#roundabout by Yes plays

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

There's a small moment in the Hunter x Hunter 2011 anime that I thought was pretty cute. It's close to the beginning, during the Hunter Exam, when they're looking for pigs in the forest. Gon slides down a hill, and Killua follows him, only for him to crash because Gon had stopped at the bottom of the hill. This scene!

It's one of those rare little bits added by an adaptation that really add to the characters - because yeah, this was not in the manga.

I find this anime is really good at adding little moments that either

are just cute or endearing

are fun extra interactions that show off the character dynamics more

actually highlight something about the characters in question

This one, I feel, does all three. First of all, I just love seeing Killua a bit more involved in their group before the eventual reveal of "he just wanted to be friends". It's really sweet.

But mostly, I think it's interesting that Killua assumed Gon was just messing around, when Gon was actually focusing his efforts on beating the challenge. Because, sure, Killua finds Gon somewhat intriguing, and he really wants to stick around him due to his desire for a friend - but Killua still sees himself as a class above pretty much everyone else there, and also as an assassin in a category so firmly removed from "regular kid".

So, Killua totally misreads Gon here. He assumes Gon is just doing a regular kid thing and attempts to mimic it so he can join in. It doesn't actually occur to him that Gon was tracking the pigs, or focusing on the task at hand.

It's a far cry from later on, where Killua and Gon are primarily a team effort - in sync, aware of the others' strengths, and taking each other quite seriously.

And part of it, of course, is that they just don't know each other very well at this point. But I think another thing is that Killua, during most of the Hunter Exam, is more invested in what Gon represents than who he is, necessarily.

His first friend represents rebellion against his family, childish enjoyment, and the desire for connection and understanding that he is not receiving. And even though, as time goes on, he grows more and more impressed with Gon, I really don't think it fully clicked that he wanted that friend he wished for to be specifically Gon until he was confronted by Illumi.

I also think Killua takes Gon a lot more seriously after the fight with Hanzo, and especially after Gon went all the way to the Zoldyck estate to save him. Before the Hanzo fight, Killua was outright irritated by Gon being ranked higher than him overall, and was even a little bitter at the beginning of the fight ("I could've dodged that easily" comes to mind).

By Heavens Arena, I feel they both have a much firmer grasp on, and appreciation for, who the other is as a person. Killua is more consciously aware of his investment in Gon as an individual rather than an abstract, and Gon is aware of Killua's crappy upbringing and is quick to be very supportive of him as he figures things out for himself.

During the Hunter Exam though, a lot of the interactions between them feel a lot like Killua is either mimicking or acting out "regular kid" behaviours, either because that's what he thinks Gon is already doing, or he wants to see if Gon will respond in kind.

Aaaaand... he does. :)

So, while they do not have what I feel is a true depth of bond here yet, the foundation is already being laid down for their powerful friendship - Gon and Killua both show an immediate willingness and enjoyment to go along with what the other wants to do and to try out what the other is good at, and they wind up having a whole lot of fun together right off the bat.

[pfhwrittes]

nothing brings me more joy than my pals immortalising my nonsense in writing

[demondinobear-art]

So, I was playing co-op with a friend...

[ID: A short comic featuring Gaming and Navia from Genshin Impact drawn using a purple brush.

The first panel shows both Gaming and Navia standing in a field, with a hill in the background. Gaming has his back turned to us while Navia is facing us. They are both looking at the hole in front of them.

In the next panel, Navia excitedly said, "I'll start digging!" To which Gaming replied, "Ok!" while giving a thumbs up.

The next two panels are focused on the back of Gaming's head. Gaming is first looking to the right, implying that he is looking at the hole. A sparkle can be seen at the top left corner. "Huh?" Gaming thought curiously.

As Gaming looked to the left in the next panel, the sparkle is revealed to be a chest. "Oh, there's a chest," he thought. Navia, not in the panel, let out a resigned "Ah."

Second image shows the upper body of Gaming, with his back turned and his question cut off as an explosion blasted right in front of his face. A light purple overlay is used and a "To Be Continued" arrow is placed at the bottom right corner. End ID.]

[lovotomii]

never really played or emulated any 8-bit games before, but the original Metal Gear is pretty good. I'm enjoying it at least

[ericblackmonmusic]

ROUNDABOUT Bass Guitar Tutorial YES @EricBlackmonGuitar

[petergabrielyuri]

In my 11th grade forensics class, my teacher would play music during class and he would let us suggest genres. He would never take requests for artists, only genres. No one liked talking in that class, so one day when he asked what genre we wanted to listen to today and he was standing right in front of me I was the only one that answered. Having recently gotten into Genesis, I said "Can you play some prog rock?" He said "frog rock?" I said "No, Prog, like Genesis." He said "Like 80's Genesis?" I said "No, like 70's Genesis." So he went to his computer to pull up youtube while we did vocab work and long story short that was how I accidentally made all of my classmates listen to the "To Be Continued" meme song.

[asexual-levia-tan]

satan is literally the "middle child" as the 4th of 7, but that option really only counts out luci and belphie which is. HILARIOUS to me

also

satan said "i need to work on bettering myself before i can get into a relationship" and that really does make him the most mature out of the bunch

[reidmotif]

Always Bet on Black

Summary: Reader realizes she has an advantage at the Bureau's Casino Night, when Spencer can't seem to take his eyes off her and her dress.

Prompt: The BAU throws a casino night charity fundraiser. Spencer is a menace. Someone has to find a way to distract him.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: drinking, gambling (i have never gambled in my life nor have i played poker or blackjack. this will be super apparent in this fic. many apologies), nipple play, oral sex (f!receiving) hickies, Reader POV, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

“And that’s another win to the gentleman on my right!”  The dealer announces for what feels like the millionth time that night. There's a shit-eating grin on Spencer Reid’s face as he leans over the blackjack table, wrapping his arms around the hearty stack of chips in an almost in an exaggerated manner, pulling it back towards him much to everyone’s dismay. 

My dismay, especially, because while- yes, this is for charity, and what Spencer’s doing could be characterized as noble in some roundabout way, it was getting a bit repetitive. Spencer was so focused, a thousand times more than anyone else at that table, his brain working a million miles a minute to provide him with the best course of action when it came to gambling.  

And so far? It worked perfectly. While everyone else was taking their chances and betting away, praying that the odds would line up in their favor, Spencer Reid did fucking math, and suddenly the odds were his bitch.  I was beginning to understand why every casino in Las Vegas had him banned now. If he was giving the BAU Casino Night a run for their money like this, I can’t imagine the Bellagio being too pleased with having him either. 

I sighed at the thought, and it seemed Spencer picked up on it, the corners of his lips turning upwards, trying to feign a chagrin expression as he stacked his chips on top of the other. 

“Something wrong, (Y/N)?” He says, looking at me. “Are you not enjoying yourself?” 

Spencer Reid is usually nice, humble, and sweet. In all honesty, I should not be feeling this hostile and sore at the fact that he’d managed to beat me almost every single time we’d played blackjack. My embarrassment was only heightened when I thought of how I’d (stupidly) bragged beforehand that I’d never lost a game in college. 

How quickly my streak was destroyed. 

My pride was bruised, and the man in front of me knew it. 

“I’m enjoying myself just fine.” I say, trying not to grit my teeth as I say the words. 

“You look a bit hot.” He says, referring to my face that had gotten slightly red after the most recent loss I’d taken. “Would you like me to get you a drink?” He asks, his gaze turning less cocky, and more sweet and polite. 

I melt a bit. “Okay. No need to be a sore loser.” I think to myself. “This is a sweet man, and he’s offering you a drink. Yes, he’s destroying you right now and knows it, but it’s not like he’s acting like a complete dick about it.”

I nod at his words, sending a small smile his way. 

“A drink would be great actually.” I finally respond, and he gets up, pushing his chair in. 

“I’ll be right back.” He says, turning away from me, and sauntering towards the bar.

 I take a second to admire him as he walks away, the suit and tie ensemble he picked out for the night complimenting him so well. I’d never say it out loud, considering we were coworkers, but something about seeing him so dapper, so much more.. mature brought out a warm feeling in my stomach, one that made me shift in my seat as I tried to rid myself of thoughts of grabbing him by his tie, placing a hand on his perfectly sculpted jawline, pulling him against me and- no! 

He. Is. Your. Colleague. Snap out of it! 

In lieu of my wandering thoughts, I’d realized I had actually heated up quite a few degrees and in an attempt to combat the sudden body heat, I shrugged off the shawl I’d been donning for most of the night. I felt the cool air hit my exposed shoulders and chest, and relaxed a bit, starting to feel my temperature lower. Right as I did so,  Spencer returned to his seat, holding two drinks. 

I turn towards him, still seated. He’s sitting in his seat, facing towards me as well, and I instinctively reach over to grab the drink in his hand, expecting him to meet me halfway and transfer the cup to me.  But instead of the expected interaction, he seems a bit dazed, an intense expression on his face as he bored his eyes into me, studying me almost. It’s an expression that causes me to raise my eyebrows at him. 

“Spencer?” I say. “Hello?” I wave my hand a bit, trying to break him from his trance. “The drinks?” I add, and that’s what seems to break him out of his preoccupied stupor. He blinks a bit before shaking his head.

“Sorry. Sorry. I spaced out there for a moment.” He says, hastily handing me my glass and turning away completely from me, taking a sip out of his. I can notice a small tremor in his hand as he sets down the liquid on the table, and I’m a bit concerned. He was just fine a moment ago. Did someone say something whilst he was at the bar? Did he choose to ponder some life-changing information as he took his seat at the table? Was he losing it for no reason at all? 

Regardless of what it was, I didn’t have the time to contemplate it further or question him about it because the dealer was beginning to shuffle the deck of cards again. 

As the next game started, there was something fundamentally different about Spencer. He looked  almost panicked, even going as far as to loosen his tie as he played. I thought I’d maybe imagined the changes, until finally, I got a real indicator that something was off. For the first time that whole night- he lost. 

My mouth was agape as the dealer announced the house win, and as I looked between him and the table, he didn’t seem all that fazed, simply shrugging as he attempted to get up. Before he could slip away, I grabbed his arm and brought him a bit closer to me, so that I could speak to him over the sounds of the bustling party around us.

“Spencer- wait. Is something wrong?” I ask, the genuine concern in my tone apparent to anyone who might’ve walked by. 

“Yeah, no. Um. Why wouldn’t it be?” He says, his eyes everywhere except me. It was almost comical. The ceiling tiles couldn’t be that interesting. 

I grip his arm a little harder, urging him to look at me, to talk to me. “You lost! That hasn’t happened all night! Was someone- did something happen? Are you feeling okay?” I ask, my eyes trying to meet his. 

He gulps, finally looking at me. “Statistically, card counting can’t actually work every time so I was bound to lose at some point right?” He says, a little shakily, and despite his words making logical sense, the notion that something was wrong didn’t leave me. 

“You promise?” I say, looking at him as intensely as I possibly could to ensure he wouldn’t try to evade giving me an honest answer. 

He gives his signature, flat smile, nodding. “I’ll be fine. Look. I’m gonna go play some other games. Maybe rack up my luck somewhere else.” 

I lick my lips and finally let go of his arm, nodding. “Have fun.” I say, and he gives me a little wave. 

“You too.” 

For the next hour or so, I found myself dabbling at the other assortment of games offered by the Bureau that night, until yet again, my path crossed with Spencer, who seemed to be on a pretty hefty winning streak- if the stack of chips he’d accumulated wasn’t a clear sign of that already. 

I stood by the table, slightly out of his view,  a little amazed by the way his eyes followed the deck and everyone’s movements so precisely. The level of focus required to do what he was was absolutely no joke, and I couldn’t help but admire in silent awe at the exactness of the whole process. It only made him that much more attractive in that moment, if that was even possible. 

“Royal flush.” He announces, fanning his cards as everyone at the table groans. It’s only then when his gaze meets mine, watching him, and I can observe the signs of a tell-tale blush creeping up his neck. Odd.

“(Y/N)! Hello.” He says, quickly. “Still liking the party?” 

“I am, thank you.” I say, my eyebrows slightly furrowing at how oddly he’s behaving. “Mind if I join the next round?” I ask, already starting to take my seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He says, clearing his throat and turning his entire body away from me. Spencer and I usually got along just fine. There was nothing ever particularly sour about our relationship, and I’d like to think that in the time I’d spent at the Bureau, our shared experiences had brought us closer. However, the way he was acting as of right now, like we were strangers or mere acquaintances threw me off beyond belief. 

It was official, something was off.

I leaned over a little closer, trying to get him to look at me.

“Spencer, I know I’ve already asked but is anything-“ I start, and I can see him glance over, and then almost rapidly turn his gaze away.

“No! Nothing’s wrong. Let’s play.” He rushes out, his words teetering on almost being high pitched. 

It didn’t evade me however, in that short microsecond he took to look at me, his gaze dropped partially down. I internally followed his line of sight to realize that my breasts were practically spilling from my dress. I knew that it was a bit showy, but didn’t think much of it when I’d chosen to wear it for this occasion. The event was black-tie, and so I’d fished out a number I’d haphazardly bought during an online shopping spree. It was black and sparkly, but the main caveat of the dress was the gorgeous bodice in the front, managing to give a good show of cleavage whilst pushing up my breasts and making them all that more appealing to anyone who noticed.  I began to connect the events of the night, realizing that someone clearly had noticed.

Spencer’s losing streak had coincidentally begun once I’d lost the shawl that was once covering my chest. 

An idea slowly entered my head. An experiment, if you will. As we started another game, I barely paid attention as my fingers slid over to what looked like a glass of water on Spencer’s side. 

“Spence?” I murmur, tapping his shoulder.

“Mm?” He asks, not even taking a moment to look away from his cards. 

“Mind if I take a sip from your water?” I ask, keeping my voice saccharine and innocent.

I can see the look he shoots me, his eyes slightly narrowed in surprise but he quickly looks away. “Yeah, um. Sure. Go ahead.” He responds dismissively, as if talking to me for even a second longer would result in him breaking out in hives. 

 Totally out of character. For all the closeness in the world, Spencer Reid would never have shared a glass of water. 

As I began to sip the water, I did something that could be categorized as deeply stupid, but in the name of my experiment, it was absolutely necessary. I slightly tipped the glass, allowing the cool water to run down my neck and drip onto the swell of my breasts. I made a show of getting up, touching my chest to try and rid myself of the moisture that was now coating my breasts. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’ll get you another glass of water.” I say,letting my breasts bounce a bit as I stand up,  and when he looks at me, it’s more apparent than ever that his eyes aren’t gracing mine anytime soon. Not when I was like this. 

I grinned in secret as I turned around,  quickly bringing over a replacement glass to him, leaning over so that if he were to simply turn his head even slightly to his left, he’d get a direct look at what he simply couldn’t seem to take his eyes or mind off tonight. 

“Uh. Thanks.” He stammers again, shakily drinking the water as he miserably failed at not looking. Bingo. 

When the next round of our game commenced, he lost horrifically, as expected. His mind was in an entirely different dimension, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride, knowing it was me who’d rendered him dumb. So unfocused. So unlike himself. It wasn’t until I felt a tap on my shoulder, noticing Spencer’s hand carrying out the action. 

“Walk with me.” He says, simply. His tone was so sharp and commanding, I found myself listening with no hesitation, following as we moved to a more secluded bit of the party. 

“What are you doing?” He asks in an accusatory tone, his voice a hushed whisper. 

“What do you mean?” I respond, a faux naivete in my words, which he only scoffed at. He leaned in closer, his brows furrowed. I could notice a small vein popping out from his forehead, and the sight only increased the ache I’d begun to feel in my panties since he’d directed me here. 

“You know what I mean.” He says, dangerously. “You’re flaunting yourself.” He adds, his jaw tight. “You know what it’s doing to me. You’re enjoying it.” I could tell he wanted to say so much more, the grit in his tone leading me to believe there were some much cruder words he wished to utter to me.

 Regardless, the authority in his tone only spurred me to try and resist. It was so hot watching him like this. Maybe a bit fucked up to say that, but it didn’t matter in that moment. I only wanted to test the limits. To see the new man I could bring out in Spencer Reid tonight. 

“So what if I am?” I say, biting my lip. “It’s a party, Spencer. We’re all having fun, aren’t we?” 

“No.” He responds, darkly. “I’m not having fun.” 

A proposal came to mind. One I knew that would pan out deliciously, since I’d now gotten a look into his extensive lust tonight, and just how desperate he seemed. I leaned forward to whisper to him, my lips teasing the outer shell of his ear. 

“Win another game, and I’ll show you just how much fun you could be having.”

He immediately pulls back. His eyes narrow, and I can see the weight of my words course through his mind, evaluating the odds of my statement before clicking his tongue. 

“See you in 30 minutes.” is his response, as he walks away, beckoning me to follow him to yet another Blackjack table. I grin, sitting beside him. 

My presence doesn’t seem to phase Spencer whatsoever this time around, his laser-point focus uninterrupted even as I stared shamelessly at him. It wasn't until the game seemed to be reaching its turning point, in which Spencer had to decide whether drawing or staying would bring forth a better outcome for him. I watched as he mulled over the decision for a few seconds before his eyes locked onto mine, gaze intense. 

“Draw.” He voices, not even paying mind as the dealer announced his win. 

Spencer gets up without a word, and I can see him head towards a hallway that houses a few restrooms in the building. 

“Sir- your winnings!” The dealer calls out, but I smile apologetically, starting to follow Spencer to a more secluded area of the party.

“Sorry. He’s probably a bit preoccupied. I’ll let him know!” I respond, already turning around and making my way to the same hallway Spencer had gone down, finding the bathroom and opening it. I knew Spencer would be there, but what I didn’t expect was to be pulled into his arms, greeted by Spencer’s lips insistently pressing against mine, his free hand clutching the back of my head, as his other hand went to click the lock into place. I responded with a momentary bout of shock, but quickly found myself melting into his touch, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“You like watching me lose, is that it?” He whispers harshly, in between kisses. I can feel the anger, the lust and passion, all rolling into one as his lips meet mine, over and over again, creating the sweetest of sensations that wracked my whole body. 

“Mm. Not just you losing. You losing because you’re distracted. Because of me.” I say, my tone a bit dazed and breathy from the intensity he was putting me through. 

“Can you blame me?” He murmurs, his lips now trailing down my neck, paying close mind to a particular spot on the side that left my knees weak. “You wear this dress and expect me to not take my eyes off of you?” 

His hot breath grazes over my skin and I can feel myself shiver. I’m completely overwhelmed by him. The feel of his hands caressing the small of my back and waist, his smell of his cologne wafting around me. I can only breathe unsteadily, and hold onto him, a needy whimper slipping past my lips. 

“Shh. You’re okay. I got you.” He murmurs. His tone was sweet, soothing, but his actions were anything but, as his fingers slipped around to find the zipper on my dress. 

In an instant, his mouth was finally all over my breasts, his mouth leaving a few marks on the expanse of my chest before his tongue began to sweep over my nipples, swirling around the raised bud, leaving me grappling to his shoulders, as more moans poured out from within me. 

“You like that?” He breathes against my skin, and I nod, frantically. I’d never expected to go this weak, but he was so much more skilled with his mouth than I’d ever expected.

“Please. Keep going.” I moan, and I can feel his hands on my thighs, urging me into his arms. I comply, and can feel myself be lifted to the bathroom counter, his hands squeezing the fat of my hips before dropping to his knees. His fingers looped around my underwear, and I attempted to move in a way that would aid him in their removal. As soon as they were off, he stuffed them into his pocket, and moved to lift my dress up, his face disappearing into my now spread legs. 

And suddenly he was everywhere, tongue swiping over my clit in rapid motions, flicking against me in a way that had me immediately squeezing my thighs around his face, to which Spencer responded by pushing them apart, leaving me shaking. 

“Oh god, Spencer. Oh-” I moan, over and over again, my hand gripping onto the strands of his hair. My eyes squeeze shut as I feel my orgasm rapidly approaching, my legs trembling more than ever. 

“Spencer- I’m gonna-” I groan out, my grip tightening, and I look down, watching him devour me with so much precision and focus, the same I’d seen during his playing all night. I watched as his eyes met mine, his lips sucking around my clit and in a fit of moans, I found myself releasing all over his tongue, my body shuddering as he worked me through my orgasm, moaning against my core. 

He rose from his knees and planted a long, deep kiss on my lips, and I moaned as I tasted myself on him. My hands started to go for his belt, desperate to feel this man inside me. As soon as his cock was freed from the confines of his briefs, I guided him towards my entrance, gasping as I felt him push into me, immediately filling me up. I breathed in sharply from the pleasure of the sensation, my eyes screwing shut before opening them to see his eyes staring back at me. He gave me a moment to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort, but there was none, only the carnal desperation I felt for this man. I nodded to let him know I was ready,  and suddenly, like a man possessed, he began to jut his hips towards mine, causing me to whimper and dig my nails into his back. 

He moaned as he slammed into me, over and over again, while his mouth kissed at my neck, at my jaw, my lips, murmuring my praises over and over again. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans, my hips firmly gripped by his large hands, keeping me from slipping off the counter. “And that dress. Fuck. God, I want you.” 

I nod, too overwhelmed with pleasure to even speak, rather opting to moan his name and nod furiously. 

He kept one hand on my hip, while the other trailed down to where we were joined, and began to rub fast, hard circles over my already sensitive bud, the action causing me to gasp out and open my eyes, letting him know that my second release of the night was inevitable. 

“You wanna cum, pretty girl?” He mumbles, keeping his voice low and his fingers diligent on my clit. 

“Please,” I sob out, my voice breaking with just how much I needed this right now. How much I needed him. 

“Come for me.” He murmurs, and as if under a spell, I do, coming undone rapidly in his grasp, my head falling against his shoulder as he continues the movement of his hips until I feel him still, and then spill into me, his breath heavy and chest heaving. 

I pull back, my forehead meeting his as he stares at me in a bit of a trance, our breaths mingling as we both came down from what had just happened. 

“I think.. you should probably cover up.. after that.” He murmurs, grinning a bit at the wide array of marks he’d just left on my neck and chest, undeniably exposing us. 

“Right you are.” I giggle back, leaning in for another kiss.  This time sweeter, softer.

I was definitely wearing this dress again for him.

  hello!! oh my god!! it has been so long since i've posted a fic. finals are over! i am free! i promise we will be back to a more normal schedule now (can i do weekly fics? who knows. i'll try). as usual, thank you for any and all reblogs, likes and comments. it's been a long time since i've even thought about writing, so i hope this is up to everyone's standards. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins office party challenge. so, you know. look at the other fics there too! sorry for clearly not knowing anything about card games. also also, just a fun fact. i envisioned readers dress being meredith grey's prom dress from s2ep27.. hehe. okay, i've already talked enough. thank you thank you thank you for reading and supporting!!!

[trustmypoison]

Enhypen and their 'oh' moment

Requested? Yes! Request: ‘so happy you’re willing to write for other groups 💞 my request is enhypen members falling in love / realizing they’re falling in love’

Jungwon Like most group leaders, he carries a lot on his shoulders. He probably feels that he can’t share that responsibility with anyone else from time to time. Still, he finds himself opening up about his stresses one night and he lets you comfort him. He likes to be strong for everyone else and wants to appear unaffected, but he feels safe appearing affected in front of you because you’re so gentle about it. It’s when he’s got his head in your lap after he unloads all his worries that he has his little ‘oh’ moment.

Heesung He might come off as reserved and even a little bit cold at first (someone please prove me wrong though!!). You might even think he doesn’t like you very much because he’s perhaps not as outwardly expressive as others. But trust that he has a soft spot for you. He might not let some of the younger members get away with something, but you can right in front of him and he’ll never say a word. If one of the younger members throws a fit about this preferential treatment, he’ll blink a few times and think, ‘huh. That’s weird.’ Largely unaffected by this revelation though.

Jay I think he’d be one of those that knows pretty early on that he’s falling. Within the first few times he meets you, he recognizes what’s happening in slow motion, so there’s no big ‘oh’ moment. Just a series of little confirmations along the way that his assumption was correct. You do the slightest, most monotonous thing and he thinks. ‘Yep, I think I’m in love.’ It’s not this big, scary feeling like some of the other members might experience, but rather a comforting feeling to fall.

Jake Now he might be shocked. Say you aren’t even dating but you share some mutual friends. He sees you playing with Layla in the other room and one of his group members calls him out for his staring, and maybe even calls him ‘lovesick’. Totally flabbergasted because what do you mean?? It’s not like that?? His group members’ faces tell him everything he needs to know - which is that he’s a blind idiot (affectionate).

Sunghoon Ok, he realizes because he’s jealous. Regardless of whether you are dating or not, he’ll see someone get way too close to you, or hear someone talk about how they’re going to ask you out, and he’s panicking!! Cannot determine right away why he’s panicking because he’d like to think he’s not a very possessive person. But here we are. The ‘oh’ moment is when he realizes he perked up as soon as your attention was back on him. Might just confess in a roundabout way right then, like, “don’t pay attention to anyone else, okay? Only me!” A big baby.

Sunoo lol he says he hates annoying things. Then lets you annoy him continuously. Doesn’t say a word when you poke his cheek or boop his nose. Doesn’t complain when you keep him up with your yapping in the middle of the night. Doesn’t think the first thing of bailing on any other plans because you’re bored. This will be a super slow realization, but when it finally does hit him, it’s because HE said he missed you and you laugh and say, “but we’re constantly together!” ‘Oh’ indeed.

Niki To no one’s surprise, Niki has maknae privileges and totally milks it for all it’s worth. He’s totally fine with being babied by his members. He’s used to being protected, but feels rather protective of you. Might even speak up to his hyungs if they mess with you too much, to which they’ll tease him about. Thing is, he might start swinging on them if they don’t stop!! The thought that it’s anymore than friends doesn’t compute for him until it’s spelled out for him by one of his group members, probably in a sarcastic way - like, “Fine, fine, we’ll stop messing with your girl.” Never occurred to him that you could be his until that moment.

[arminsumi]

♡ 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : you and Suguru were too confused to realize that you liked each other back then, and now look at you two; short-lived romances litter your lives and drunk confessions dissolve the next day. It's all a mess. Add to that the fact that Suguru broke you and Satoru up behind the scenes; it's a drama written by the number one drama queens; Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : fem reader / Geto Suguru / Gojo Satoru / college au

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : 🔞 Minors do not interact / 18+ / smut, plot, angst, miscommunication, mutual pining, breakups, Drama (with a capital D), alcohol/drunkenness, drunk s*x, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i found a drunk!suguru confession post in my drafts and rolled with it 🙈

playing it off. playing it cool. he's suguru geto. everyone likes him and he likes pretending like he's oblivious to that, but it makes his ego swell.

you think; oh every girl in my friend group likes him so why should i bother? he's going to overlook me. he's overlooking me right now.

he thinks; oh she's not into me. she must think she's too pretty for me. if i try to lure her in will she think i'm showing off? fuck it i don't care i'm showing off to her.

you think; oh he's a show-off but he does it so well. why do i have to like the ones who don't like me back?

he thinks; oh is she playing blind? or did she not see me at all. what do i have to do? make her jealous?

you think; oh he's got a girlfriend now? of course he does. yeah, of course he does... i feel sick.

he thinks; why is she looking at me so bitterly? am i fucking things up? maybe she used to like me back then.

you think; if he's dating someone, then i'm dating someone, too. i can't be alone and without him. this was manageable when he was single, not now.

*****

suguru geto comes up to you in the corridor with a confrontational tone of voice;

"why the fuck are you sleeping with my best friend?"

and he thinks you have some audacity to just shrug in response. he presses, but you avoid answering until he locks in on you in the corner of a classroom now, moving out of the corridor for some privacy. yes, much needed privacy.

"i'm gonna ask you again, nicely—"

"it's not really your business. i mean, i don't pry into your life, do i?"

your reply slaps him across the face and he just stays silent, then storms off.

*****

gojo satoru broke up with you a week after dating. figures. he was a playboy after all, and you knew it, so why are you crying?

"really, get it together. there is more to life than this nonsense. come on, get yourself out there again. buy yourself an expensive red dress. get your nails and hair and makeup done. and go strutting like the world is yours."

"... thanks mom." you reply in a sarcastic gurgle, eyes crusty from crying.

shoko is rubbing your feet, you're watching a soapie together because she claims it makes her feel better after dreadfully long shifts at the hospital.

"you know, i warned you about satoru, didn't i?"

"... yes, you did." you hang your head.

"why'd you chase after satoru then?" shoko asked seriously.

"dick."

"... be serious."

"... i really like suguru."

"oh. well. the plot thickens." shoko looks at the tv, then at you. "trying to go the roundabout way to meet him?"

"yeah. he's got a girl now, you know."

"... are you sure?" shoko looks at you suspiciously, "it sounds like you haven't stalked his socials in a hot minute..."

"what, why?" you perk your ears up like a bunny.

"uh, 'cause like... his "girl" just deleted all the pictures of him and her together and he did the same. sooo..."

*****

you do buy yourself a good, wine-red dress and although you selected it purely because you daydreamed of suguru geto romantically lifting it off of you, that never happened that night because everything went wrong and ended in a drunk mess.

avoiding satoru was not easy when you looked so good and he was so horny and lonely, so you let him heatedly mark you up with his lips in the bathroom and put his hands all over you. the way he squeezed and massaged your body made you think for a split second that he really did like you. and the way he kissed you? he kissed you like a romantic — yeah, horny. of course horny. but a romantic over that.

"... why do you look so good tonight..." he said, as if it was unfair.

"uh-huh." you reply. "that's thirty minutes up, playboy."

"daaamn i'm not a playboy, stop calling me that." satoru groaned, and like a sexy playboy.

"you sound like one every time you open your mouth."

"then silence me." he replied with a wink.

"... i'm going to go find shoko."

he made a whiny noise.

"but—"

"—no, satoru."

"okay."

satoru looked like he was holding back a lot, but you couldn't understand what he was holding back. did he just want sex? was that it? no, not with that look in his eyes. he didn't look at you like a wolf, he looked at you like the breakup was a robbery for him, and you were stolen.

stolen by who? who knows. i don't know. do you know? hm. maybe you can guess.

*****

i hate drinking, suguru thinks as he stumbles around the party bleary-eyed and swaying, leaning, into any wall that could care to hug him right now.

i hate it here, too.

he looks disgustedly at everyone, then goes into the quiet backyard where there's no life but the crickets in the grass.

why can't she like me as much as i like her?

he's mean and drunk. he's hurt.

that's why when the two of you encounter each other, an argument froths up.

"damn what's your problem tonight?" you asked after he made some passive aggressive comment.

"you."

"me? the fuck did i do?" you look at him.

"you ruined my life..." he slurs romantically.

"... what?"

he kisses you so softly. you tense up, far too confused to enjoy it even though his kiss is something you've wanted for a while now.

when he pulls back and sees your facial expression, he feels guilty.

did they lie? it seems like i'm not as good of a kisser as they said.

"... i love you." he says against your face.

"you're drunk."

"no, i'm in love." he says drunkenly.

"let's get you sober..."

"i mean it!"

"then say it when you're sober. i think you think you love me right now, but tomorrow you won't make eye contact with me. in fact, i know you'll pretend this never happened."

he sniffles, starting to cry.

"shit, don't cry. i don't know what to do if you cry."

"... just hold me... i'm cold." he says.

it's summer, but i'm cold and lonely and in need a warm touch.

you hold him.

for a while, he just stays there with his head on your upper chest. his nose gets stuffy as he keeps crying. unable to tell whether it's the alcohol or you that's making him cry right now.

"can i come home with you?" he asks.

and he asks it in such a soft, pathetic voice that you can't say no.

"alright. but no funny business..."

"yeah, of course."

i'm too drunk and sad, even if you'd want that i couldn't.

so you take the train home with him at 2 AM. the train handles sway overhead. there's a lot of empty seats. the lighting is stark. you're cuddled together like awkward lovers after an argument. suguru almost falls asleep from your body warmth.

*****

you herd a drunk suguru into your bedroom and turn the lights on.

"lay down." you tell him. "i'll get you water."

"i love you."

"okay." you reply flippantly, but his words struck you and they'd settle in your mind for days to come.

"just 'okay'?" he lifts his head sadly from the pillow.

"i don't know what to do with your "i love you". it's just too much right now. you've given me mixed signals for months and now you hit me with this?" you shake your head at him.

he pouts to himself, still incredibly drunk. all he can really hear and feel and need is you.

"... cuddles?" he asks.

"okay..."

so you lay with him and he's so overjoyed he blatantly smiles about it, soaking up your warmth and the softness of the bed. your bed. he's in your bed, cuddling you, just like he knew he would one day. even if it's under a strange circumstance. even if everything was confusing and messed up, in your bed everything made sense.

but you're laying there wondering, is he going to pretend this never happened once he's sober tomorrow? is he going to pretend the two of you didn't lay together, talking about your lives in hushed voices, sharing childhood memories with laughter — is all of this going to dissolve the next day just like the alcohol dissolves from him?

you don't know.

suguru's needy squeezing and soft breathing in your ear make you feel loved, even if it's just drunken love. and somewhere in the cave of his mind, he's hoping that by the morning his courage won't have evaporated and he won't become a coward and damn just love you.

"kiss me." he mumbles against your cheek.

"what, right now?"

"of course right now."

you don't know where his sudden need to kiss came from, but you sympathize with the drunkard — they need a kiss to warm up and feel alright. but you also shake, just a little, because this is what you want, too.

one kiss doesn't satisfy him, he gets greedy. and greedier after each kiss, until his tongue is slithering into your mouth and he's leaning on you with his weight, pressing a boner into your lower half.

"suguru... don't. you're gonna regret it in the morning, probably."

"... how could i regret you?"

the shift in his voice told you that some of the alcohol had worn off, albeit not too much.

his fingertips press into your skin and it sends him to heaven. you're sighing under his touch, trying to practice self-restraint, because this drama keeps getting more dramatic and you didn't want to contribute to it more by fucking with the best friend of the guy you dated — er, whom you dated to get back at said guy for dating someone else.

suguru kisses your neck tenderly, and that's when you snap and give in completely.

"... i want you."

"then have me."

******

a shuddery moan escapes suguru when he slides inside you. he spreads your legs a little wider, snuggling his waist between them like he's found his home.

"kinda romantic, aren't you?" you tease. "i could practically see your pupils dilating there."

he hums at the sensation of your wet walls gripping him.

"yeah, romantic — i'm sure you noticed that about satoru, too, huh?"

"someone's jealous..."

he bottoms out in you so slowly that it's easier to take. he's not unbearably big, not unbearably thick, just perfectly filling you.

"... of course i'm jealous, why'd you think i told him to break up with you."

"huh?"

you don't have time to question this crazy revelation because he's driving into you back and forth hard all of a sudden, knocking you into a near-orgasm with how perfectly he angles into your g-spot.

"fuck, baby!" he whines into your shoulder, "you feel so good!"

"s-suguru..."

"yeah, say my name." he commands breathlessly, "say it over and over until i cum."

he sounds nearly pathetic, like he hasn't pleasured his cock in forever. he's nearly drooling. just going crazy for you but at the same time trying to maintain his cool "i'm geto suguru" — which slips completely when he cums prematurely.

"i love you, oh my god i love you so fucking much, will you have my baby?"

"y—y–yeah! i'll — fuck! — i'll have your baby, suguru!" you reply.

"oh, good girl." he moans, "get pregnant for me."

he's so whipped by your reply that even though his cock is overstimulated and sensitive from cumming, he still drives into you until you reach your orgasm. he even snuggles his fingers into your clit and rubs it frantically, practically forcing your orgasm to arrive. he just loves to see it wrack your body and make you curl in.

"fuck... you're so beautiful." he says as he watches you cum all over his cock.

"s—suguru!" you pant, totally incoherent for a few seconds because of how strong your orgasm came over you.

he's slowly sliding his softening cock in and out, until he slides it out your stretched-out hole and you can hear him slide out — practically hear how thick his cum is as it dribbles out of you.

"creampies are pretty romantic, huh?" he jokes, smirking down at you as you pant.

"... you're crazy."

"i'm crazy for you."

"... me too."

he cuddles you for the rest of the night as if that's all he ever needed to hear. and what consequences would come for fucking you when he knew satoru genuinely likes you?

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Summary: A baby shower has you reuniting with Eddie (and Harris). Unbeknownst to Eddie, it's right when he'll need you most--but is he ready to forgive?

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, small allusion to sex, mentions of Grandma Sweetheart's death, mentions of learning disability

WC: 7.4k

Chapter 11/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Mid-January in Hawkins is cold, with temperatures in the mid-30s, but a bundled-up Harris Munson is unfazed. Eddie happily watches as his son practically flies across the empty playground and heads straight for the swingset. In the warmer weather, it’s a coveted spot amongst the kids and usually ends in a battle, but the chill in the air means that Harris doesn’t have to fight for a turn. 

“Daddy! Uncle Jeff!” he calls out, voice muffled by the blue scarf securely wrapped around the lower half of his face, “come push me!”

Jeff laughs with a shake of his head as he and Eddie trudge across the frost-covered grass. “You heard the man.”

“Ready to have a little gremlin of your own?” Eddie teases, hoisting Harris onto the swing, making sure his bottom is squared on the rubber surface. He catches a glimpse of the baby swing to his right, and his heart pangs at the memory of Harris being tiny enough to fit in there. “Lemme tell ya, it goes by quick. The days are long but the years are short.”

Jeff just gives a little nod, and Eddie can tell that he doesn’t quite believe him. “I’m serious, man. And all that stuff they say about not knowing what love is until you have kids? Man, I thought that was the biggest crock of shit. Like, of course I know what love is! I love my music, my uncle, even you guys,” he adds with a gleam in his eyes, referring to his former bandmates. “And then Harris was born, and I was like, ‘holy shit, this is what it means to love someone.’” He positions himself behind the swing, giving Harris another big push before stepping aside to let Jeff have a turn. 

Jeff looks at him incredulously. Eddie Munson is no stranger to a good rant, but never one this vulnerable. He’s speechless for a moment before clearing his throat. “Th-Thanks, Ed,” he manages, offering the white paper bag he’d picked up on the way to the playground. “Y’still like peanut butter creme donuts, right?”

“Hell yes!” Eddie cheers, pumping his fist in excitement. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the chocolate frosted confection, taking a huge bite triumphantly. “‘M tellin’ ya: Em and Abi’s Gourmet Donuts is the best thing about this town,” he exclaims with a mouthful of peanutty filling. 

“Really?” Jeff chuckles, taking a honeycomb donut from the bag. “Better than a certain preschool teacher you may or may not be infatuated with?”

A blush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks, and he hopes he can pass it off as a reaction to the winter winds. “Not in front of…” he trails off, jerking his head in the direction of his son. 

“Got it, got it,” Jeff smoothly agrees, but he still presses the topic in a roundabout way. “But, uh, any luck with that?”

“Nope,” Eddie cuts him off. “I’ve just been giving her space like you said, but she hasn’t reached out or asked about tutoring again.” He shrugs as though it doesn’t bother him, but both he and Jeff know that that can’t be further from the truth. 

Jeff gives Harris a big push, smiling when he hears the boy’s giggle. “You haven’t called or anything?” he asks. 

“Once, after I saw her during drop-off.” Eddie admits, twisting the ring on his pinky finger. “Left a message but she never called back.”

He plays it back in his head, a constant loop that he’d practically memorized before relaying it to your answering machine. As much as he wanted to resolve everything sooner rather than later, he was embarrassingly relieved when he’d heard your outgoing message. Still, the sweetness of your recorded voice was honeyed tea on a dreary day, and he didn’t anticipate his breath to hitch when it played. 

“H-Hey, Sweetheart. Shit, can I call you that? Um, anyway, give me a call when you can. I think we should talk.”

The two men take turns pushing Harris and chasing him around the playground. At one point, Harris makes his way to the pole, painted school bus yellow. He reaches out with two chubby hands, but his feet stay grounded on the platform. “‘M scared,” he whimpers, still clinging to the pole. 

“You got this, Mini Munson!” Jeff cheers, frowning when Harris remains in place. “Tell ya what: if you slide down the pole, I’ll make your dad do it, too.” He grins mischievously, and Eddie would discreetly flip him the bird if he didn’t have a better alternative. 

“Yeah, bud, and then Uncle Jeff will go after me.” He mouths a silent ha at his friend, but neither seem to mind. 

And after a few seconds of deliberation, Harris flings his body forward and slowly makes his way down, hands squeaking along the metal.

“I did it!” he announces triumphantly, turning to Eddie. “Your turn, Daddy!”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, but a smile dances on his lips. He darts up the jungle gym steps and hangs onto the pole. He could simply put his feet down and touch the ground, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he lets out a high-pitched, “wheeeee!” as Harris cackles loudly. 

He claps Jeff on the back once his shoes touch the rubber turf. “You’re up, big boy.”

Jeff follows suit, mimicking Eddie and making Harris laugh even harder. 

“Uncle Jeff, you’re so silly!” he exclaims, using hands and feet to clamber back up to the top and slide down the pole; this time, there’s no hesitation. 

Harris repeats the routine again and again until Eddie catches a glimpse of the digital watch around his wrist. “We gotta leave in five minutes, Har Bear,” he reports matter-of-factly, hoping his lack of emotion will ward off any impending tantrums. 

Harris’s lower lip juts out as his pupils dart back and forth between Eddie and Jeff. “Aw, why?”

Eddie crouches down to match his son’s height, pressing palms to his knees for stability. “We’re gonna help Uncle Jeff pack up the presents from the baby shower, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pauses, pursing his lips in concentration. “How did the baby get in Auntie Viv’s tummy?”

Jeff’s eyes widen at the question, and he glances at Eddie, silently willing him to say something. Eddie clears his throat, wracking his brain for a response that will placate his son’s curiosity without giving away too much information. “Um, well,” he begins, biting the inside of his cheek to buy himself more time before settling on: “when a man and a woman love each other, that love can make a baby.”

Fortunately, Harris seems satisfied with that answer, and Jeff hands him a chocolate donut to distract him from asking anything else. The boy plunks down in the grass a few paces ahead of them and takes a big bite.

“How is it?” Jeff calls to him, chuckling when Harris responds with a chocolate crumb-covered thumbs up and turns his attention back to the dessert. “Nice save,” he says to Eddie, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “But what are you gonna say when he asks about his mom?”

“Jesus H; he’s gonna have to give me a few years to come up with an answer for that one.”

Despite every cell in your body urging you to stay away, you’re back in Hawkins. More specifically, you’re in Viv and Jess’s parents’ house, cleaning up after an overall successful baby shower. You’re spooning the leftover food into Tupperware while Jess washes dishes and her girlfriend, Robin, dries and puts them in their respective cabinets.

You’d returned to Grandma’s apartment last night after Jess begged you to come to the shower, lamenting that the party was going to be all of her sister’s lame friends and she needed someone actually fun to hang out with her and Robin. Her insistence, coupled with your desire to finish out the remainder of the school year, is why you’d tossed your suitcases into your sedan and made the trek. Yup, those were the only reasons; certainly nothing to do with–

“Have you talked to Eddie since you got back?”

His name alone brings a surge of emotions, none of which you have the energy to identify. “No,” you mumble, a heat blooming in your cheeks, “he left a message a week ago saying ‘we should talk,’ but I didn’t return it.”

Jess snaps off the faucet, hands still dripping with soapy water as she places them on her hips with an exasperated sigh. “What? Why not?”

“Because.” You try to leave it at that, but her defiant glare obligates you to elaborate. “Because I’m embarrassed!” you admit to Jess and Robin–and to yourself. “The guy practically chased me down the night we met, and now that he got to know me, he doesn’t want to sleep with me? Is my personality that much of a turn-off?” You snap the lid on a plastic container, desperate to end the conversation with your rhetorical question, but your friend keeps going.

“Look, I don’t know him that well–only what I’ve heard from you and Jeff–but he seems to really care about you. Jeff says he hasn’t seen Eddie down this bad, like, ever.” She lowers her voice. “Apparently, some old hookup was coming onto him, and he turned her down because he's, quote, involved with someone.” She raises her eyebrows inquisitively, though you both know that the someone in question is you.

“Wait, hold on–Eddie Munson?” Robin breaks in, nearly dropping the serving spoon in her hand when she makes the connection. “Metalhead, senior year three-peat, alleged Satan-worshiper Eddie Munson?”

“Well, the jury’s out on whether I worship Satan or I actually am Satan, but, yep, that’s me.” The familiar voice from the kitchen doorway startles the three of you; this time, Robin does let the oversized utensil fall to the floor with a clang. 

Nerves send your heartbeat into a frenzy, and you have to rest your open palm on the countertop to steady yourself. Eddie stands before you, tip of his nose tinged red from the cold, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Wh-What are you doing here?” You whisper the words, but you might as well be shouting with the level of anxiety steadily rising in your chest.

Eddie rocks back and forth from the soles of his feet to his toes. “Jeff asked us to help him load the gifts into the car.”

“Us?”

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris flings himself into your embrace, and as soon as you stoop down to reciprocate his hug, he’s wrapping his arms and legs around your torso. “I miss you! When are we gonna do the alphabet and eat pizza again?”

Eddie looks over at Jeff; you hadn’t even noticed the other man behind him until Eddie’s gaze drifted over. You watch as the two men exchange a knowing glance, and Jeff quickly speaks up. “Hey, Har,” he motions the boy over to him, “why don’t you use your super strong arms to bring stuff out to the car? I bet you have bigger muscles than me.”

Harris begrudgingly lets go of you, sliding to the floor and dragging his feet to Jeff. He heaves a dramatic sigh and grumbles, “fiiiiiine,” and you and Eddie have to hold back your laughter at his theatrics.

“He is definitely my kid,” Eddie says once Harris has left the room and is out of earshot. He walks closer to you as you turn back to packing up the food. “You, um, never called me back,” he murmurs, placing one hand on either side of you, his chest almost touching your back. Robin and Jess creep out of the kitchen as quietly as possible, leaving you and Eddie alone.

You clear your throat and swallow your fear. “I didn’t have anything to say.” That’s a lie; there was so much you wanted to confide in him, but the thought of him rejecting you again, or getting another glimpse of the hurt you caused reflected in his deep brown eyes, kept you from returning his call.

“Well, I did.” His tone is calm but firm. “I just need to know one thing, and then I swear I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” He pauses, gathering up his own courage before speaking again. “That day…why did you ask me to sleep with you?” 

“I told you,” you say, desperately trying to keep your voice from wobbling, “because I needed to feel something.”

Eddie shakes his head, stepping back and crossing his leather jacket-clad arms over his chest. “No, but why did you ask me? Why didn’t you go to the Hideout and pick up some random dude?” His volume starts to rise, and he clenches his fist and drags it back down as if reminding himself to be quieter. “Was it, like, a convenience thing, or did you really think I’d be okay having sex with you while you were so upset?”

Your heart pangs at his question. It had never even occurred to you that he’d perceive it that way. Were you being selfish? Taking what you felt you needed? Admittedly, yes. But were you asking Eddie specifically because he happened to be there? Absolutely not. “No, Eddie,” you say, forcing yourself to face him, “it’s because…because I knew you’d take care of me. If I wanted to stop or slow down, I knew you’d listen. I trust you.” Speaking the truth aloud is like letting the air out of an overfilled balloon on the cusp of popping. Both you and Eddie visibly relax, easing a tension you hadn’t realized he was also holding. 

The room is quiet for a moment. Eddie’s knee softly bumps against your thigh as he wills himself to close the gap he’d created. “You said something in your message about it never being meaningless. Not even the night we…we met.”

The reminder of your confession floods you with humiliation. You—unsuccessfully—threw yourself at him for sex and then left a message saying that you’ve been clinging to the hope of a relationship since your alcohol-laden first hook-up. How humiliating. 

“I’m sorry if that was weird, but I told Jess that I’ve never been good at one-night stands. I always get too attached.” And it doesn’t help when I have to see the guy and his adorable son twice a day, you think wryly, but you store that anecdote inside. 

Eddie shakes his head, lacing his ringed fingers with your bare ones. The pad of his thumb brushes against the knuckle of yours, both comforting you and zapping electricity through your body. “No, ‘s not weird,” he reassures you, giving your hands a squeeze. “I felt the same way, even if I didn’t realize it. I think that’s why I asked you to stay, why I held you…I’ve never done that before.” He’s sheepish but not ashamed; if he’s being honest, he’s pretty damn proud of himself for admitting it aloud. 

You tilt your chin up knowingly. “Yeah, I heard you shut down a sure thing because of your involvement with someone.”

Your emphasis of that one word has Eddie dropping his head, letting go of one of your hands and covering his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Damn, word spreads around here like it’s the five o’clock news. But, uh, yeah, I did. Turn her down.” His tongue darts out to coat his dry lips. “Not that it’s any of my business, but did you, um, see anyone over the holidays?” 

“Nope.” You shake your head, bracing yourself for what you’re about to tell him. Even though he’s the one holding you, allowing your bodies to intertwine, it’s nerve-wracking to be so vulnerable. You forge ahead, allowing the words to tumble out of your mouth. “I…I only want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s breath gets caught in his throat. Want want want. Present tense, not past. “Want, like, present tense? Like you still feel that way?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t reek of desperation for a millisecond before realizing that he doesn’t care, as long as you still want him.

“Is that okay?” Your voice is small, an almost comic contrast from the bravado you used during your last in-person encounter. 

“It’s more than okay, Sweetheart.” Eddie’s whisper matches yours. His thumb ghosts over the plush of your lips as his hand slips to your cheek, bringing his remaining four fingers behind your ears and to the nape of your neck. He leans in, drawing you closer with his tantalizing smoky scent and raw desire. One step in, noses nudging together–

“Daddy, look at me!”

Eddie whips his head around at the sound of Harris’s voice, nearly crashing against yours, and you stumble backwards into the counter, wincing as you make contact with the linoleum. You bite back the string of swear words on your tongue, both at the pain and the missed kiss.

Jeff is panting as he chases after him, bending forward at the waist and resting his palms on his thighs. “I tried to keep him entertained, but I was not prepared for this level of energy,” he huffs, chest rising and falling with each heaving breath. His eyes dart between you and Eddie, easily picking up on the guilty looks on your faces. He mouths “sorry” and shrugs, but the moment is already over.

Harris, oblivious to the burgeoning tension in the room, tugs on his dad’s sleeve in a demand for attention. “Daddy, wanna see me lift stuff?” He jumps up and down as he asks, making his words vibrate. “Uncle Jeff says I’m the strongest kid in the world!” He opens his arms the entire length of his wingspan to emphasize his point.

“Uh, y-yeah; sure, bud.” Eddie stammers. He looks over at you and you follow his lead, watching as Harris lifts a box of diapers with a dramatic grunt. When Eddie is sure that his son has fully turned around, he grabs your hand once more and gives it a little squeeze. “We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, and it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Ms. Sweetheart, you watch, too!” Harris insists; so you do, trailing after him all the way to Jeff’s car. Unable to see over the box, he walks it right into the back bumper, and Eddie has to step in and help him.

Once the diapers have been tetris'd into the trunk, Jeff closes the door and slaps it for good measure. “Well, I think that’s everything. Thanks again, Munson…Mini Munson.” He ruffles Harris’s mop of curls with a grin.

Eddie holds out his hand, pulling Jeff in for a hug when he takes it. “Congratulations again, man. I’m really happy for you guys.” And he genuinely is. He can’t wait to see one of his oldest and closest friends experience fatherhood.

He turns to you as Jeff heads back into the house to help Viv to the car. “Did you have anything to eat?” he asks. “I mean, we can go to Benny’s if you want. I was gonna take Harris.” The kid hasn’t had anything since breakfast except the donut, and he’s bound to get cranky sooner rather than later. 

You shake your head. “No, I wasn’t really hungry. But I’m down to split a stack of pancakes with you, if you want?”

“Like you used to do with Grandma?” He remembers you mentioning the tradition during her eulogy. The corners of his lips turn up slightly, though his smile quickly falters when he notices the misty film glazing your eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, dabbing at your lash line with the heel of your hand. “Someone really special once told me that it’s okay to be sad, so I’m kind of giving that a shot.”

This time, Eddie’s grin remains. “Is that a ‘yes’ to the pancakes?”

“Yeah. It’s a yes.” You giggle when Eddie makes a fist and pumps it in celebration. “We usually got blueberry, but I’m down for chocolate chip,” you say, remembering his food preference from your first date.

“Nah, I can get behind blueberry,” he says. What he doesn’t say is that he would eat anchovy pancakes if it meant making you happy. 

“But I want chicken fingers!” Harris scrunches up his nose, and both you and Eddie know that a hungry four-year-old is not to be challenged. 

Eddie scoops Harris up into his arms, smacking a wet kiss to his chubby cheek. One day, his son will wipe them off, but Eddie’s glad that today is not that day. “Then the boy shall have the finest chicken fingers in all of Hawkins!” He declares in a deep voice before winking at you. “More pancakes for me and the pretty lady.”

Harris’s eyes widen. “So you do think she’s pretty–”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” Eddie cuts him off. You duck your head as though that will ward off further questioning from Harris, but not before catching a glimpse of Eddie mouthing, “like a princess.”

You can smell the aroma of the deep fryer as soon as you pull into Benny’s parking lot. Since you drove yourself to the shower, you and Eddie take separate cars and meet there. The small diner isn’t overly crowded, and the three of you squeeze into a booth in the back corner. Eddie sits on one side and you on the other; you assume Harris will slide in next to his dad, but he chooses you instead. 

Your waiter introduces himself as Ryan and places three sets of silverware on the table. He starts to hand you the menus, but Eddie politely shakes his head and tells him, “‘S all good, man. We know what we want.” He orders a plate of chicken fingers and fries for Harris and a short stack of blueberry pancakes for you and him. “Y’want anything to drink?” he asks you, and you contemplate for a moment before ordering a hot coffee, and Eddie gets the same.

“I want a coffee, too,” Harris pipes up, flashing his million-watt grin at Ryan, who holds back a laugh and promises that the food will be right out.

 “So, Harris,” you start, taking a small sip from the glass of ice water in front of you, “how was your Christmas? Get anything good?”

“Mhm!” he chirps, swiveling his body to face yours. “I got a bunch of new Hot Wheels and some cool markers for drawing. They smell like fruits!”

“Very different from when I used to sniff markers back in my day,” Eddie jokes, and you kick his foot lightly in an attempt to silently tell him to behave. His eyes twinkle mischievously when you playfully roll yours.

“That sounds awesome!” you exclaim, bringing your attention back to Harris and adding, “I bet Mr. Will would want to see your new markers if you want to swing by my classroom on Monday.”

Harris’s face lights up, and he claps his hands together in jubilance. “Maybe I can draw something for him!”

“He’d love that,” you tell him, and the little boy squeezes his hands into tiny fists and lets out an excited squeal.

Ryan returns a few moments later balancing a plate of chicken fingers in one hand and the pancakes in the other. Your stomach rumbles; you didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were presented with food. Eddie peels back the film of one of the small plastic syrup containers, positioning it over the pancakes and cocking his eyebrow to get your approval. You nod, and he tilts and swirls it as you watch it drip down the sugary stack. 

“How was your visit with your family?” He doesn’t refer to it as your visit home, because he hopes that you consider Hawkins your home now. He unfurls his napkin and pulls out the fork and knife, cutting into the stack, and you mirror his actions.

Harris stretches his arm out across you, and you realize he’s reaching for the glass ketchup bottle, so you twist off the cap and plop some onto his plate. He dips a fry into it happily. “About as good as it could be,” you answer Eddie. “Everyone kind of tried to act normal, but it was like they were trying too hard, y’know?”

“Was Grandma there?” Harris asks through a mouthful of fried potato.

You bite your lip, not quite sure what he knows and what Eddie wants him to know. Death is a tricky subject to broach with young kids, and you don’t want to say anything that will confuse or scare him. Luckily, Eddie jumps in and comes to your rescue. “Har Bear, remember I told you that Grandma went to Heaven?” He gently reminds his son. “That’s why you made that nice card for Ms. Sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harris’s expression morphs from inquisitive to concern, even as he chows down on a chicken finger. “Are you still sad?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, more to yourself than to him, “but it gets a little better every day. And being around my favorite guys helps put me in a good mood.”

Eddie presses a syrupy hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “Who, us?” He smiles and spears another cut of pancake with his fork. “How did you know flattery works with me?”

Before you can formulate a response–something teasing but not overly flirtatious–Harris poses a new question: “Ms. Sweetheart, do you have any babies?”

“Harris!” His son’s name comes out sharper than he intends, but Eddie’s too flustered to think twice. He looks at you apologetically, practically crimson from his cheeks to his ears. “Sorry, he hasn’t stopped talking about babies since I told him about the baby shower.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, giving his hand a small squeeze to show that you truly don’t mind Harris’s curiosity. You look at the boy and tell him, “I don’t have any babies, but I consider all of my students to be my babies.”

“Me, too?”

You chuckle and take a sip of coffee. “Of course, you, too!”

There’s a brief silence as you all eat–Eddie steals a fry from Harris’s plate and shoves it in his mouth before he can get caught. While hilarious, his timing couldn’t be worse, because he has no way of stopping Harris’s next statement:

“You and my daddy could have a baby. Because you’re a woman and he’s a man.” It’s matter-of-fact, said while dunking his food in the ketchup pile, as though this is something everyone drops into normal conversation. “That’s how you get a baby in your tummy like Aunt Viv.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter, not wanting to reinforce his inadvertently entertaining assertion.

Eddie is far less amused than you are, nearly choking on his swiped French fry. “Chrissakes…” he hisses, ducking and bringing his fist to his forehead, “Harris, eat your chicken fingers, quietly.” He breathes out with a puff of his cheeks as Harris obliges, completely oblivious to the meaning behind his suggestion. 

A beat of awkward silence ensues as you eat a hunk of pancake, warm blueberry juice seeping into your tongue. Grandma used to joke around and say that the blueberries made it a healthy food. “Practically a fruit salad,” she’d tease with a glint of happiness dancing in her eyes. 

Eddie, meanwhile, is desperate for a subject change. His palms are slick from what he’s like to think is merely embarrassment, but it’s multifaceted. The idea of the three of you sitting in Benny’s just as you are now, only you’re eating for two, has his stomach in knots. And if he even dares to dream about what getting you pregnant entails? He’s a goner.  

“Harris has a birthday coming up,” he blurts out a bit too loudly, unable to control his volume. “He’s turning the big, uh, five.” 

You can feel Harris eagerly kicking his legs next to you, so you match his enthusiasm. “Wow, Har! That’s a whole hand!” You hold up five fingers and Harris does the same, bringing his palm to yours.

“Are you gonna come to my birthday party?” He peers up at you with hopeful eyes, and you’re left scrambling for a response that doesn’t give away that you haven’t exactly been invited.

“Oh, I, um…”

“She’s going to check her calendar and see,” Eddie offers, and you exhale at his quick save. Turns his attention to you. “His birthday is February 6, but that’s a Thursday, so we’re gonna do his party that Saturday at the bowling alley. Just me, Wayne, and a couple of the kids from school. And you, if you can make it.” Shit, is he rambling? Was that too much information? You spend every day with kids; would you really want to spend a Saturday afternoon at a birthday party surrounded by them?

He’s not overanalyzing for long before you speak. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Do grown-ups get to bowl, too?” You perch your chin on your hand, blinking to emphasize your curiosity. Bowling has never been your forte, but you imagine you’ll fare quite well compared to a group of five-year-olds. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs kindly, letting his arm cross the table so that the back of his fingers can graze your forearm, “that’s a given.”

The three of you head out to your cars—not before you and Eddie argue over who’s going to pay the bill, with you eventually winning the battle. He takes Harris’s right hand as you step off of the sidewalk and into the parking lot, and Harris instinctively slips his left into yours. He walks between you and his dad naturally, as though it’s always been this way. Like you all were a little family that made regular outings for pancakes and chicken fingers.

“Har, go get in your car seat, and I’ll be there in a sec to buckle you in,” Eddie says gently, opening the door for him. 

Harris climbs in clumsily, calling back, “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart!” His farewell ends with a yawn, suggesting that there will be a nap in the near future. 

Eddie closes the door, shoving his hands in his pockets bashfully. It’s one of his nervous quirks, you’ve noticed, and you’re immediately inclined to reassure him about whatever’s on his mind. “Hey, um, could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I talked to the people at the school,” he starts, kicking at the gravel under his feet, “and Harris has that evaluation thing on Monday. Would you…”

You don’t even let him finish his request before confirming, “I’ll be there.”

Eddie’s body instantly relaxes, relief flooding through him at your words. “You’re amazing.” He looks around to make sure Harris can’t see before kissing you, lips quickly melding together. He has to pull back before he wants to, before either of you want to, to avoid getting caught. He tastes like coffee and syrup with a hint of berries, though the kiss is too brief to pick up on anything else. A stirring inside you informs you that he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough. “See you, Sweetheart.”

Mondays are characteristically exhausting; kids are home for two days on the weekends and return behaving like they’ve never seen a classroom before. Today is no exception, but the coffee Eddie left on your desk this morning certainly helps. He’d tried to sneak in, but you’d caught him, and it took everything in your power not to plant a kiss on his cheek right then and there. Scrawled on the side of the to-go cup in his messy handwriting were three simple words that made your heart soar: For my Sweetheart. 

What you didn’t know was that Eddie had thought about what he’d wanted to write for the entire car ride. Nothing too clingy, but nothing too distant. Not sappy but not brusque. Even the word my between “for” and “Sweetheart” was daunting; how would you feel about being his? 

By the time the afternoon rolls around, neither of you are too concerned with romantic gestures. You and Eddie sit in the hard plastic chairs outside the school psychiatrist’s office. He’s already answered all of her questions, so now it’s simply a matter of waiting for the observation to end. 

You can hear Harris giggling from the other side of the door, and you look over to smile at Eddie, but he either didn’t hear it or his nerves have built up an impenetrable barrier. 

He exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and leaning his head back against the brick wall. It’s a sigh of defeat, not relief, and you lean over and squeeze his hand without a second thought. The edges of his skull ring dig into your palm, but you couldn’t care less. Your only priority is keeping him calm. 

“Hey,” you murmur, crossing one leg over the other. He looks through you, not at you, and you  brush a stray lock of hair from his face to ground him. Once he’s settled, you continue talking. “Everything will be alright. Either he doesn’t have a disability, or we’ll be one step closer to getting him the accommodations he needs.”

Eddie nods. “I know. I just…” He pauses for a beat, struggling to find words that accurately convey his myriad emotions. Besides anxiety about the unknown path that lays before him and Harris, guilt gnaws at him for his past misgivings. The careless sex with Harris’s mom, the stupid fucking tour that he just had to go on while she was pregnant, the blissful ignorance that he could have his cake and eat it, too. “I hate that he can’t learn, like, normally. Like the other kids.”

Your instinct is to tell him that Harris doesn’t need to be like the other kids, that he’s perfectly and unequivocally himself, but that’s not what Eddie needs right now. 

“It’s tough,” you agree, “but Harris is a great kid with big dreams, and he’s not going to let anything stop him. All we have to do is support him along the way.”

Eddie ponders that for a moment, slightly amused at the accuracy of your statement, given what you don’t know. Beyond reading and math–both of which he’s shown improvements in since you’ve begun your tutoring sessions–Harris refuses to give up on his quest to get you and Eddie together. The hand-holding drawing was only the tip of the iceberg; Wayne’s since reported that the boy has asked multiple times about when “Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart will fall in love.” And, of course, he hasn’t stopped talking about your Saturday afternoon diner date, constantly badgering Eddie about whether or not you two were married yet.

Eddie rests his head on your shoulder, curly tendrils tickling your collarbones. All you want is to let him stay there as long as he needs, even if your legs fall asleep, but the nagging thoughts of passersby’s perceptions triumph over your desires. 

“Eddie, I…” you trail off, gently lifting your shoulder so he’ll get the hint without you having to say it aloud. Self-consciousness pinkens his cheeks as he sits up, adjusting his posture and mumbling a soft “sorry” under his breath.

“S’fine,” you rush to reassure him, praying that he doesn’t misconstrue your professionalism with shame of being seen with him. You would comfort any of your students’ parents in times of distress, but let’s face it–you would never snuggle up to Jason Carver or Carol Perkins. “Just don’t wanna be accused of canoodling on the job,” 

He lifts his eyebrows. “Canoodling?”

“It’s a word!”

“You’re the one with the fancy college degree, so I guess I gotta believe you.” 

You giggle softly, brushing his Reeboks with your flats. “Seriously, it’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. The words replay like an enchanting melody. You’ve got him. You’ve got him, and you’ll have him as long as he vows to hold on.

“Mr. Munson?” 

Eddie’s attention snaps to Ms. Cassie, the school psychologist. Harris darts from her office, a giant smile on his face as he leaps into his father’s arms. “Daddy, we played games! It was lotsa fun!”

“That’s great, Har Bear,” Eddie murmurs into Harris’s scalp. He looks up at Ms. Cassie expectantly. “How did everything go?” Is my son okay? Is there something wrong with him? Is it my fault? He doesn’t dare pose those questions.

The psychologist offers a smile, lacing her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Like Harris said, we had a great time. I’d like to speak with you briefly…” her gaze flits over to the hallway. “Is there someone who could keep an eye on Harris while we talk?”

Eddie’s heart sinks; privately, perhaps naively, he’d been wishing that there wouldn’t be anything else to discuss. Maybe a chipper, everything’s fine; he’ll catch up to the other kids on his own! But nothing so serious that it required an additional meeting.

“My TA can,” you pipe up, remembering that Will had stayed back to prepare an art project for tomorrow morning. Eddie puts Harris down, watching as you take his chubby hand in yours and make your way to your classroom. 

Ms. Cassie starts to wave Eddie into his office, but he shakes his head. “Wanna wait for her to get back,” he tells her, and she nods understandingly. As soon as you return, the two of you take a seat in front of her desk. Paperwork is stacked neatly in piles across the top of it, and framed diplomas line the walls. Board games sit on the shelves, and Eddie can’t help but wonder which ones Harris played this afternoon.

“I want to start off by saying that Harris is one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Ms. Cassie says. Her tone is even and patient, which makes Eddie more anxious. He wants to jump up and demand that she spill the bad news already, but he bites his thumbnail to calm his nerves. You notice the gesture immediately and inconspicuously grab the hand closest to yours, hiding your display of affection below the desk. Eddie grips so tightly that you have to actively suppress a grimace.

“The evaluation indicates that Harris meets the requirements to be classified as a ‘preschooler with a disability,’” she continues, “and as a result, he qualifies for special education services–”

“What the hell does that mean?” You wince at the vitriol in Eddie’s voice, and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand. It brings him back down enough for him to clear his throat and apologize, but you can sense that he’s still on-edge.

“That’s alright, Mr. Munson. You’re not the first parent to react that way, and I’m positive you won’t be the last.” She taps a small pile of papers on her desk to even them out before handing them to him. “The classification means that he will get an Individualized Education Program–IEP for short–that will help us target goals for Harris to make progress alongside his peers.”

Ms. Cassie drones on about short-term and long-term objectives, but Eddie can’t focus on what she’s saying. Preschooler with a disability. My son has a disability because I left, because I wasn’t there, because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. It’s all my fault. My fault my fault my fault–

“Eddie,” you whisper, but it’s no use. You watch as his ribcage expands and contracts faster with manic breaths, on the verge of hyperventilation. You shoot the psychologist an apologetic glance and pull Eddie from the office before he can launch into a full-blown panic attack. His body is like a ragdoll, and he trails behind you mechanically; if you let go of his hand, he’d probably stop dead in his tracks.

“Baby,” you say, bringing him to an empty classroom. The nickname rolls off your tongue easily despite technically being in your place of work. “Baby, it’s just you and me right now. You’re okay–”

“Harris–disability–my fault.” His words are low and gravelly, but you hear them without having to strain. They’re similar to the sentiments he’d uttered that day at parent-teacher conferences when he’d unexpectedly showed up at your door.

There’s no use trying to convince him otherwise, not when he’s like this, so you try a different approach. “I can talk to Ms. Cassie about rescheduling the meeting. We don’t have to figure everything out right away.” He nods, just a miniscule bob of his head, but it tells you that he’s cognizant enough to comprehend what you’re telling him. “In the meantime, why don’t you go see Harris? I bet he’s drawing something for you.”

That gets a smile out of him. “Y-Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t move; instead, he brings you closer to him and holds you to his chest so close that you can hear his heart beating. His body shakes, but it’s not until you feel a warm teardrop fall from his face onto the top of your head that you realize he’s crying. You wrap your arms around his lithe waist until you feel him begin to steady, staggered breaths becoming fuller. 

Wiping the tear trails from his cheeks carefully, you press a tiny kiss to his nose. “Wash your face and go to my classroom. I’ll meet you there.”

“‘Kay,” he manages, wishing he had the means to express his gratitude for your words, your presence, you. 

When he gets to your classroom, Harris is furiously scribbling on a piece of construction paper with his new markers. Eddie smiles, leaning against the door until Will spots him.

“Harris, your dad’s here!” he announces, and Harris looks up excitedly.

“Daddy!” he exclaims. “I’m almost done with my picture, hold on!” He grabs a blue marker and uncaps it, marking the paper with concentrated dots. He replaces the cover and slides the marker back into the yellow-and-green box. 

He’s always so diligent with his art supplies, Eddie notes.

“Ta-da!” Harris spins the drawing so his dad can see. There’s three people–you, Eddie, and Harris. You’re standing around a large purple rectangle with a line coming out of each corner, which Eddie recognizes as a table. There’s a circle representing the plate of chicken fingers in front of Drawing Harris, and a circle between Drawing You and Drawing Eddie with blueberry pancakes. Just like on Halloween, he’s drawn a smile on everyone’s faces.

“He’s really good,” Will says, and Eddie looks at him in amusement. “Seriously, he is. He’s got great spatial awareness when he draws, which most kids don’t develop until later. And he’s got an eye for detail,” he adds, pointing to the blue dots on the pancakes. “Looks like you’ve got a little artist.”

An artist. Not a failure, not incapable, but an artist. A boy who could grow up and inspire the world with his creativity.

“I love it,” Eddie says finally, reaching out to take the drawing. He frowns when Harris snatches it back.

“This one is for Ms. Sweetheart,” he explains exasperatedly, as though this is something he’s had to repeat multiple times. “We already have one at home, Daddy. Renember?” His pout quickly becomes a grin when he sees you enter the room. “Ms. Sweetheart, I drawed this for you!”

“I love it!” You inadvertently echo Eddie’s statement as you hold the paper to your heart. “This is gonna go on the kitchen wall so you can see it when you come over for tutoring.” You turn to Eddie, eyes warm with understanding. “How are you feeling?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly. “Kinda sad, kinda mad, kinda relieved that there’s an answer.” He scratches at the stubble on his cheeks. “‘M just…really glad I don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I’m always here for you, Eds. You and Harris.”

Eddie’s curls bob up and down as he slowly nods. “Speaking of which, um, you said something about tutoring him? Are you feeling up to it? I can bring pizza—o-or not, if it makes you sad. We could do Chinese or something—”

“Eddie?”

“Ya?”

You look down at the drawing of your little chosen family at Benny’s. It’s certainly different from the times you went with Grandma, but you’re filled with the same feeling of belonging that you’d felt then.

“Extra olives for me, please.”

--

taglist:

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights

@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee

@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday @augustsgetawaycar @let-love-bleeds-red @inesven @tanyaherondale @theintimatewriter

[warlocksoup]

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ AKAASHI KEIJI undone ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ CHAPTER ONE: evidence

HOW TO TRICK THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE INTO DATING YOU BY DATING SOMEONE ELSE (YOUR BEST FRIEND)(JUST PRETEND THOUGH)

STEP ONE: GET YOUR MOST PUSHOVER, IN LOVE WITH YOU FRIEND TO AGREE

She tries to say no, at first, for the sake of preserving at least some of her dignity. But it’s Akaashi. She was always going to say yes, eventually.

“I dunno,” she pretends to muse, slumped out on the couch with her fingers deftly moving from button to button on the controller in her hands, eyes narrowed at the television screen in front of her. “Do you really want to start out being like, deceptive? Doesn’t seem like the best way to get a girl’s attention.”

Akaashi groans, head dropping back and his arms thrown up, exasperated and defeated. “Yeah, I know, but I’ve tried everything else, and nothing gets her attention. But if she sees you, a pretty, cool girl, going out with me, then maybe she, another, pretty, cool girl, will start to see me as someone dateable.”

She snorts. “Are we in junior high? What the fuck kind of logic is that?”

He drops on the couch opposite her. “I know, it’s just,” he pauses, and sighs, “I’m desperate.”

She allows herself a string of self-lambasting thoughts, centered mainly around how pathetic she is for that selfish lurch in her chest. To say yes would be to take advantage of her best friend’s desperation, allowing him to play pretend and act out some of her most suppressed fantasies, for some plot to get the girl that, in the end, probably won’t work. She swallows and tries to make him change his mind once again. “I really don’t think this would even work, Kaashi.”

“Yeah, but I’m driving myself crazy,” he insists as her thumbs start to button-smash frantically, “and you’re the only person I trust enough to do this with. I know it’s stupid I just have to try something.”

She’s reached the end of her protests. The screen in front of her flashes red, and the word DEATH splays across her vision; she sighs. Her head lops to the side, and she blinks at a wide-eyed, completely desperate Akaashi. “Fine.”

STEP TWO: START PLANTING FALSIFIED EVIDENCE

Akaashi’s hand is intertwined with her. She stares down at it and tries to memorize it. The way his fingers look pressed into her skin, how it feels. The warmth. The callouses. The way their forearms press together and settle in the space between their thighs. Her nail polish is chipped. His thumbs are wide. The slight rocking of the train slightly rocks them, and their bodies move in tandem without trying.

Akaashi leans back slightly and uses his free hand to take a photo.

“Here,” he says after a moment of contemplation, shoving his phone in her face. “How does that look?”

Maybe she looks for too long, but there’s something off about it. It looks so much more contrived, converted to pixels on the screen of his phone. Or maybe it’s just that it’s harder to pretend this isn’t a ploy for someone else’s attention when his affection is documented like that. When she looks at her hand in his in a photo it’s a reminder that this is simply evidence captured just to inspire jealously.

Her eyes drift between the screen and the hands between her. He hasn’t let go yet, which she’s trying not to read into. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“Good,” he says, his thumb tapping against her knuckle. She watches as he opens Instagram. “Should I tag you?”

She shakes her head. “No, let people wonder who it is, at first. Maybe she’ll ask.”

This brings a slight smile to Akaashi’s face, and it makes her feel oddly sick.

Ever since he asked her, she’s given into a few delusions, considering it a serious possibility that this could just be Akaashi’s convoluted, roundabout way of getting closer to her. An excuse to hold her and post pictures of her and maybe even kiss her, eventually. That maybe he wants her just as badly as she wants him.

But no amount of mental gymnastics or bending of logic can deny that unabashed giddiness at the mere suggestion that she might speak to him. It’s hard for her to deny, when he talks to her like it’s nothing, when he holds her hand like it’s nothing.

She swallows and bounces her knee. “What are you going to tell people? I mean, like, when they ask about how we got together.”

Akaashi shrugs. There’s something loading on his phone screen as he lowers it to look at her. “I dunno. Maybe that one night we just like, hooked up and then decided to date.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, is that bad?”

“No,” she offers with a slight shake of her head. It feels bad. It feels the same way food poisoning or maybe the plague would. But she can’t logically explain that one, so she just says, “That should work, I guess.”

STEP THREE: LEAN INTO THE RUMORS GOING AROUND (THAT YOU STARTED)(ON PURPOSE)

INSTAGRAM akaashikeiji has tagged you in a post!

INSTAGRAM kuroo_tetsuro: bro that’s for sure you in akaashi’s post kuroo_tetsuro: since when are you guys going out???

IMESSAGE yukie: you and akaashi are dating?? since when??

IMESSAGE iwa: so were you planning on tell me that you started going out with someone?

INSTAGRAM heyheyheybokuto commented on akaashikeiji’s post: HOLY SHIT IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS? alisahaibi commented on akaashikeiji’s post: aww so cute! love you two

IMESSAGE kaashi: holy shit did that just work

The constant buzzing of her phone provides a pretty consistent distraction from her essay on the socioeconomic conditions of the working class that led to the Bolshevik revolution. Her head is swirling with thoughts of Akaashi’s post and the failed provisional government.

Her face drops to her hands, and her phone continues to buzz on the desk beside her, just as her laptop screen goes dark, nudging her unfinished essay out of her thoughts.

She takes a moment to press the palms of her hands into her eye sockets, enjoying the pressure and the way shapes sprout up behind her closed eyelids. Akaashi’s sitting out in their living room, probably, phone in his hands staring at notification from Alisa.

He’s probably going through her account, looking through her posts, careful not to let his thumb slip and like something on accident. He’s probably smiling down at her smile, heart pounding in his chest as he thinks about her and whatever comment she left on his post.

Akaashi’s been in love with her this whole time. For as long as they’ve been friends, for as long as she’s known him; his love for her completely integrated into his personality. When prompted to list what he likes about her, he will ramble about her sweetness and beauty and her intelligence. He will list off things that Alisa has and she lacks: grace in social situations, a distinct and unique sense of style, her ability to read and understand the people around her so easily.

It seems like, everything there is to Alisa, Akaashi loves it. Whatever it is.

Her phone buzzes again. She reaches for it.

IMESSAGE iwa: you can tell me about things, yknow

Her tongue twists in her mouth, and her head bangs. It crosses her mind, briefly, that this is a bad idea, and the fallout is not worth the maybe few weeks where she can hold Akaashi’s hand and pretend that he feels an ounce of what she feels for him.

She clicks on the notification from him, the post he tagged her in, and is surprised to see her own face, grinning back at her, bare-faced and nose scrunched. There are freckles on her face she didn’t hadn’t ever noticed before. She didn’t know he had this photo. He captioned it: My pretty girl.

It’s worth, she decides instantly. It’s so immediately worth it.

She opens up her photos, and scrolls passed blurry photos of crowded whiteboards and half-eaten vegetarian lunches to find a photo of Akaashi. One of him just outside their apartment in the middle of last winter taken when he wasn’t paying attention. He’s smiling, eyes crinkled and glasses falling down his nose as he buttons up his jacket. It’s a favorite of hers, as indicated by the small white heart in the corner. Every time she sees it, she smiles.

Without stopping to think of how both wrong and vulnerable it feels, she posts it, matching it to his. My pretty boy. Undeniable evidence planted.

taglist: @charlotterosea13 @quikhs @mdmraz @mollyrolls @nazwrites-2002 @hanadulsetaad @nokjhg @alexithemiyatic @kvrokasaa @wyrcan @baylz @soobin1437

[beesgobzzzing]

From https://www.sverigesradio.se/avsnitt/hooja-kaarija-om-tanken-pa-att-tavla-i-eurovision

Translation / Transcript under the cut. This interview was really nice, I highly suggest you give it a listen even if you don't speak Swedish!

Hooja and Käärijä about the thought of competing in Eurovision

Interviewer (Carolina): What an exciting collaboration! Hooja together with Käärijä. [In English] I didn't see this one coming, I can tell you that. And I will start in Swedish, with you, Hooja. [In Swedish] How in the world did this end up happening?

Hooja: We're not as different as you could think. We've been saying that both of us are crazy, we definitely saw that in the studio when we met, because we had so unbelievably much fun when writing this song. So we… we really fit well together, both personalities and musically. Writing this song was a LOT of fun.

Carolina: Yeah, because… I mean… but HOW did you meet from the start so that this ended up happening?

Mårdis: At first we had been tittle-tattling in our camp about how it would be fun, because we see a lot of similarities in each other despite also being so dissimilar. And then they apparently had also been talking in THEIR camp as well, so it sort of came up in a roundabout way AGAIN that "he wants to make something with you". So we decided that we'll go down and do this, and we met up, and we had fun, and there was no pressure, no idea was bad, we were there for two days and just laughed. And that's what happens when you have fun, too, you make music from that, and that's how we got San Francisco Boy, our lovely child that we have together. [In English, to K] San Francisco Boy is our child that we have together.

Käärijä: Yes!

Carolina: A love child.

Käärijä: YES!! (Laughter)

Carolina: So, Käärijä, I must ask you, have you seen them without their masks?

Käärijä: Maybe I see more than only face…

Carolina: In the sauna..?

Käärijä: Maybe… (Even more laughter and something unintelligible about a mask)

Carolina: But it's so nice to see, because they just said, in Swedish, that when they were in the studio, they laughed so much. Was it the same for you?

Käärijä: Yes, yes. And, uh, I remember, first time, because you start to make like, the beats, and you played that song in Finland, to me, and I'm "uh, ok, this is… this is very funny and crazy and I feel good" when the boys played the song. And uh, then we start to try and do something and we get the song San Francisco Boy. And, uh… very, very good times and we get a lot of fun.

Carolina: [In Swedish] And the funny part is, San Francisco Boy, is in Swedish and English, but I'm thinking this - We have northern Sweden, we have Finland, and we end up with San Francisco Boy. (Laughter) Is there any hidden meaning with this?

Hooja: Why not? [In English] Why not? (Laughter) [In Swedish] We don't like doing the most obvious thing.

Carolina: No, no.

Hooja: No.

Carolina: But there is no hidden meaning in the song?

Hooja: No, I don't really think there is. What do you think? (To K and Mårdis)

Mårdis: If there's a message in the song, this is what we said when we started with the song - Disco Boy, San Francisco Boy, whatever you want to be, if you want to be Orange Boy or Finland Boy then you're allowed to be that. That was a thing that we really agree upon, that… It sounds cliche, you know, "you can be who you want to be", but we really think that. For real. And it's important to us. And that we could put that into a funny song, that just sort of happened, and it's nice.

Carolina: And now you're here at Melodifestivalen, and get a taste of… wait, get a feeling of what it's like being here. Have you considered Hooja in Melodifestivalen?

Hooja: Well… Never say never, we've gotten the question a few times and we've said no then, but you never know what the future holds! You don't want to say too much, you need to.. you need to watch your words.

Carolina: [In English] Käärijä help me here, I'm trying persuade them to do the Swedish Melodifestivalen.

Käärijä: I think the boys have to make öööh, to use what they want to do. Maybe… Maybe some day. For me, why I tried to go to Eurovision in 2023, we made the song Cha Cha Cha, and it's like the first demo, and I'm thinking, "okay, this is more than just only song, we can do something bigger" and one way how we can do something bigger, um, we can go to Eurovision, and uh, I watching a lot of Eurovision when I was young.

Mårdis: And if we want to go to Eurovision one day, we are very happy to have a Eurovision veteran with us, who can guide us through life.

Käärijä: Yes, I can be your manager. (Laughter)

Carolina: That is a brilliant idea! [In Swedish] We have this on tape now. [In English] We have it on record here.

Käärijä: Yes, yes!

Carolina: Now we come..

Käärijä: We have a plan, boys! Yes, let's go to studio. (Laughter)

Carolina: I will call the EBU immediately and say "Hi, I've got three guys who will SHAKE the Eurovision around". (Laughter) But I must also ask you, Käärijä, coming second after Loreen but winning the public vote… Are you still mad? Are people in Finland still mad at Sweden? [Bees note: The interviewer's tone of voice here is very genuine and almost… apologetic?]

Käärijä: I think that people in Finland, they are mad, but not really… I'm not. Of course I remember time after final where they give the points and I saw that Loreen get more points than me, I going to cry on toilet, but… (giggles) but yes, I'm ok and Loreen is amazing artist and person, human, I love Loreen. And after final, Loreen sent me the message to "Käärijä, if you need something…"

Hooja, breaking in: Except the price… (Laughter)

Käärijä: If you need money or something… (Laughter)

Mårdis: If you want to look at the price… (Laughter)

Käärijä: But yeah, good person and I… I'm not care any more, I'm ok (giggling)

Carolina: To wrap it up then, a final question I'm very curious about, will you proceed doing this (stumbles over words) [In Swedish] I'll just do it in Swedish - will the collaboration continue? [In English] Will you continue this collaboration?

Hooja: You never know! No but, uh, you do never know.

Mårdis: I think the thing with us, we only do things that are fun for us, it's the only thing we care about, that's what music is for us. If it's fun, we're going to do it, and we've had a lot of fun with this too, so I'm ending it just like Hooja, you never know! (Laughter)

Carolina: [In English] Ok, two diplomatic answers, that they had fun, Käärijä, the Finnish vote - this sounds like a dating show! - do you want to continue dating these boys?

Käärijä: You don't know yet! But I think, boys, you can't run away anymore, when you do work with Käärijä you stay with Käärijä. (Laughter) Oh yes, yes, yes (Laughter) But uh, yeah, I hope we do other songs and more songs, and uh, let's see!

Hooja: Yeah!

Carolina: Thank you very much! [In Swedish] Thank you so much, I'm crossing my fingers we get more from your collab in the future! (Collective "woo-hoo!")

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Bowser Castle 2 Debut: Super Mario Kart

Oh no! We didn't have a post ready for today! Well let me improvise one for you really quick. Because I love you. Don't take it too personally, though, we're not here to start parasocial relationships with our followers! Sorry. I hope you understand.

This is Bowser Castle 2, from Super Mario Kart, but if I named it I'd call it Bowser Castle POO! Because it isn't very good.

Many people consider this one of the worst courses in Mario Kart history, and many people would be right! You see, iconic Bad Guy King Morton "Bowser" Koopa Sr. wanted to prove his Bad Guy status by creating a Bad Course, and boy howdy did he! He probably feels so smug about it. Jerk.

Look at that map. This course has a dead end on it. This might be the only course in Mario Kart history to do such a thing! It's possible you can use a Feather to turn that into a shortcut, but I've never pulled it off. But also I'm not very good at this game, nor am I interested in becoming good at this game, so it might just be a skill issue on my part.

But getting past the dead end offers you no reprieve, as afterwards you have to deal with this mess! It feels like they're trying to make some sort of double-loop formation, but all the 90 degree turns combined with the bridge connecting the loops being at the top ends up making it play very awkwardly. Or something like that. Listen I'm just writing this post in a stream of conscience, I dunno how to describe what's so bad about this beyond "it's bad."

luigi enters the torment labyrinth

As you can probably expect, having "being the worst Mario Kart course ever made" on its resume hasn't done good things for SNES Bowser Castle 2. The only game it's returned in is Super Circuit, which included literally every SNES course, which is to say it was not getting any sort of special treatment. Even Mario Kart Tour, a game which literally invented new SNES courses for the sake of getting more content out of existing assets, refused to bring Bowser Castle 2 into its arms.

Is there any hope in this world for an absolute dogwater course like this one? I dunno but that's not gonna stop me from coming up with hypothetical solutions. Yes this is the kind of thing I think about in my spare time! Don't judge me!

Really, for all I've been dunking on this course in this post, I don't think it'd actually take all that much to get this into a playable state. As you can see, I've re-envisioned the dead end as a shortcut (likely blocked off with a wooden cutout so you need to use a mushroom), and I've reimagined the Torment Labyrinth as a double roundabout configuration à la Wii Rainbow Road. After that I just smoothed out some turns, added a glider ramp at the end so you have something to do during the last straightaway, and envisioned some totally awesome elevation changes that can not be displayed from a bird's-eye view like this, and bam! I created a version of this course that could potentially maybe be enjoyable.

I mean I dunno. I don't have the means to play it.

I drew this earlier this morning and it's the entire reason I've decided to make this our spur-of-the-moment post. I hope you're proud of me. For what it's worth, at least SNES Bowser Castle 2 can theoretically be made into a somewhat enjoyable course. It's not like it's stuck with a name like "Figure-8 Circuit" or something.

[mako-neexu]

Edguda and Obeguda.

There's a special sense of distance to be found between them. I think its really good... Along with their own way of caring for guda, comes their different views for their star. Based on what Dantes has said along with his actions he's the one who supports and grants what his accomplice desires.

"If that is what you desire, then I, the Count of Monte Cristo, shall obey you." He's said this in game himself its still insane....So I think he's very indulgent in guda's whims, never denies them in a way that this kind of sweetness makes guda clam up. Because if they asked, they know their Avenger would do everything in his power to follow through. Dantes listens to them, accepts what they say and gives his utmost support that it makes it hard for guda to say something.

On that regard, I think guda is careful in saying what they want in front of Monte Cristo.

"You mean you could buy me an entire island if I just said so?" Ritsuka asked, giving the man a mixture of amusement and slight mortification.

"Yes." The Avenger replied without hesitation, "Anything you desire goes. Only if that is what you wish."

Of course, Ritsuka rolls their eyes, showing a hint of displeasure and pain, but also fondness before holding both sides of his face, "Okay...But what if I want you to take care of yourself? That includes no more sacrificing your well being for me. Will you grant that too?"

If it is for my sake. If you truly are willing to grant what I want...

For so long, Dantes is silent, strangely bearing a man who was given a task far heavier than what Atlas carried on his shoulders before oh-so hesitantly conceding with closed eyes, he accedes, "..............Mm."

Id chapter considering, along with Prison Tower this guy's form of salvation is to be someone like Abbe Faria who became a guiding light, wherein their own body is used for a means to escape the tower of despair. So of course he would be hesitant on that part. He wouldn't hesitate to lead guda to a brighter future or shower them in comfort and riches...but I do think when it comes to himself, he doesn't/can't see himself in it because of his nature. EVEN SO his own heart yearns to be with guda even as all of his actions and determination point in the direction of letting them go towards the future.

So it's up to guda to be the one to tug him to be by their side when they walk together. Not just as a shadow who watches and protects, but also as an "accomplice".

There remains a sense of distance between them that I can only describe as "their bodies are so close, pressed up against each other, and yet their lips remain forever merely a centimeter apart."

As for Obeguda, Oberon sees guda through far better along with Castoria. Fellow bystanders in the story, fellow actor in this seemingly neverending play, reflections of the others as people who are too stubborn to give up, bearing their own star to reach as they run towards their end.

Though I have Monte Cristo brain, Oberon's care and love for Guda is still so sweet and far more gentle. His valentines, summer lb6, material 13 is proof of that. Furthermore, I think its just highly sweet he does his best to get around his lying curse just for guda... because the most common phrases he'll use is commonly described by JP as very "roundabout". he wants to convey clearly his thoughts and feelings to them, cursed his tongue may be. Just like Monte Cristo, he is compassionate and kind in his own way...

But as it is his own way, his care is different from Monte Cristo.

Because the Avenger spoils Guda as "accomplice", the Pretender's way of caring is through truly seeing the other, the thoughts and feelings of Fujimaru Ritsuka lay bare before him. A "friend". I feel a romantic sense like a lover wouldnt accurately describe it (the feeling Obeguda has in comparison to Edguda) but its that kind of feeling to me to be honest.

A "friend". A "foil", is a better term i think. Where there remains a sense of distance between them, but there is a bond that allows the other to harshly criticize each others' actions, out of compassion, out of care, out of love. That's why the times Oberon in fanon calls Guda out is really so good... even during the Garden, even though "Oberon" is just a reflection of Guda, it doesnt change the fact that Oberon sees right through them. Especially considering his valentine's gift to them.

Of course, a distinct difference in care is their brand, namely, Monte Cristo wants Guda to keep going in their journey to be happy (because that is what Guda needs), Oberon's brand is giving them an "end". A peaceful end away from the horrors and nightmares, where he takes their willing hand and holds them as they both fall into the abyss out of the World's reach, an eternal rest and reprieve that relieves their soul from burdens... towards oblivion.

"Hopeless idiot, that you are," Oberon clicked his tongue, yet gently sat beside Ritsuka, deep into slumber sporting fresh bandages, the blankets that covered them in disarray. "You've chosen to sacrifice yourself again, knowing you'd get killed... and despite my offer once more, you denied yourself of it."

The low tone gradually descending to become a harsh whisper, the Pretender looked back with a glare.

The star's light flickers like a candle in the storm, try as it might to shine its best throughout the night or give warmth to those gathered around it, there's only so much time until it miserably dies out.

Until nothing of it remains, until it gets discarded, used, thrown away without a care by those who were protected by it.

Before it comes to that point, someone needs to take away that light from those ungrateful wretches. From the hands of those foolish, greedy pigs, from the strings of fate that wraps around that tiny light's neck like a noose...

A black clawed hand reaches out, its talons sharp as a knife that could easily cut through, that could so easily end it all-

Yet merely brushes away the lone tear that slipped past the sleeping Master's eye.

Oberon closed his eyes as his jaw clenched, his bangs hiding his gaze while his hand retracts, merely moving back to his initial position of sitting beside them... intent on staying by their side until they woke up.

He wants to give them an end, but Ritsuka doesn't need it just yet. But they want it. An "end". Of things finally coming to a close. of that "game complete" their own star advised them to reach.

Their sense of distance is like that. Exactly like Edguda

So Ritsuka can't stop now, Monte Cristo encourages them, but to reach an end is natural and Oberon is is more than willing to give it, to guarantee rest and sweet dreams... Both of Monte Cristo and Oberon holds themselves back as the former is a flame destined to scorch those around him/a man who restrains himself to avoid tainting that star's light and the latter is a doomsday device who only holds himself back because he cares for what Ritsuka wants.

Both idiots are hopelessly sweet and caring for Fujimaru Ritsuka.

[aangussca]

Monkey Wrench Episode 4 Fanart: Caught in Their Game (December 2024)

I absolutely LOVED the new Monkey Wrench episode! :D

HOLY COW, @zeurelart, @neatotito and the rest of the @monkey-wrench-series team did a phenomenal job this time around (please give them some love bc they absolutely deserve it)!

So it only made sense for me to finish this drawing (the idea for which had been mulling in my mind through the months MW episode 4 was being teased), which I enjoyed creating.

(Yes, I was partially inspired by Neoni's song 'Jump Rope' bc both share the theme of games (literally and symbolically). If you have already watched MW Episode 4, feel free to give it a listen - I'm curious to hear your thoughts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NhDON376rd4)

Below are the close-ups, as well as me rambling about the reasoning behind the symbolism here:

(SPOILER WARNING FOR MW EPISODE 4 FROM THIS POINT ON!)

Since I realised MW Episode 4 centred around the theme of games (literal and metaphorical), I couldn't not include references to games to associate with the following characters.

Shrike, Beebs, Agent K, and Kara = Arcade games

Campion Ajax = Chess

Tyneen = Video/computer games

Jawbone = Darts

Disco Head = Casino card games

Disco Head is the most self-explanatory (because ✨casino✨ - those cards were SO fun to render btw):

Episode 4 confirms that DH took over the Thicc Chicc Casino after Kara assassinated the previous owner, Chester McNevins, in Episode 1. It also implies DH worked with Agent K and Kara to take over the casino by "taking care" of Chester (that's just my theory ofc).

In Episode 4, Shrike is tempted by the pixel DH gave him. In a moment of cockiness, Shrike believes that he can succeed in his gambling spree from luck alone (DH even said "Today's your lucky day!" after giving him that pixel) - to which he was completely unsuccessful.

While not explicitly referenced in this drawing, a popular casino card game is Blackjack. A common misconception regarding Blackjack is that winning the game is purely determined by the luck of the players (i.e. Shrike being overconfident about his luck). In truth, there is a lot of skill and strategy required in order to be successful at the game (i.e. DH's charming persona and ability to play into Shrike's weaknesses to make him gamble all of his and Beeb's money).

Additionally, Blackjack is a game where players compete against the dealer, not each other. In my opinion, this idea makes sense (in a roundabout way, at least) for DH, given his dealings with three of the five antagonists in this episode: Agent K, Kara and Jawbone. All three have different motives to DH's, yet they work together and are connected through him.

2. Speaking of Jawbone, I wanted to reference two kinds of darts:

The game darts (which he plays in the scene at the bar)

Poison darts (which in my mind made sense given his hatred of Shrike, as seen in the green "cataclysm-poisoned saliva" and the sticker on the dart)

3. Initially, I wanted to reference a joke about "gamer rage" with Tyneen and her competitiveness.

But when watching the episode, I did not expect video games to actually be mentioned in relation to her (with Jawbone owing her a copy of the video game 'Marrow Inheritance').

4. Ah, yes: Campion Ajax (I always disliked him from the moment he was teased and, by the end of this episode, I wanted to replace all his steaks with rocks and send him on a one-way trip to the Marina Trench for trying to hurt Beebs >:[ ).

The reason why I gave Ajax a blue chess pawn was because that's how I felt he saw Beebs:

A feeble, inferior* pawn to potentially use to fulfil his selfish goals.

(*Ajax even called Beebs "inferior" when talking about his prosthetics, which... I felt so bad for poor Beebs having to endure the torment of this guy, and I'm SO glad he stood his ground and saw through his manipulation.)

5. For some reason, the idea of an arcade game fascinated me (our protagonists feeling trapped in both their insecurities and in a much bigger game, perhaps?), especially as a way to connect the antagonists to our protagonists' stories through colours (in the cabinet designs and the arcade buttons):

Yellow = Disco Head

Green = Jawbone

Red = Tyneen

Purple = Ajax

Dark blue = Kara

Black and white = Agent K

Another colour motif I included, which you can also see in the lighting and the background, is the pairing of turquoise blue (cyan) and magenta pink - which you can see in the lighting of the final battle scene.

Yes, I did intend to give Shrike and Beebs backgrounds that are different to their usual colour motifs.

Shrike (usually associated with red) = turquoise/blue

Beebs (usually associated with blue) = magenta/purple

(I'm sure you can guess why I also drew the glass screen cracked between Shrike and Beebs... given the ending.)

On top of that, you could argue that the antagonists in Episode 4 would be great as "arcade/video game bosses" who can have their own "boss fights" or merge into one big "final boss fight" (with different stages).

Also I think Agent K is cool (and would definitely make an awesome "final boss" alongside Kara) with his design and his vibes, enough said. :]

Bonus Agent K appreciation in the form of screencaps bc I can: