion. It was so ridiculous but then again sometimes you forgot you lived with Trent, the person when a lot of people, even those closest to you, would always see him as Trent, the footballer. You ended the call with her before pulling in your drive. You scrolled on your phone multitasking as you trotted back into your house seeing a video Liverpool had posted on instagram of your pretty footballer. Okay, to be fair, sometimes you had a hard time remembering he was even a real person, he was so gorgeous. A video of him in training dripping, glistening in sweat under the sun had you feeling the heat in a different type of way. You cheekily reshared the post to your Instagram story with a text overlay ‘girl dinner 🤤’ Almost immediately responses to your story flooded in, screenshots reshared of the post.

‘Literally is one of us’

‘No, girl cause same 😭’

‘The fact that even she feels this way about him’

‘Girl dinner fr’

‘Don’t be shy, share some more pics of your dinner at home’

The comments made you laugh and simultaneously miss him just a little bit more. As Thursday night rolled around you were dozing in and out of sleep tucked in your big bed anxiously awaiting your man. Pillows tossed around cuddled up in a t-shirt of his that had scrunched up putting your whole body on display. Your legs tangled in the blankets. You laid holding your phone over your face as the blue light illuminated your features. You scrolled and scrolled on TikTok until you got the ad to take a break. You ignored it and continued in your doom until a faint smile appeared on your face. Your cheeks warmed as a familiar face showed on the screen again. A deep dimple dug into his cheek while he flashed a big childish grin. The man you loved was laughing in a promotional video for the club with Andy. You’d never felt more envious of his teammates. To be in the same room as that laugh. The warm echo coming from your phone made your heartbeat a little harder, ache a little more, yearn terribly for him. You shamelessly clicked on the hashtag of his name and combed through edits of him. You must’ve watched one particular sexy yet cute video of him on loop for 15 minutes plus. You shut your eyes just trying to remember the way his brown ones glimmered in the video. That was maybe a benefit of Trent’s fame, you got to watch edits of him. It was a little treat to always be able to see him. Sure, everyone else got to share the view but it made you giddy knowing the boy in that video was going to be coming home just to you soon. You tossed and turned anxious for Trent to return. He said he was coming home tonight but you didn’t press for the exact time so when you crawled into bed around 23:00 you were desperate for him to be there next to you but as your eyes got heavier and heavier your body’s need for sleep overtook your desire to be awake for when he arrived. You hugged his pillow that his scent had faded from. It wasn’t like he left you, you just missed him and that you did an awful lot. You missed him so much. You fell asleep on your stomach, your knee raised and pulled up to your side, your arms still hugging his pillow. You were out cold fast asleep when the door to your room opened quietly. A little stream of light seeped into your room and cast over your frame. You didn’t budge but when you felt the most perfect pair of lips in the world press onto your smooth hot skin you shivered. Trent nudged his nose against your back. Pressing his cheek against you. Nuzzling his face into you. He hummed, running his cool hands over you. Pressing kisses all over your back as he pushed your shirt up further leaving your skin glistening with his spit. Your whole body lit up tingling under him.

“I’m home, baby.” He whispered behind your ear with another sensual kiss. The words ignited a fire inside you. You didn’t know if waking up to his touch was going to make you cry or orgasm. Jesus, his hands felt good. You hummed as his whole body pressed into yours including his hardening cock. “Missed you so much, beautiful.” He kept kissing your bare back. It was a thing you’d kind of landed on by accident but when Trent came home you wanted him to fuck you right away, to wake you up even if you were asleep. That’s just how bad you missed him. Of course, if you didn’t want to you could say so but that was few and far between.

“T…” you whined attempting to turn but his body weight on you wouldn’t let you. You reached behind you gripping his shirt tight in your fist. “Baby” you gasped out. You felt the most blissful form of helplessness underneath his heavy weight. The surge of warmth from his body radiated against you. He leaned away from you for a moment to pull his shirt over his head. His chest came pressing against your bare skin under the blankets.

“C’mere.” He whispered pulling you impossibly closer to him. You moaned and arched your spine. Your ass pressing into him, his hands sliding under you to cup your boobs. “Your T’s back, yeah? Get this off for me.” He kept his lips so close to your skin. The warmth of his breathe on you as he spoke had you quivering, letting him manipulate your body to peel the t-shirt off you. You cocked your head to the side as he kissed the side of your lips moving into a messy desperate kiss. He kissed you softly at first and then gradually it intensified as you clung to him as your mind dizzied. He stayed laying directly on top of you pressing you into the mattress grinding his cock down on you. “Stay just like this f’me” he whispered again pulling your panties off. His hand slipped between the lips of your pussy. You were soaked just from the makeout alone. He teasingly played with your clit. He was rock hard as his tip nudged your wet pussy.

“T... please” you begged for him to be inside of you as pushed back into him. He lined his cock up with your entrance before rolling his hips to slowly slide himself in deeper and deeper. Letting out a quiet sleepy moan. “Such a good girl” he cooed. Trent began moving in and out, taking his time with you, letting you adjust to his size, his hands caressing your naked body. You bit the pillow case to try to muffle your moans. “Want to hear you, beautiful. Missed you so much” as he pulled your face gently off it tilting it to the side.

“I missed you so much, baby.” You whined feeling him hit deeper and deeper. Your arms clutched onto the sheets beneath you as your cheek pressed further into the bedding. You kept pushing your ass against him wanting more. The sound of your soaked pussy and his languid but hard thrusts filling the room.

“You’re so wet, baby. Who made you this wet? Huh?” Trent asked greedily, wanting to hear you say his name. As you softly cried out his name again and again his cock began to hit that one spot so deep inside you only he knew repeatedly.

“Holy sh-shit I’m gonna cum, baby. Please please let me cum.” You begged, feeling your orgasm rapidly approaching unable to slow it. He slipped his fingers nimbly under you and worked them in tight circles around your throbbing clit. “T.. fuck! Oh my god, oh my god.” You cried out as your high rippled through you. Your thighs quivering uncontrollably under his weight.

“Good girl. Doing so well, baby.” Trent said with a smile pulling across his face having to bite his lip just from the sight of seeing you cum underneath him as his cock continued to pump in and out of you. His fingers stayed playing with your clit for a little as you trembled, starting to overstimulate you. You whined as your heaving chest pressed further into the mattress.

“Baby, please cum inside me. I need you.” You moaned feeling the overstimulation turn into another bout of pleasure that was consuming all your thoughts, your brain turning to mush as he continued to fuck you. You needed him to fill you up. You loved Trent having control of you, letting him fuck you into the mattress like this.

“I got you, baby. Cum for me one more time. Cum with me, yeah?” He whispered in your ear. Your pussy dripped around him. You bit your lip, looking at him with desperate doe eyes. Trent could feel the veins running along his cock throbbing. He worked his hips faster, harsher. Both of your pleasure building higher and higher.

“T… oh my god, please fill me up.” You whined between ragged breaths from his thrusts. He grunted at the thought of you carrying his child. He bit down onto your shoulder, his pace growing sloppy.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Be a good girl for me. Fuck!” Your muscles tensed and your eyes rolled into the back of your head before you felt his warm cum start to seep into you. Your own orgasm crashing over you. “Take all of my cum in this pussy, yeah baby?” He thrusted a few more times before he began to still while his pulsating cock still dribbled into you, your pussy fluttered as you panted beneath him. He softly stroked your hair and gently kissed your temple. “I love you, baby. Did so good f’me.” You smiled breathlessly as he began to coat your glistening frame with the same gentle kisses that started this. He kissed you in a way that you could feel just how much he adored you with each one. He loved you more than he could ever articulate with words but you could always feel it in the silences. He got off the bed and then cleaned you up before he tucked you neatly back in his arms.

“I’m so happy you’re home, baby.” You cooed quietly as your eyes fluttered closed. He held you close to his chest pressing kisses onto your hair.

“I’m happy I’m home too, beautiful. Love you so much.” He whispered as he could feel your breathing start to slow, your head heavier on him. “Get a good sleep, baby.” He whispered again with one final kiss before closing his eyes.

You rustled under the covers waking up to a pretty sleepy brown skinned boy on your chest. Your dainty manicured nails scratched at his scalp. He nuzzled further into you. You giggled a little at his clinginess and dragged your nail over his cheek bone down his jaw before you squeezed the muscle in between his neck and shoulder. You pressed your lips to his forehead, then slowly peeled them off his skin. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. He started to place light kisses all over your bare stomach.

“Morning, pretty boy.” You whispered, returning your nails to gently scratch the back of his neck. He hummed. Trent’s eyes fluttered open and a sleepy smile pulled on his lips. He looked up at you with heavy eyelids.

“Missed you so much, sweetheart.” His morning voice was rough and the syllables dripped out of his mouth. Your cheeks brightened hearing and seeing him back in your bed. He sat up a little resting his body weight on his forearms next to your body. His chin coming to rest on your collarbone. He turned his head to the side to get a better look at the features of your face. A crease from your pillow indented into your smooth skin, your lips pout and puffy. His eyes squinted nuzzling his face into your neck placing a soft kiss against your skin pushing the warm metal of your necklace against you. He pulled away and smiled again. His fingers wrapped under the chain of your necklace gently and looked into your eyes “Did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the world?” He cooed watching you go shy under his gaze.

“Stop…” you rolled your eyes embarrassed hearing his compliment leaning back onto your headboard. You sheepishly smiled before you kissed the top of his head coming to grab your phone from the nightstand. You looked at the time and sighed. You just showed the screen in silence to Trent letting him know you two had slept late into the morning, it really was almost the afternoon.

“Don’t care.” He murmured laying his body weight back on top of you as he started sucking on your skin leaving love bites working his way down your chest. You finagled your hands to reach under his arms. You pulled him up off you with a giggle and a shake of the head.

“We have to get up!” You yelped muddied in a laugh as he dramatically rolled off you groaning. He laid on his back staring at the ceiling in desperation.

“Babbbyyy…” he whined. “It’s been weeks, c’mon, please, I need you.” He begged despite having sex a few hours ago. You looked at him with raised eyebrows amused.

“It was your job not mine!” You teased with a smug grin playfully slapping at him. Him being away from you wasn’t exactly his fault but it wasn’t yours either. You sat up some more and started to get off the bed. Your legs dangled off the edge as you stretched looking around for the clothes he had peeled off you last night. Trent grabbed your phone off the bed to look at the time again and swiped up unlocking it. He navigated around to see what you’d been up to since he left. Making his way to your camera roll, he scrolled through your recent pictures.

“Didn’t send this to me…” he mumbled and huffed while he rolled his eyes looking at a mirror pic you took to send to Lauren of your outfit one day. You had asked if it was too slutty, she said no, you landed on yes so you changed hence why Trent wouldn’t have seen it. You just smiled at his feigned annoyance and stood up, walking away from him. He opened your TikTok that was still on the liked video edit of him. The smug look that came over this boy's face was ridiculous. He laughed to himself and rolled over on his stomach kicking his feet like a little girl giddy, pretty happy scrolling through comments.

‘Daddy’

‘He’s so fine’

‘Obsessed with him’

“What?” You asked him unaware as you listened to him giggle. You turned around to see his eyes practically closed; they were squinted so much from his big smile. He turned the phone around for you to see the video playing cutting to different angles of himself.

“What’s this? Hmm?” He laughed with a load of self satisfaction you couldn’t even make up. You walked over to him and snatched the phone clicking off the power button.

“Oh stop! Get over yourself!” You yelped, unable to hide your own laughter. “Also! It’s not like you’ve never watched an edit of yourself. You love it” you poked fun at him trying to deflect. “That’s embarrassing you watching that.” You teased.

“Nah, I’m not the one liking the videos thirsting over me.” He cooed standing up and walking towards you. You rolled your eyes still trying to tame the big smile on your face from being ‘caught.’

“Well they don’t make edits of me for you to like do they?” You rebutted as he got closer to you despite you trying to take steps further away with a childish grin.

“They should” he cooed, keeping his distance as he gave you a sly smile. You could feel the tension rise in the room. The air going thick.

“They should…” you giggled, sarcastically agreeing but flattered with his comment. Your cheeks burning, beginning to hurt from your smile. He always was quick with his words that managed to make your legs feel like jello in an instant.

“C’mere.” Trent lunged at you and you squealed as his big arms wrapped around you, swinging you around. He had you in his hold within milliseconds and you were unable to escape. “You fangirling over me? Hmm?” Trent teased biting on your neck playfully, still manhandling your body in his arms. “Tell me baby… do you have a little crush on me? Think I’m fit?” he laughed as you squirmed, particularly entertained with his findings.

“Yes, T, you’re very very pretty. We get it.” You giggled rolling your eyes ignoring his ego finally breaking out of his grasp. Truthfully, he let you go, he was much too strong for you to manage that on your own. After you ‘escaped’ from him he grabbed your waist quick to pull you back in for a real kiss. You spent the day together and you were just so happy to have him physically home instead of sitting on a FaceTime with him as you cooked your dinner alone. It was much better to feel his hands on you then have him tell you about them. The TikToks were great but the IRL version of Trent was just perfect.

The season had kicked off without a hitch and somehow it was already rapidly approaching the middle of it as you stood in your wardrobe eyes wide. Your summer of warm weather and talk about babies with Trent was long gone. You dragged your hand over the racks of clothing trying to figure out what to wear to Trent’s match tonight. Previously you had been thinking of all the ways you’d have to be hiding a bump at this point but that wasn’t the case. The tiny waist of your pants zipped up perfectly still. Due to the frequency of your appearances at games you felt like you were running out of outfit ideas. It was like doing a weird rubik's cube trying to find new possibilities and variations of match day looks. Trent wasn't around as much. He was heads down, focused, you understood that and you supported him best you could. What was unbelievable to you though was how despite living together in the same house there were weeks like this one where you barely saw him. Christmas was around the corner and you had decided to stay in Liverpool this year, mostly for Trent’s busy schedule but also because you had gone to the US last year. It stressed you out it was getting closer but for the moment your stress was funneled into trying to decide if you wanted to wear heels or sneakers. You ended up wearing a pair of jordans with a black bodysuit that hugged you tight and a pair of cargo pants. You paired a black Prada puffer coat and a Chanel flap bag with the fit. It was simple but sometimes it just felt better to play it low key. You weren’t having to hide a baby bump but you didn't mind hiding yourself all together from people potentially staring at you. Walking around in an Alexander-Arnold jersey at a match sometimes had the effect like wearing a target on your back.

You sat in the box nestled between Marcel and Dianne. It was cold and you could feel your nose run a little as rain poured down on the pitch. Dianne put her hand on your thigh and squeezed your leg as you all anxiously watched Trent walk over to take a corner kick. You followed his methodical movements. In a bizarre way he was incredibly graceful. For someone who was so rough and strong he seemed to move so smoothly and it always impressed you. It impressed you but it didn’t surprise you considering what he was like in bed and how his hands moved on you but you were trying not to let your thoughts go in that direction as you sat next to his mum watching him. You would never tell him how graceful you thought he was though because you’d likely never hear the end of a rant about his technique or the technical side of football, the beauty of the game, whatever it was… he would just end up yapping away. You’d save the comment for a time where he was wired and you were too tired to talk.

Another game and another assist came and went for Trent as you sat in the box listening to his brother talk to you similarly to how Trent would, overly animated, fast, eager to keep your attention. Time went by quickly with Marcel in your ear. You loved him like a brother and just the same he annoyed you like one too. Trent finally appeared in the box moving sluggishly in his tracksuit. You just wanted to run up and hug him, squish him, he looked so cozy. You restrained yourself and let him say hello to everyone; family, friends, niceties to people he didn’t know, making his way through the room. He spotted you waiting patiently leaning your head on Marcel’s shoulder. His face lit up. He winked at you before finishing a conversation he was currently in with a person from the club. When he finished he strided over to you with the same grace and swagger he carried on the pitch. He dapped up Marcel and then stared at you waiting for you to move. He licked his lips and flashed you a smile. You stood up and stepped into his warm embrace silently understanding what he wanted. You kissed under his chin as he squished you against his chest.

“Now thisss is who I’ve been waiting to see” he cooed, kissing the top of your head. Your heart warmed and faltered a little every time he was so open in front of other people about his feelings. “Ready to go home, pretty girl?” He cooed, releasing you from his tight hold but keeping you close to him, his hand lingering on your ass as you tried to subtly swat it away as you stood still talking with his family. You threw him a quick glare. He just looked at you with a big smile, unphased, not budging. He patted your ass cockily proving to you that he was going to do what he wanted when he wanted. He was in control of this relationship, at least physically… that is until you’d pout and cry and he’d cave in an instant. You both liked things that way.

The week rolled on and Trent was at an away game for the champions league versus Paris Saint Germain. You missed him just the same every time he left but it was every week and there was no use in dwelling when it was going to happen. You were on FaceTime with Trent yet again doing nothing but talking nonsense as you were in your bedroom trying on some clothes you had recently bought. You propped the phone up on the dresser for him to see both you and your reflection standing in the mirror.

“T... does this look nice?” You cooed, not looking at the phone. He smiled and chuckled before you changed your mind disregarding any answer he was going to give. You unzipped the little dress and it fell off you and pooled on the ground. Trent cleared his throat letting himself stare at your naked body. You pursed your lips looking dissatisfied with the turn out of your haul. You slipped back on the little thong you were in but had taken off for it not to show under the dress. Trent laughed some more as he felt his cheeks grow warmer. He shook his head in disbelief at your body as you innocently and naively walked back over to the phone turning him on an incredible amount by doing nothing but simply existing back at home.

“Beautiful, baby.” He watched your face light up at his compliment. You looked absolutely unreal as his eyes widened and he smirked. You stared at each other longingly, greedily missing each other but you jumped a little when suddenly your doorbell rang throughout the empty house. You flashed a look of confusion at Trent who heard the noise too. It was odd for someone to be coming to your door like this. If you did have a delivery coming, you always knew about it ahead of time so you looked at Trent again only for him to nod with a grin.

“Well go see…” he threw his head to the side gesturing to you to go open the door. He had a knowing look on your face you didn’t enjoy.

“T… what is this?” You hesitantly walked down the stairs. You cautiously approached your front door to see a delivery man patiently waiting. You put Trent down before opening it. You greeted the man and accepted the package. It was a pretty sizable brown unmarked box. Your brow furrowed as you took it inside. You picked your phone up back up off the console and placed it on the box as you carried both into the kitchen.

“What is it? Go on.” Trent's voice came from the phone reminding you he was there and when you looked down his mischievous smile stared to grow a bit bigger.

“I don’t like that you know what this is…” you paused. “You do know right?” You flashed your eyes at him for an answer. He nodded confirming he did. You mangled the tape off the exterior box unwinding excess packaging material galore before finding a big orange box. You just about felt your heart stop. “No… don’t do this.” You spoke in a shaky voice.

“You’re taking forever…” he whined. You rolled your eyes at his impatience. You opened the lid of the orange box and your jaw slacked. You took the heathered dust bag out of the box and immediately knew holding it.

“Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up” Your eyes started to welle. Trent tried to talk but you had no idea what he was saying in your state of surprise as you pulled the Hermes birkin 25 out. A hunk of leather had never felt more special in your hands. Your eyes blinked a few times in disbelief you were holding the bag.

“So…” Trent’s voice broke through your moment of utter shock. You shook your head trying to get back to the present moment. You pouted at him unsure what you ever did to deserve him and right now… a fucking birkin.

“Why did you do this, baby?” You cooed in a sappy tone. He just smiled.

“You haven’t read the card… baby, you are taking forever, seriously” He giggled as he watched you pick up the little piece of stationary.

‘Meet me in Paris xx’

“Are you serious?” You started to actually cry now. Tears rolled down your cheeks. One drop splattered onto the card diluting the blank ink of the card stock.

“Why are you crying? Just come meet me, yeah? What do you think?” He spoke a little bit softer seeing you get emotional. You sniffled and nodded your head. “Alright, good, baby. Can’t wait to see you.” Your conversation and stun continued through the night as he told you more legitimate details. Trent had got you a flight to meet him in Paris after his game to spend the night there with him. You eagerly packed absolutely delirious with excitement. You weren’t sure how to pack a birkin but you sure as hell would be finding a way to bring it with you.

There was a knock at your hotel door. You giddily jumped up from the bed and rushed over to look through the little peep hole. As expected, the beautiful boy you watched play a football match earlier this afternoon stood there. You opened the door slow with a sly smile as you leaned against the door frame before him in a slinky silk robe tied at your waist.

“Room service” He cooed cheekily and you just shook your head at his poor joke looking into his dark eyes but played along.

“Just what I ordered.” You giggled, dragging him into the room by his shirt. He stumbled following your harsh pull. He dropped a Louis Vuitton duffle bag on the floor. You heard it hit the carpet but you were totally transfixed on him, completely consumed. The way his hands felt gliding over the material of your robe covering your ass, pulling it up revealing some of your skin, sent a shiver run down your spine. “Do you have time for this?” You said quiet withholding your lips a short distance from his.

“Baby… I always have time for you.” He whispered before his lips pressed into yours. Your body electrified under his touch. You could feel something between you two was different in this hotel room. It was tense and exciting. Maybe it was the way his whisper had tickled your ear. The sensation eliciting something dangerously carnal within you. He untied your robe swiftly, slipping it off your shoulders with a ghosting touch.

His lips melted into yours. It was hot and heavy, like the kiss could bruise your lips. He breathed in your gasp as you felt his hard cock throb against you. The kiss was sloppy with teeth and spit, desperation kicking in after your time apart. You choked a little in the kiss surprised when he pushed you back to the bed. He was confusingly rough and gentle at the same time. His face came level with your core. He pulled your lace panties off slow but with vigor. His fingers made quick work between your wet folds before he spit onto your quivering pussy spreading it around your clit with his thumb. You whined as he moved kisses up your body while he slipped his fingers inside and continued to work them in and out of you. His free hand uncliped your bra.

“Take this off f’me, baby.” Your whines continued falling from your lips repeating his name in pleasure. The words were going straight to his cock that was becoming painfully hard. “I got you, cum f’me.” He whispered sucking on your neck. His fingers movements were harsh compared to his gentle words. You inhaled hard before you could even tell him you were cumming. You felt your walls pulsating around his fingers, your juices leaking down his hand some. He pulled them out slowly, both of his hands coming to knead your tits sensually as he pressed his covered hard cock onto you. You could feel the precum seeping through his thin boxers.

“Please fuck me, T. I need you inside me.” His cock twitched hearing your frenzied voice. You blinked up at Trent with doe eyed and slightly teary ones after your orgasm continued to linger. He slid off his boxers before pulling you into another steamy kiss. He rolled you over to be under you. Eagerly you began to grind your dripping pussy deliciously against his abs. The slick from you and the precum leaking from his tip smeared across your bodies.

“I need you right now.” He groaned out before pushing you back some as you lifted your hips for him. He lined his big cock up with your entrance and helped guide you down slowly. “Fuck, baby, so good” he choked out. He watched you sink down onto his length but your eyes were focused on the pleasure washing over his face. You nodded once he was all the way in for him to move. You bounced on top of him as he thrusted into you in perfect synchronized movements.

“I love you so much, baby.” You whimpered. The rhythm of your bodies was sublime. Trent's eyes glazed over seeing your tits bounce in front of him as you whined out. You hooked your arms around his neck as his big hands slid up your body coming to play with your hard nipples.

“I love you. Shit, I love you so much.” He moaned, feeling the warm pulsations as he eased in and out of you. The tender moment was juxtaposed with the filthy sounds of your bodies coming together. “My girl’s so beautiful, do you know that? Gonna get you pregnant. Gonna make you the most beautiful mummy.” He whispered, pulling you down into an intimate urgent kiss overcome with emotion. You nodded before moaning out something that had got you started on this journey in the first place.

“Uh huh, daddy” you smiled imagining making him one. It was a name you said earnestly but also a little teasingly, not hating the way you felt him fuck into you a little big harder when he heard it. His eyes shut tight as he rashly flipped you over again to be on top and began hammering into your g spot. Your back arched and your lips parted in loud cries.

“Say it again.” He grunted out. And so you did. Trent swore he could cum right there. He continued slamming into you as you wrapped your legs around him. “I love you, baby.” His words swallowed as you came in for another kiss.

“I love you.” As tears started to roll down your cheeks overwhelmed by pleasure and emotion. He continued with his harsh thrusts paired with the most gentle touches. Your body was being rocked against the mattress when he slipped his fingers into your mouth. Flustered by his pace you gaged around them, drooling, sucking desperately.

“I love you so fucking much. Such a good girl for me. Doing so good for me. Taking me so well.” He groaned watching you before he slid his fingers down to rub perfect circles on your clit.

“I’m cumming. Fuck! You feel so good. Ffuck.” You cried out as your lips parted again before his hips closed on yours again. You chanted his name overtaken by the pleasure consuming your whole body. Trent wanted to hear the sounds you were making forever on repeat. The knot in your stomach tightened before it snapped as more tears fell. You clenched tighter around his throbbing cock. He took his fingers off your clit to wipe away your tears sweetly then kissed onto your neck lovingly.

“Baby, I need to cum in this pretty pussy. Need to fill you up. Need you. Gonna.. shit! Gonna cum. Gonna get you pregnant.” He grunted out. His cock twitching deep inside you seconds before he came painting your insides, filling you up as promised. You continued moaning as you rode him through his orgasm. His movements stilled and he laid on top of you stuck to your body. He stayed inside for sometime before he pulled out. His fingers coming to gently push his leaking cum back inside you gently. You whined at the feeling. He came to lay next to you and pulled you onto him.

“Please love me forever.” You pathetically begged deliriously. Between the physical exhaustion and the mental reverie you were in you could barely stay awake. He held you close to him as your body relaxed against his.

“I’ll love you forever, Y/N.” He whispered with a smirk almost out of breath, panting, placing a kiss behind your ear. Trent stared at you falling asleep on him, your bare back, the dim light in the room illuminating your raised spine as his fingers traced down it. Your cheek squished by your own weight on one side of his chest…Your pale pink manicured hand sprayed across the other side. He stroked over your bare ring finger. He felt his heart beat a little faster. “Gonna give you everything you deserve, baby.” He whispered. Your eyes fluttering open again. You glanced up at him, gliding your hand on him down his soft skin. You had never felt more at peace or more in love with him. You laid tucked in Trent’s arms as your heartbeats synced. His hands caressing your skin with his big hands. He nestled his face in the nape of your neck.

“I really want this…” you cooed quiet. Your voice sounded perfect at that moment but his heart broke a little remembering sitting on the couch with you months ago after the doctor left. He knew immediately what you were talking about.

“C’mere” he turned you around to lay your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your entire frame as he squeezed you tight. “We’re gonna make you a mummy, promise.” He spoke equally as quiet into the shell of your ear. His stubble against you made you shiver into him. Just hearing the word ‘mummy’ sent your emotions over the edge. Thank god he turned you to face the other way. Your eyes filled with tears although you didn’t make a sound. You wanted to be a mummy for him so bad. To give him what he wanted. You nuzzled your head back into the space between his shoulder and his neck. Your hands dragged over his arms across you before one reached behind you and glided over his cheek, the other squeezing his thigh beside you. You smiled unprompted imagining the chaos your house would unfold into with a baby involved. Pulling a little 66 jersey over a curly head of hair on match day. Cuddling on the couch with a third tiny human. Him in the back garden running about with a toddler and a ball. It all just worked. It made perfect sense in your mind that your perfect man would be the perfect dad.

“We'll do it, baby.” You giggled thinking about Trent as a dad.

“Yeah? Glad you’re on my team now. I know we will too.” He pecked your cheek. His hands spread over your stomach. “You want food, pretty girl? I’m starving.” Your mind went blank for a moment. You forgot you were in a hotel, you forgot you were in Paris for god sake. In the best way possible, Trent had the ability to steal you entirely from reality. Your world revolved around him and those glimmering eyes and that cheeky smile. You sat on his lap at a table in the room. Thinking about it as you sat unnecessarily on him you two probably were a little nauseating with affection but you just wanted to be closer to him. You both ate far too much food but to be fair you worked up quite an appetite.

“We’ll just take it in stride, alright? Try not to stress about this.” He cooed veering into a conversation about the logistics of your pregnancy situation. Trent didn’t want you to feel like the second he was off the pitch you had to fuck to get pregnant. He wanted you to want him to make love to you. To keep the emotions in the sex not fall into the monotony of the act. You appreciated that he cared and understood neither of you wanted it to ever become transactional. You fell to sleep after having the real room service, a shower, and another sleepier fuck, refusing to leave the room clinging to him and the moment alone you were finally getting to have after spending too much time apart lately.

You woke up in the morning cuddled so close to him you could barely breathe, the heat between you two was making you both slightly sticky and yet you loved every second of it. You sleepily kissed up his jawline and back down again. He grumbled still asleep. He looked like an angel. Trent couldn’t find the strength to wake up. He was absolutely gassed from his match and your night. He was glued to your body. The alarms of your phones were going off but both of you were just reveling in being in each other's company too much to even try to get up. You continually hit ‘snooze’ on your phones every time they rang out. He started to groggily wake and pulled you into a tight embrace. You cuddled in a more intentional manner than a sleepy one now. Nothing else mattered than you two in this bed. Trent didn’t feel like he had just played a match in one of the largest competitions in all of football. He felt like he was just yours right now and that’s all he wanted to be for the moment as he felt your heartbeat under your warm skin.

“I’m exhausted…” you cooed stroking over his hair. Leaning your head further onto him, plagued by sleep.

“Yeah? What’d you get up to last night?” He cheekily said with a shit eating grin. Trent’s tiredness slipped away for a moment as he fell into a smug laugh.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re very funny, T, but yes I am exhausted from last night. I’m pretty sure I fell just a little more in love with you, think it took a lot out of me.” You pinched your thumb and pointer finger together showing a small amount of space as you giggled

“Aw baby, that was sweet. I probably did a little too if that’s even possible at this point but I was just thinking it was probably from how well I fucked you last night.” He chuckled to himself. You could feel his chest vibrate from the noise. Both of your faces pulled into big, big smiles. You tapped at his arm around you playfully.

“You're such a boy!” You squeaked. “That could’ve been a nice moment but nooo.” You giggled feigning an annoyance you didn’t feel. He squeezed you a little tighter before pressing a kiss onto your lips and giving you a half assed ‘I’m sorry’” you laid in the fluffy luxurious hotel bedding for what felt like ages just exchanging kisses and mushy feelings in between comfortable silences as he played with your fingers before finally speaking again.

“We have to get going, sweetheart.” He attempted to sit up some but you just clung to him tighter.

“Are you sure you couldn’t just transfer to PSG?” You teased getting more comfortable in the bed. “We could live right here. This could be our bed. We could learn French.” Your words were muddied in giggles from the silly joke you were making. As you spoke you just snuggled further into his embrace.

“Yeah… okay baby” he yessed your plan with a faint laugh. You obviously weren’t serious, he knew that, you just were so comfortable in the moment that you didn’t want to leave the cozy place you were currently in.

“I like it right here” you whined a little, throwing puppy eyes at him. You liked holding onto him. He was so sweet to even make last night possible you didn’t want to have to make the move to end it. You rubbed your hands over his warm skin. Your hands sliding up his neck before reaching his chin to scratch at his facial hair.

“I love you right here but I’ll love you just the same when we get back home, baby.” He kissed the top of your head before he hummed in contentment as your nails tickled him. You pouted about your stay coming to an end but also just how sweet he always was. You eventually peeled your magnetized bodies off one another’s and began to pack up and shower. Your body stuck to his again wet and you laughed trying to share one towel in order to stay closer drying each other off poorly. You detached less dry than you should’ve been by this point. “Just to really rub it in that we’re going home, Tyler said people are making a big deal out of my little detour after the match. Just a heads up.” Trent said coming up behind you giving you a quick kiss to your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Your face dropped. You were in your own world inside that hotel room but outside, it was definitely still spinning in its usual order. “I don’t like when I’m the culprit of the media covering some sort of escapade of yours.” You said guilty, moving back into the main room to get dressed.

“Well, I, in fact, do like when you are.” He kissed your lips. “The only things I want happening in my life are the ones with you.” You smiled faintly but you didn’t say much of anything else as you helped fold and fill his duffle bag. You got to run out around the city briefly grabbing macaroons you liked and hitting a few stores before you had to head to the airport but it was an incredibly quick turn around.

You boarded the plane back to England, a short flight nestled in his arms. You both were in sweat sets, yours from Sporty & Rich, his from Aime Leon Dore. With his hood up, Trent rested his head against the window while you laid on him. For a fast flight you were incredibly comfortable. It was going to be the last fleeting moment together before Trent and by proxy, you, returned to regularly scheduled programming of matches and mayhem.

As anticipated and warned by Tyler, your moment alone shattered the second camera’s flashes filled your line of sight. You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the lights. Trent held your hand tighter as he walked through airport arrivals. Security followed next to you. This would never be normal. As the chaos rushed around you with inquiries about Trent’s commitment to the team for ‘taking a day off’ which by the way… was approved by the club, just saying! You squeezed his hand more. Despite feeling more than uneasy he had a way of stilling the madness with a simple glance to you.

“Okay, baby?” He whispered. You nodded with a faux smile. Security opened the door to the car waiting for you. Trent stayed at the car door with them holding it open and helping you in. Your hand grazed his waist as a silent thank you before you slid in. He quickly followed you into the blacked out vehicle. Even after the door shut and it was quiet the noise of the shutters still rang in your ears. While you were hounded as people scolded Trent’s travels, you never felt more secure in his arms tucked into the backseat.

You drove off from the airport towards home and you watched the landscape blur out the car window on the motorway. You laid back into him, your legs stretched across the seat, feet up, and your head thrown to the side against his chest as his hands aimlessly grazed over you. Trent’s hand moved to grip your leg right above your knee. He squeezed it teasingly. You looked up at him and the honey hue of his eyes reflecting the sun filled your stomach with butterflies and a sliver of hope.

“I have a good feeling about next year” he winked looking at you with a sincerity no one could ever make you believe other than him.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter / series … 🤍

Next part - Chapter 29 xx

[yuseirra]

(Probably my final analysis about this guy unless something new comes up) There is a reason why Kamiki must be a god from a thematic perspective.

+prediction: This manga's ending can be really unhinged lol

I haven't encountered any spoilers regarding the ramaining chapters and if I get sent ANY, I WILL block you. No prior warnings. I was too tormented by those earlier. I don't deserve that for having cared for hikaai..(But if I get anything right.. You may o<-<.. Ohh I have so many love-hate relationship w this comic.. I guess I'll be able to get over with this whole nervousness soon one way or the other)

Jotted this down earlier, used machine translator haha ;v;

To elaborate, I think there are two remaining ways to handle this character. One is to treat him delicately (but considering the limited chapters left, this seems almost out of the question; everyone keeps saying he's dead and it's over, and it upsets me. I don’t think that way. I’m not even sure if he’s actually dead, yet everyone seems so certain he is, and it’s depressing. Wouldn't that be a really bad outcome? It’s not about liking the character; it just feels so unfair to both the readers and the character if the story goes in that direction. Just brushing him off as a villain would be too shallow, and I don't think it would make for a good story. But everyone else seems to have given up... Should I give up too? Would the author make such a choice? I’m sorry, but I really don’t think they'd finish this story so sloppily after getting this far. If so, I’d say I could put more effort into writing about him, but I don’t want to speak like this about someone else’s precious work.)

The other option is to treat him as a "fallen god" like the title suggests, glossing over some details. This way, they can maintain some narrative consistency without devoting much chapter space to him. There are actually a lot of hints regarding this (for example, if we assume he actually killed a lot of people, it could explain why no bodies were ever found... Like, we might get a news story in the next chapter about hundreds of bodies being discovered in the mountains because the power that concealed them vanished after his death (which would be terrifying. Then I’d be left baffled & wondering again, what kind of person was Ai really involved with?;; why the heck did the writers make her love such a guy?? I explained how this could work in a way IF he's a god in my earlier posts)).

Looking at the broader scope of the work, if we try to understand what the story is aiming to convey, there’s a clear significance to the character.

If they want to bury several dark aspects of the entertainment industry in him and just decide he is the reason behind it all, then he can't just be an ordinary person.

Seriously, Ai wouldn't have died for this kind of reason if she wasn't a celebrity. Nino and Ryosuke, these deranged individuals, wouldn’t have meddled in her private life and family matters, claiming that she must be the perfect idol, that she can't have a boyfriend or children, chasing her down, and trying to kill her if she weren't one. Many of Ai’s miseries stemmed from her being an idol, where her individuality was not accepted, and this isn’t a problem that can be resolved by simply taking down one madman—it’s connected to societal perceptions. To write this off as being Kamiki’s fault doesn’t even seem possible to me. That's not just simply bad writing, it's irresponsible and harmful. So I don't see the writers making such a choice. They're smart people.

Even if Kamiki harbored resentment after breaking up with his girlfriend, Ai wouldn't have been harmed if she wasn’t a celebrity. Nino even mentioned that Kamiki only talked about Ai. If Ai had been a regular person, what he did probably would have just him reminiscing about her as an ex-girlfriend. Seriously. Does this really make sense for it to believe that Kamiki orchestrated Ai’s murder? There should be a better reason. Otherwise, it’s just Nino and Ryosuke being unhinged, right? Wasn't Kamiki a minor in middle or high school at the time? I doubt he would have directly ordered anyone to kill Ai. Does he seem like someone who would harm Ai deliberately? If that were the case, why wouldn’t he have sought revenge immediately after the breakup? Why wait four whole years? Why? Even if he had anger and resentment (which I believe he did not...this guy never blames Ai.)would die down a lot within that much timespan. Honestly, I have no idea. Considering about the major event at time being Ai's dome concert, I plain think he'd have intended to send flowers through a friend to congratulate her about it, but then the accident happened. Ai’s comment that “our kids are smart and will understand our situation” suggests they weren’t completely out of touch. Maybe Ai told him where she was, which is why he knew about the hospital on her delivery day. Just WHY would he harm her? He's been throwing away his entire life away for a cause related to her for over a decade after she's deceased!! He never wanted to hurt her!!

Going back to the point, if his character isn’t going to be given proper focus (but considering they even brought in a famous voice actor for him, wouldn’t he be more significant than just a side character?), then it would make more sense for him to be a god. That way, he can absorb the societal context surrounding him. Like, he was originally a divine guardian of the entertainment world, but he became corrupted and fell into madness because of humanity. And there are plenty of odd situations and foreshadowing that can only be explained this way... His unique connection with Ai, the intensity of his attachment—it wouldn’t need further explanation, because there’s a narrative that exists beyond the story itself. If he’s treated as just a person, he holds no symbolic value and is merely a broken-minded individual—a mere psychopath. What would that contribute to the story? It shouldn’t go that way. It wasn’t until Chapter 154 that I realized, “Ah... This guy wasn’t supposed to be the culprit.” I just kept following along from there. If the story has a message to convey, it needs to address this. I can see where it's headed, and it’s frustrating, so I just want it to show a bit more! And then they say the story is ending soon. I think the most pressing need for the story now is to resolve its thematic elements.

I can think of about three or four scenarios for how this manga might end. Remember Chapter 156-7 or so, where Aqua and Ruby have that conversation? That chapter is narratively ominous. After reading that, I thought this story might end as a vision flashing before the eyes of two dying people. Like, “You had fun, didn’t you? This kind of life wasn’t so bad, right?” If that chapter is any indication, it’s not impossible that the entire story has been a well-constructed stage, all fiction! That chapter gave me a weird vibe, so I mentioned that the author might craft an ending that over 70% of the readers would dislike in a post once.

If it takes a really bold direction, it could end like that.

Or it could go with a more conventional ending. But this story, since Chapter 1, has been talking about how “everything is fiction, the world is fiction, and it hopes for good lies.” I think something that ties back to that concept will come up at the end.

And the last scenario is an ending that tries to hold onto some deeper meaning (but that doesn’t rule out an Aqua-Ruby flashback ending... lol. They could try to maintain meaning even with that or fulfill Aqua’s dreams of going to medical school and ending up with Kana~~).

Honestly... Even with four chapters left, I’d like them to dedicate like two of them to Kamiki. If we’re talking about liars, he’s as much of a liar as Ai, but he hasn’t been highlighted at all. Is becoming like Ruby supposed to be ideal? I haven’t been convinced of that... If this story wants to say something meaningful about the entertainment industry, it should address the lies required by idols and actors alike.

Wrap up Aqua’s story in one or two chapters, give Kana a happy ending (Kana’s been through a lot in the narrative), even if Aqua and Ruby don’t find happiness, I think Kana should at least find some fulfillment. MEM-cho will do fine, and Akane’s smart, so she’ll be okay.

Kamiki and Ai deserve about half of the remaining focus, thematically speaking. Even if Kamiki ends up being too far gone and deserves to rot in hell, we should at least understand who he really was. Ai’s true feelings were revealed, but Kamiki never got that chance... He never had a real opportunity to be happy, either. To me, he’s more of a person who was pushed to the brink and went mad rather than someone purely evil, so I can’t stop thinking about him. There’s a reason the story was written this way, and I want it to show that. There's someone broken and hit and hurt, but no one's taking responsibility for it. Is that right? Is that what you call justice? I don't think so. It gets on my nerves. I knew that he was a noble soul before they even brought that up. He used to be kind but something pushed him so far. A good story should show what broke him.

The recent chapters have been intriguing but not particularly substantive, mostly dropping hints without much resolution, given the remaining chapters. Can they really tie everything up? I have my doubts.

I just want the story to hold onto its meaning, regardless of the characters’ fates. That’s my hope. For me, this piece is about the message. I really wish it gives out a good one. I’ll keep quiet now; I really hate being wrong—

Did I figure out what this manga is trying to convey? If I have- I hope it goes in that direction. I do have an idea. It’s still possible, after all.