#some of the other bands i like might be a little less known

[the-kneesbees]

my friend always (jokingly) makes fun of my taste in music because i "only listen to music that no one else has ever heard of" but like. i need you to understand. mobo, mom jeans, tfb, etc. are pretty well known. bikini kill, the clash, bratmobile. also very well known. like. maybe different genres than what youre into. but im not like. living under a rock...

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x fem!reader | fluff, suggestive, husband!katsuki, katsuki implied as being taller than reader, implied age (~late 20's, early 30s~), light-hearted bickering, an excuse to write more domestic!kats, 1.8k | cw: cursing, suggestive

-your husband comes home late, soaking wet and a little bit handsy-

Katsuki is late; you hope traffic isn't too bad. Outside your window the sky is overcast, steely shades of grey over a slate canvas. The roads are dyed an inky charcoal, pooling at the surface where rain drip-drip-pours in endless streams.

You've taken up residence in the foyer, between the linen closet at the end of the hall, and the umbrella Katsuki left by the front door this morning. The very same one you reminded him to take with him at breakfast, and twice again before he left in the evening. If you loved him a little bit less, he might listen to you one day.

But you do—love him—right down to his bad habits and stubborn disposition.

So you wait for him the same way you have for years; perched at the breakfast nook in the corner with a warm cup of tea and a paperback that's been gathering dust for half-a-year now at least. The bar table is worn at the edges, legs wobble if you lean too far forward—frankly, you should have gotten rid of it years ago—but it was the first belonging that wasn't yours, or Katsuki's, but ours; a piece you thrifted when you were both still twenty-something and broke.

The years have changed a lot—our table, our bed, our house, our life. Your Katsuki.

—His wife.

The band around your finger is white gold; it clinks when you put the mug to your lips. Honey, ginger. Sweet. Rain hits the window and falls; two trails meet at the middle, and stick to each other like glue. Katsuki would laugh if he found you right now, smiling into your tea like a lovestruck fool.

You let the ceramic rest, turn to page thirty-or-something of a book that you totally-intend-to-finish. An hour passes before you hear the telltale rumble of an engine.

You spot his headlights first, misty pools of sunlight spilling onto the pavement when he pulls into the driveway. It's well past midnight now; Katsuki is a shadow against the porchlight, long strides and a hand over his crown. You have half a mind to bring the umbrella to him, but he's quicker, ascends the four steps to the veranda in two big leaps; you barely register the rustle of keys before he's stepping into the house, pooling rainwater at the welcome mat.

He's soaked at the shoulders, a grumble in his throat when he kneels to unlace his shoes—black leather, designer and sharp, same as the suit jacket around his shoulders. Tailored to fit him just right.

Katsuki's always been handsome, even as a hero in training renting hand-me-down suits from the little mom-and-pop shop down the street. But it really strikes you just how beautiful he is when you look at him now, dressed to the nines. All the years of hard work paying off in more ways than one.

You go a little fuzzy when he lifts his head to catch you staring; red eyes kindling the air and making it hard to breathe. He's the spitting image of a number two hero, just returned from a long night at some fancy-pants gala; sometimes you forget that's exactly what he is. Even more dumbfounded that, somehow, he's yours.

"I know," he grumbles, moving his shoes to the cabinet and meticulously hanging his jacket over the chair to dry. He briefly eyes the umbrella. "I f'rgot, kay?"

So have you, suddenly.

There's a pause and—"I didn't say anything."

He meets you at the table, one hand at the surface and the other at the knot of his tie. "Y've got that look."

You tip you chin to glare at him playfully. "And what 'look' is that, Bakugou Katsuki?"

"Like y'r about t'chew me up." He pulls the fabric strip from around his neck in one fell swoop, pops the first button of his dress shirt with his thumb. Your eyes fall for only a moment—barely a second—but Katsuki grins with the self-awareness of a man who's known you half his life. "Or about t'jump my bones, hah?"

He looks entirely impish in his revelation, ego flaring to rest in his cheeks; you have half a mind to nip at them like candy floss, instead you reach for the cuffs of his button-up, tidy the sleeves one fold over the other until the rainwater and well-kept muscles catch at the seams. You feign a sigh when his stare becomes too insistent to ignore, hand falling to rest at the peaks of his knuckles. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah." A spark of firelight flashes in his eyes, deep carmine and coy; teasing him was so much easier a decade ago. "I'd let'cha."

You roll your eyes. "You're so unsexy, y'know that?"

"Hah," he barks with all the disbelief in the world. "What? Want me t'do that dirty talkin' shit instead? Jump y'r bones right here at the table? D'n think she'll hold up, baby."

He lets a fraction of his weight fall against the corner and the old wood immediately cries out, splintering oak and creaking hinges and the real, immediate threat that the poor thing might actually collapse at your feet.

You spring up defensively. "Katsuki!"

A once neatly-folded towel tumbles from your lap to land at your toes. His gaze falls; grin widens.

"Said y're gonna make me 'deal with it' next time I forgot the stinkin' umbrella, didn't'cha?" His fingers pinch the fat of your cheeks teasingly. "Love me that much, hah?" Your eyes narrow, fingers dive with intent for the space beneath his ribcage. He's quicker, wraps five fingers around your wrist and pulls you in with a hand at the back of your neck. He breathes, warm against the top of your head—"Missed y'tonight."

You hum against his chest, damp fabric sticking to your cheeks, flush and warm with surprise. You can count the number of times he's been this blunt with his affection on one hand; at least twice being in the presence of an empty champagne glass, or five. "Did you drink?" He gruffs at that—the only indication that he heard you at all. "Katsuki?"

"Come with me next time."

You tilt your chin, brow creasing. His head dips at the sight of the first wrinkle, the way it always does when he's trying to change the subject, or sweeten you up, or get his way in any way, really—a habit you must have taught him because you let him get away with it every single time. It's probably why he looks so offended when you pull back suddenly with a click of your tongue.

"That's not an answer."

"Not a drop," he finally says—huffs—with an almost boyish scowl.

You find yourself stifling a laugh, hand over mouth, and he glares, even as you step away to rustle through the linen closet. His eyes are red hot, brow downturned, downright grumpy, only cooling to a simmer when you're toe to toe once more, fresh towel in hand and lightly waving him down to your level. His spine bows, head dips until you're massaging the soft cotton through his hair; you would have had to fight him on this once—years ago—before time weathered his sharp edges, doused the wildfire raging in his heart until he became the man he is now—irritable, arrogant, stubborn, still, but willing—to make amends for who he was before, to extend a hand where he's able, to let you offer him one in return.

"Chose this one on purpose, didn't'cha?" Katsuki's voice is lukewarm, a tepid grumble at the back of his throat, an almost purr when you dip your fingertips against his nape.

"No idea what you're talking about."—but you do. The towel in question, he means, is from the left side of the closet, your side, all soft cotton and fluff; the same ones he refuses to use, for those very same reasons. "Said they 'd'n dry a damn thing' but-" you drape the supposed 'overrated, overpriced pile'a'fluff' around his shoulders to ruffle his bangs, more wily than usual, and barely damp. "Would y'look at that?"

He snorts, hand falling to the small of your back. "Don't get smart."

"Or what?" you keen up at him, at the balls of your feet, tip toes and still barely nose to nose; they bump once on accident, and twice on purpose. "Huh?"

Warm, exasperated breath fans across your cheeks. "Tryna start somethin' t'night, are ya?"

You bat your lashes, head tilting and fingers splaying across the 'v' of his neckline. "Me? Start something?" Your grin betrays your facade. "And what if I am?"

He pulls you in at the waist, holds you steady with one, strong arm, warm lips at your jaw and low, deep voice in your ear. "Better be ready t'finish it, then."

His right hand comes to rest at the back of your thigh, teases the skin right where your skirt ends; gooseflesh blooms all the way up your spine and you shiver. "Who's jumping bones now, huh?" you bark—yap, like a scaredy-pup with it's tail between it's legs—bite lost somewhere between the callouses on Katuski's fingertips and the press of his hips against your own.

You straighten your shoulders to get a good look at the ego washing over his face like miles of trumpet vine. All consuming, a force to be reckoned with. And devastatingly pretty.

"That'd be me, pretty lady," he says, all kinds of smug and annoying.

You hold him with your stare for an entire second—two, just so you can get a real good look at his stupid, handsome face—and then you're pulling him in by the collar, wrinkling the shirt he'll spend too much on dry-cleaning tomorrow. Not that he seems to mind when your tongue meets his, honey mingling with the mint on his breath and making his head swim, all but forgotten when a hand comes to rest at your waist, heated fingertips beneath your sweater, licking softly at your skin.

He walks you back 'til your thighs hit the table—(it rocks, precariously); one of your hands fall against the surface, the other to his heart that thump-thump-jumps when thunder rumbles through the house, and stills. You smile, soft against his lips, thumb tracing the precipice of his collarbone until your fingers can curl around his spine. The next kiss against his mouth is featherlight, barely there; you sigh, contentedly—"I love you."

Katsuki goes a little hazy, eyes the color of early Autumn; the blazing summer sun reduced to a tealight candle, flickering in the palms of your hands. "Yeah," he chokes. And you know just what he means.

You kiss him then, once more, a little more playful this time; mischievous and coy with a cheeky, "—even though you're totally unsexy."

"So help me, y/n, I will howitzer this table."

[corroded-hellfire]

hi, babes! i saw that you’re open to some AYW blurbs so i wanted to shoot my shot 🥹 i am YEARNING for jealous!eddie sooooo bad so could we pretty please with cherries on top have a lil blurb about him where a different dad hits on the reader while they’re picking up the boys from school or maybe while they’re doing some kind of errands like grocery shopping or something? it could be from when they’re already dating or from when they’re just pining over each other, it’s up to you! i just want possessive!eddie to come back lmaooo thank you in advance if you choose to do this! i love youuu and the entire AYW universe ❤️

Jealous!Eddie? Possessive!Eddie? Oh, you're definitely speaking my language. As much as I love Eddie being possessive after he and Reader get together, there's something about Eddie being a total jealousy monster while they're still just pining for one another that butters my biscuit.

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: age gap, Eddie is technically married to someone else but if you know this series you know what that's all about

[As You Wish masterlist]

The stoplight turns green, and you put pressure on the gas pedal of your gold Elantra. The car rumbles down the road as you bop your head and sing along to the radio. Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) by The Backstreet Boys is a great song, you don’t care what boy band haters say. 

It’s part of the usual routine for you to be early when arriving at Hawkins Elementary School to pick up Ryan and Luke, but since your literature class let out twenty minutes before it was supposed to, you’re extra early. You turn your car into the school’s parking lot and find a visitor spot that will allow you to easily swing into the pick-up line when the time comes. 

Car in park, you turn the volume on the radio up and tuck one leg underneath you. You’re so engrossed in the music that you have to do a double take when you see an attractive man walk past a few cars, headed toward the school.

It’s Eddie. Something is in his hand but he’s moving so briskly that it’s hard to tell what it is. Lead fills your stomach. Why is he here? What happened? Did something happen with the boys? Are they okay?

You yank the key out of the ignition mid-song and throw open the driver’s side door. 

“Hey, Eddie!” you call as you jog to catch up with him—his long legs striding further in one step than either of his sons can go in three. 

Eddie turns his head as he reaches for the handle of the door. He’s just reached the entrance, and he stops with his hand on top of the silver bar. You could almost swear his tense face eases into a smile when he sees you coming up behind him. But perhaps that’s just wishful thinking. Of course it is. What else would it be?

“What’s going on?” you ask. “Is everything okay?”

He sighs and pulls open the front door of the school, gesturing for you to step inside first. You do, and he follows in behind you. He lifts his other hand which is holding a pair of small pants.

“The school called me at work and said Luke spilled glue all over his pants, so I grabbed a pair from home for him to change into,” he explains. “I tried calling you when I got to the house, but I guess you were already on your way.”

It should probably surprise you more than it does that Luke got into such a sticky situation, but you’ve known him for long enough that this just seems par for the course.

“Oh, Luke,” you sigh as you and Eddie stride side by side down the hallway.

“He keeps life interesting,” Eddie says. He checks his watch and sees there’s less than half an hour left in the school day. He gestures toward a classroom door covered in student’s artwork. “Might as well grab Ryan from his class since it’s right here.”

You wait out in the hall as Eddie slips inside to get his oldest son.

“He did what?” you hear Ryan asking as Eddie opens the door on his way out. The little boy looks as if he’s going to say something else, but he sees you standing in the hall and immediately steps forward and wraps his arms around your waist. “Hi!”

“Hey, Ry.” You chuckle at his eagerness and ruffle his honey brown hair. “How was school?”

“Pretty good,” he says as he takes your hand. Both Munsons head down the hall, you tagging along since you don’t know the right direction to go in. “I played kickball in gym. I ran the bases so fast!”

“Nice!” You hold your free hand up for a high five, which he gladly returns.

Eddie stops in front of another classroom door and nods towards it.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” 

He slips inside and Ryan swings your joined hands between the two of you for a few moments until the door opens again and Luke waddles out in a bow-legged stance, feet slowly shuffling him along.

“What did you do?” Ryan asks with a sigh. It’s in the same exasperated tone that Luke brings out of a lot of people.

“Nothing!” his little brother defends. “The bottle was clogged so I took the lid off. Then it slipped out of my hands!”

Eddie lets out a silent chuckle as he closes the classroom door behind them. 

“I think they’re stuck to me!” Luke says.

“Okay,” Eddie says, gently taking Luke by the shoulders and leading him towards a bathroom a few doors down. “I can help get them off.”

“Can Ryan?” Luke asks, reaching for the door handle.

“Ry?” Eddie looks at his oldest son.

“Yeah, let me help.”

Ryan holds the door open and Luke crab walks his way into the single bathroom. The door clicks closed behind them and Eddie gives you an amused look. You can’t help but giggle as the two of you wait out in the hall. 

Sounds of movement come from the other side of the door, along with the murmur of Luke’s voice as he speaks to his brother. A few minutes pass before the door opens a crack and Ryan sticks his head out.

“Daddy?” he asks. “Can you get a Band-Aid from the classroom?”

“He’s bleeding?” Eddie asks, slight alarm creeping into his voice.

Ryan sighs. “Glue pulled off a scab on his knee.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back,” Eddie says. He looks at you as Ryan pulls his head back inside, and you nod, letting Eddie know you’ll be here with the boys. 

Parents begin to trickle into the hallway. It’s the kindergarten wing so it’s not unusual for guardians to be waiting right outside the classroom to pick up their kids. Luke was more capable than that, he assured when he said that he could walk to the pick-up lane outside all on his own—or sometimes with Ryan. 

“Everything okay?” a voice asks from behind you.

“Oh!” You’re slightly startled as you spin around to see a man standing near you. 

A smile quirks up on one side of his mouth when he sees he surprised you. His smile is nice, you notice. In fact, all of his face is nice. He’s around Eddie’s age and height, with short black hair and piercing green eyes. Very attractive. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say with a wave of your hand. “Um, yeah, everything is okay. Just a glue incident.”

“Been there,” the man says with a gruff laugh. “Nail polish remover.”

“I’m sorry?” you ask.

“Nail polish remover will get the glue off of clothes,” he clarifies. “Just in case you or your husband didn’t know that.”

His words fluster you. Had he seen Eddie and just assumed he was your husband? Or was he just assuming in general? Either way, it takes a moment for you to compose yourself. 

Part of you doesn’t want to correct him. But it’s possible the boys can hear this conversation through the wood of the door. Also, what if the man says something similar after Eddie comes back? Eddie would obviously refute, and you’d be mortified all the way around. 

“Oh, uh, he’s um, he’s not my husband. He’s their dad. I’m the babysitter.”

“Ah, my mistake. Sorry.” He doesn’t look the least bit sorry though. “I should’ve guessed. You’re far too young to be their mom.”

He must’ve seen Eddie and at least Ryan, then. 

Again, you’re flustered. He’s clearly flirting with you, so why does part of you want Eddie to hurry up and come back? This man is handsome and charming and neither of you are doing anything wrong by having this conversation with one another. There’s not a ring on his finger either, you notice. 

You still haven’t responded though.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he says.

You hadn’t even realized you were smiling. 

“Thank you,” you say, your smile turning shy.  

The man takes a step closer to you and tilts his head to the side.

“Do you come by here every day? Or is it just my lucky day?”

Behind you, Eddie comes back with a Band-Aid in his hand. He hears the man’s question and immediately his hackles go up. His back straightens and his jaw sets as he purposely squeaks one of his black boots against the tile floor. 

The sound has the intended effect, and you spin around in his direction. Why do you feel as though you’ve been caught doing something wrong? An image of Brittany’s beautiful, cold face flashes in your mind and the trace of guilt disappears.

“You got it?” you ask Eddie.

“Yep,” he states curtly. 

He brandished the Band-Aid, realizing he had crumpled it in his fist in his irritation. He knocks on the bathroom door. “It’s me. Here’s the Band-Aid.”

Ryan opens it a crack and sticks his hand out. Eddie lays it in his palm as you hear a footstep right behind you.

Spinning back, you see that the handsome man is closer to you now. Eddie is not happy. But neither you nor the man notice. 

“I feel like I would’ve noticed you here before,” the man says to you.

“I’m usually in the carpool,” you explain. 

“See, I knew I would have recognized you,” he says with a bright smile. “You’re very pretty.”

Your face immediately fills with heat. So does Eddie’s, but for another reason entirely. 

“Thank you,” you say.

A fist banging on the door behind you startles you, and you spin around to see Eddie pounding on the wood.

“How’s it going?” Eddie asks loudly. 

“Good!” Luke calls back. “I’m almost all the way unstuck!” 

Eddie takes a breath and turns towards you.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to stay here through this.”

Though he didn’t consciously intend it, there’s possessiveness in the pet name. It’s not uncommon for him to call you “sweetheart,” but this time there’s a harshness in his tone that whispers he’s staking his claim on you.

This may be the only time Eddie has ever wanted you to go away from him. And it’s not because of him, but because of the flirtatious father that is not him. The father who can’t leave with you because he’s still waiting for his kid.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” you assure Eddie. “I can take the boys back home and you can go back to work.”

Eddie waves a hand dismissively.

“Nah, I already took the rest of the day off.” 

The stranger behind you opens his mouth to speak, so Eddie makes sure to beat him to it.

“What do you say we go get some food once Situation Sticky Pants is solved?” Eddie asks. “The gremlins are always hungry.”

“If I had a nickel for every time Luke climbed into my car and immediately brought up food, I’d be able to buy this school,” you say with a fond smile. 

Eddie’s responding chuckle makes your heart leap into your throat. You’re so ensnared by the man you’re so infatuated with that you almost miss his eldest son calling your name through the bathroom door.

Quickly, you shake it off and press your ear up against the smooth wood.

“Yeah, Ry?”

While your focus is on the boy talking to you from inside the bathroom, Eddie looks at the man behind you, steel in his deep brown eyes. The man doesn’t react or respond one way or the other. It irritates Eddie even further. 

“What was the name of that movie we watched yesterday?” Ryan asks you.

“Flubber?”

“That’s it!” you hear Luke say.

“Okay, thank you!” Ryan adds. 

You pull away from the door with a soft chuckle.

“I really hope whatever conversation they’re having about that movie has nothing to do with getting Luke’s pants unstuck,” Eddie says. 

You lean back against the cool, white brick wall next to the bathroom door and the man sidles up closer to you. Eddie doesn’t have the chance to intervene before he speaks this time.

“I know it’s a shot in the dark,” the man says to you, “but would you want to get dinner sometime?”

You’re stunned speechless. Sure, he had been flirting with you, but you assumed that’s all it was. Just some innocent, fun flirting. A date could also be some innocent fun, you tell yourself. And this man has been nothing but kind and respectful towards you. But…it doesn’t feel right. It’s hard to parse out if it feels wrong accepting another man’s advances in front of Eddie because of how you feel for your boss, or you just don’t want to go out with the guy, as nice as he seems. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean you owe him anything. Regardless, you feel a sense of relief when you decide to decline his offer.

What you don’t know is that Eddie is ready to combust behind you. Waiting for you to answer the question is pure agony for him. He’s pretty sure he’ll burst into flames if you keep him in suspense any longer.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you,” you say. 

Eddie’s heart seizes in his chest. He leans his shoulder against the wall, hoping it will help keep him propped up. 

“But…” you continue, and Eddie’s heart starts beating again, even if it’s at an erratic rhythm. 

“I actually have a boyfriend though,” you finish. 

Eddie feels sick. He half thinks he’ll have to barge in on the boys in the bathroom and empty his stomach into the toilet.

The man gives you a sad smile and nods his head.

“He’s a lucky guy.”

You offer him a small smile just as the bathroom door bangs open and the boys step out—Luke clad in his glue-free jeans.

“How we doing?” you ask them.

“Good!” Luke grins and gives you two thumbs up. His previous pair of jeans are slung over his shoulder. Eddie slips them off and rolls them up into a ball. 

“We ready to go?” Eddie asks.

Luke nods his head enthusiastically and slips his smaller hand into yours. He begins to pull you in the direction of the school’s exit. You turn your head as you’re pulled away and give the man a small smile.

“Have a nice day,” you wish him.

“You as well,” he replies. 

Once your gang makes it into the parking lot, the boys start bickering about whose car they want to ride in. They come up with Rock, Paper, Scissors as a way to decide.

While they play that, Eddie turns to you. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” he asks. It takes a Herculean amount of effort to keep bitterness from coating those words. 

Eddie knows he has no right to ask you about this and it’s completely inappropriate. Yet, he can’t stop himself from asking. 

“Hmm?” you question. As soon as his question registers in your brain, adrenaline pumps through your body, eager to let Eddie know that you’re very available—even if it doesn’t make a difference one way or the other. “Oh! No, no, I don’t have a boyfriend. My best friend taught me to use that excuse when I don’t want to accept. It’s a no, but the guy won’t get all bent out of shape or start harassing me because it doesn’t really hurt his pride.”

“Wow,” Eddie says, blowing out a breath. He’s immensely relieved that you’re single, but also annoyed that you’ve had to employ this trick for your safety. ‘I am so sorry that you have to do that. A ‘no’ should be enough.”

“Should be.” You agree with a shrug. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Scissors!” Luke exclaims before he turns in your direction. “We’re riding with you!”

“Want to meet at the diner on Essex?” Eddie asks.

“Sure!”

Eddie ushers the boys into the back of your car and makes sure they’re buckled in before walking across the parking lot to his own truck. As he slips into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition, Eddie replays the last fifteen minutes in his head. 

“She said no to that guy,” Eddie muses out loud to himself as he navigates through the traffic that’s collected in front of the school. “She said no to that guy because she has a boyfriend. But she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

A large sigh of relief spills from his lips. The mere thought of you having a boyfriend created a multitude of knots in Eddie’s stomach. He can’t even bear to think about how much of a hypocrite it all makes him. 

“But…” Eddie continues to himself, a new sickening thought taking root. “Oh, fuck. What if she didn’t want to date that douche because he’s older than her. My fucking age.”

The thought disheartens him even more than the idea of you having a boyfriend does. He reaches up and rubs his calloused hands over his face as he rolls up to a red light. 

“Jesus Christ, Munson,” he groans. “You’re sitting here, talking to yourself about whether or not she has a boyfriend, or if there’s a possibility she could be into someone older. You’re fucking married, douchebag. It shouldn’t matter one way or the other if she's with someone or not. Or who she might want to date or not.”

The light turns green, and Eddie lets his foot rest heavy against the gas.

Maybe none of this should matter to Eddie. But it sure as hell does.

[starless-nightz]

Okay so I saw whose Daughter of Hestia headcanons (my compliments to the chef) and I also saw you write angst... see where I'm going?

So, might I request headcanons for the child of Hestia getting injured after a battle and just how that might impact the people at camp/morale

Not sure if this makes sense, so sorry about that, but thank you.

Child of Hestia getting injured in battle

note -> Glad you liked the HCs! Yes i do write angst, it just happens that either no one ever requests it or i dont have any idea for the requests.

warnings -> none.

content includes -> angst, the campers are pissed, reader is heavily injured.

The entire camp is shocked when you get hurt. As Hestia's only child, you're the one everyone associates with warmth, safety, and tranquility—so it's profoundly unnerving to see you hurt. It's like there has been a crack in the very foundation of their house, and it sends them reeling to the very core of their bones.

The campfire is chillier without you. Even at the infirmary recovering, your presence is missed. The usual comfort lingering around the campfire ebbs and the gatherings by the fire are not the same. Campers draw closer to the fire but are sans the warmth they're so used to because of the absence of your quiet, calming energy.

Campers take it personally, at least the ones that know you well. The more battle-hardened demigods—the children of Ares and Athena among others—find themselves feeling an anger, rare and deep, toward whatever got to you. To them, you are this sort of symbol of the gentler side of camp life, and seeing you get hurt as some sort of attack on the very heart of what they are fighting so hard for.

Hermes' cabin is affected the most. Although they are normally known to be a playful bunch of kids playing pranks and pulling all sorts of mischievous antics, they're subdued when you're injured. They miss your soft laughter and how you always offered to help clean up after one of their more chaotic moments. They band together to make sure your cabin is looked after while recovering, as means to repay some of the comfort you've given to them in return.

The mood in the infirmary is grim, yet determined. Will Solace, the healer of the camp, treats you with extreme care; after all, your well-being means the world to the camp. He's stern and intent, rarely leaving his post, ensuring that you are receiving all the best possible care. The Apollo kids put in an all-out effort to heal you, aware that it will make a great deal of difference to the morale of others.

Your closest friends refuse to leave your side: duty-operated, that is, they get shifts sitting beside your bed, trying to keep things light-hearted, telling stories, or making quiet jokes. You know that deep inside they're worried, yet they know you will not like seeing their anxiety, and so they try maintaining the usual cast of characters for your benefit, even when it's hard to camouflage worry in their eyes.

Camp activities are much more subdued now. Training sessions and sparring matches are nowhere near as energetic, and even capture the flag is a little more subdued, less peppered with shouts and playful competitiveness. There's a sense among the campers that they should be more careful, like the idea of someone like you getting injured has made them all realize that they're vulnerable.

The other campers make up for your lack, though: Demeter children care for the garden you were always in charge of, the kids from Aphrodite make common places of the camp cozy to the possible extent, and so on and so forth. Everyone tries their best at keeping the spirits up at the camp while you are recovering, but they really do miss your personal touch.

People find themselves visiting the hearth more often, looking to the proximity of the fire somehow reuniting them with you as you are out of commission. They will sit at the flames, muttering their apprehensions with crackling wood, thus hoping it be heard by Hestia herself for your recovery.

Nico di Angelo is particularly distressed by your hurt. He's not foreign to loss, but he has always looked upon you as a sort of anchor-someone who reminded him of peaceful things in life. The thought of losing you is a fear he doesn't want to admit to himself, and he'll be haunting the infirmary more often than he'd like, just to make sure you are still all right.

Your recovery means normalcy returns very grudgingly. As you get well enough to start your work, the energy in camp starts to return in homeopathic doses. When you're finally ready to join the others around the fire, there's celebration: full of treats and stories as campers press close to the flames now, as if to make up for lost time. You stand for a more complete warmer experience with the feeling that one weight has been removed from everyone's shoulder.

Your injury leaves an indelible mark on the camp. After you have regained your health, demigods are more cautious in battles and less often take superfluous risks in them, as they are more aware of the price for that. At the same time, your recovery becomes a beacon of resilience and the campers feel a deeper bonding knowing they've been through a rough time together.

[catboybiologist]

Hi! I'm Sierra. Time for a pinned post refresh.

Otherwise known as CatboyBiologist, or @hi-sierra (my SFW blog [this one is SFW too, but less so]). This page is remaining active, but if you want to find me somewhere else, I use the same username on reddit, Instagram, co-host, and tech.lgbt. This is me:

Trans woman, PhD student in molecular biology, boymoder, shitposter, freediver, hot girl on your phone, hiker, rambler (this post included), tgirl tummy tuesday supplier and enjoyer, former femboy, bane of bioessentialist fuckwads who try to use biology to validate biogotry, flaming bisexual, 196 nanocelebrity… whatever was the first thing that brought you to my blog, I hope it’s enough to get you to stay! I post selfies, hornyposts (minors and people who are averse to that be warned), stuff about the ocean, posts about my growing sense of wanderlust, my adorable lil tortoise, tutorials for transfemmes and GNC people, rambles about science, documentation of my own transition, rambles about transness, rambles about the eroticism of programming a machine to feel arousal, rambles about nature, and random shitposts. Please send me pictures of cute animals in your life!

If you wanna support my science career and my transition, consider dropping a tip here! PhD salaries are notorious for being negotiated to be exactly the cost of living…. And then forgotten about for years as inflation drops that below minimum wage. So I’m always a little strapped for cash. Anything helps!

Links to some of my tutorials and relevant resources under the cut:

I'm tracking my transition, and some people have said they found this helpful! This spreadsheet is generally updated monthly:

Usually, I write a little journal to go with it when it updates- you can find that under the #trans journal on my blog.

If you're interested in checking out some of the things I'm trying to write, here's a post with links to individual stories I'm making:

https://www.tumblr.com/catboybiologist/741010247774306304/writing-consolidation-post?source=share

My femboy guide, written well before I started HRT, but still has relevant info:

A "boyboob" tutorial, aka how to make it look like you have cleavage in an outfit that looks better with it:

A quick and dirty guide to taking better selfies, with a specific emphasis on people who may have stopped hating their body recently due to transition:

And here's a few of my personal favorite little rambles and posts about my transness, in no particular order:

CW for transphobia on this one:

A massive shoutout to @foldingfittedsheets for this amazing art of the lil borgir holding a trans flag:

I adore this so much <3 if you want to support their art, her commissions are open and really sweet!!!!

And of course, a massive shoutout to @whalesharkcat for this lovely pixel art of my tortoise:

I still love this so much, and will continue to into the future <3

For preHRT selfies, search the femboy tag. For post HRT selfies, use the "trans selfie" tag. I've been on HRT since August of 2023, so I'm still very early in the process! Day to day, I present male, but I plan to change that around the 1 year mark.

I guess that's about it! One final note is that I've been alluding to video/podcast style things for a while now. With my aderrall prescription, I've actually put in a lot of research work that might lead to 1-4 of those, so that might actually happen in the near future! No promises of course, life always catches up to you.

And if you liked my previous pinned post better, here it is:

Anyways, if you read this far, thanks for sticking around and bbyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[headkiss]

you’ll always know me (pt. 2)

part 1, part 2

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie misses you too much when he’s away, so he comes home again and invites you to join him on tour. the two of you figure some things out, too.

word count: 12.2k

warnings: fluff, some angst (i’m sorry!), childhood friends to lovers, librarian!reader, still idiots in love, and a kiss!!!

a/n: hiii thank you guys so so much for all the love on part 1 of this one!!! i hope u love part 2 (the finale) just as much!!! i really really enjoyed writing these two and hopefully you enjoy it too!!! please let me know what you think <3

♫♩♪♬

It’s about a month later when Eddie has another break from tour.

Rather than hanging around wherever in the world he is for the short time like he normally would on the short breaks, he finds himself booking a flight to Hawkins. Sure, he’ll only be there for about 48 hours, maybe less, but he doesn’t mind.

He really, really wants to see you.

Considering how often he talks to you on the phone now, it’d be tough to surprise you this time, so he doesn’t. Last call, he’d told you he had a couple of days off, with a seed of hope in your chest, you’d asked him what he was going to do, and the happy cheer you made when Eddie told you he was coming home is something he’d never forget.

“Is Wayne picking you up?” You’d asked, knowing Eddie would rather not take a driver if it’s possible.

“He’s gotta work.”

“Why don’t I come get you, then?”

And, well, how could Eddie ever say no to that?

That brings him here, walking along the familiar floor of the Indianapolis International Airport, a beanie tucked on his head despite the weather, a pair of sunglasses over his eyes despite being inside.

He’s lucky that it’s not a busy time at the airport, that people don’t really pay him any attention whenever he’s closer to home. One day, that might change, but he’s glad for now, for the sort of peace it brings.

His suitcase is tugged along behind him, wheels spinning against the tiled floors, his legs are stiff from the flight, his neck has an ache in it from his nap, but the discomfort sort of melts away when he sees you.

Eddie suddenly feels more aware of himself than he ever has around you, the pickup in his heart rate louder than ever. He assumes that’s got something to do with those feelings he’s got for you. Feelings he’s had and only just recognized.

You're standing by your car right outside the doors with the ‘pick up’ sign hanging over them, sweater sleeves long enough to cover your palms and a sign (a flimsy piece of paper, really) with the word ‘loser’ scrawled in sharpie.

“You’re still my loser,” he remembers you saying, that night in his van. That night he kissed you and you kissed him and everything felt exactly right for just a minute.

A soft chuckle leaves his chest as he walks through the doors, and even with his poor disguise on, you know it’s him right away. A pair of black jeans, ripped in the knees, a faded band tee, and messy curls. So clearly Eddie.

You want to say his name as soon as you see him, shout it excitedly and sort of embarrassingly. Instead, you let go of your paper with one hand and wave, bouncing on your feet just a little.

Your best friend, the best boy you’ve ever known, back sooner than you ever could’ve hoped.

A smile splits your cheeks, and a mirrored expression spreads on Eddie’s face, his eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses with the force of it.

When he’s close enough, he drops his suitcase handle and rushes to you, his arms going around your waist and crumpling your piece of paper between your bodies. His hug knocks the air out of you in the best way possible, the smell of his soap and cologne hitting your nose; pine and sandalwood and smoke and something sweet like vanilla.

His hair tickles your nose and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Your arms go around his neck, face tucked against his shoulder.

“Hey, trouble,” he breathes. There’s something like relief there.

“Hi, Eddie,” you say, and it’s quiet enough that he’s the only one that could hear you. He squeezes you even tighter, his hug so crushing you’re standing on your tiptoes to stay in it.

“Thanks for coming.”

You’d go to a lot of places for him, almost anywhere. The Indianapolis International Airport isn’t all that special.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, then remember that you’re still in public, that he’s Eddie Munson, and that you’ve been hugging for a long time for something friendly. Clearing your throat, you pull away and tear the edges of your paper between your fingers.

“Yeah, yeah. Get in the car.”

He does, a smile still on his face, though it’s softer now, a little shy. As soon as you pull away from the airport, Eddie tugs off his beanie and sunglasses. He’s often the one driving when you’re together (or, he was when he was always in Hawkins), so he takes this chance to lean his head against the seat and watch you drive.

There’s a small squint in your eyes when you look at some signs, and then he’s thinking about how you’d look in glasses, morning eyes bleary behind the frames. Pretty, he thinks. You hum along to the radio and he’s joining in.

“You’re one-upping me,” you say when he does. “It’s kinda unfair, mister famous singer.”

It’s sort of crazy, how you can say something so simple, so out-of-mind, and it’s enough to wash away any ounce of worry Eddie had that things would be weird now. He guesses you two are too far in now for something like a kiss—the best kiss of his life, probably—to change anything.

Too far into your friendship, of course.

“Stop, we used to sing together all the time,” he says.

“That was before you got a record deal! Now it’s unbalanced!”

“This is the best part of the song, trouble,” Eddie reaches over and twists the volume knob, turning it up, “sing along.”

You’re shaking your head and you’re smiling and just like that you and Eddie are harmonizing on the bridge. It’s pitchy (on your part) and easy (on his) and it’s pretty perfect.

The sun sits lower in the sky by the time you’re in Hawkins, pulling into the trailer park. There’s an orange hue in the sky, fading into pinks and blues.

Wayne’s car still isn’t back from work, and gravel crunches beneath your tires as you park in front of Eddie’s trailer. You look over at him, the time spent in the car talking and singing and soaking in his presence like a plant in sunlight doesn’t feel like enough and it feels like everything at the same time.

“Welcome home, Eddie.”

He glances over at you like he has time and time again on the way, eyes flicking over your features even as you turn to look towards the sunset out the window.

“It’s good to be home.” His eyes are still on you.

-

Eddie tried to wait up for Wayne that night, but he seemed to be working way later than he should’ve been (some things never change) and Eddie was more tired than he thought.

He showered, laid down, and he was out.

He wakes up with hair even messier than usual, his arm stiff from where he’d been using it as a pillow, and indents from the blankets on his bare chest. Telltale signs of a good sleep.

Walking out into the kitchen, that smell of crappy coffee and the sight of his uncle has him smiling, “morning, Wayne.”

“My boy,” his uncle sets down his newspaper to greet him, pushing back and standing up to give him a proper hug, hand slapping his back affectionately. “Back so soon. You missed me that much?”

“Sure,” he says, pulling back and grabbing a mug from the cabinet. “I wanted to say ‘hi’ when you got back yesterday, but I was out.”

“I know,” Wayne chuckles a little, “I checked on ya and found you snoring.”

“I don’t snore!”

“You snore, kid.”

“You have no proof,” Eddie says, sitting across from his uncle the way he has forever. “What kept you out so late, anyway? Car giving you trouble?”

Sinking into his seat a little, Wayne fights a smile, “no, not a car.”

“Wayne Munson! Were you on a date?”

The thought has Eddie grinning. His uncle deserves someone, he deserves to be loved in that way and to be less lonely.

“I’m the parent here,” he says, though it’s clear in the out-of-character shyness that Eddie’s right, “I’m the one who gets to ask questions.”

“I’m happy for you,” Eddie says.

“Shut up and go to the library, I know that’s why you came back.”

Eddie never really stopped to think of the exact thing that pulled him back here so soon. Obviously he wants to see you, he always does, but that hasn’t always been enough to get him home, as awful as that sounds. This time, it’s like he was searching for an opening, any sliver of time so that he could see your face and hear your voice at the same time.

So, yeah, maybe that is ultimately why he came back. And maybe he abandons his coffee mug in favor of getting dressed and driving his van over to the library.

You’re going through your system and finding overdue books, calling people and having to stay sweet even when they’re cold with you. It’s your least favorite task of the job, probably.

Then, the door’s opening and when you glance up to see who it is, it’s exactly who you’re looking for. Eddie, spinning his car keys around his finger, humming softly.

“So, where can I find a book on rock ‘n’ roll?”

“Dork.”

It was only yesterday that he saw you, and still, you’re a total breath of fresh air.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?”

“Of course I am. What are you doing here?”

“Um, hanging out with my best friend. Put me to work, trouble.”

Best friend, best friend, best friend. The words tug at your heart in two ways. One: even though he’s met so many new people, he still considers you his best. Two: you’re only friends.

“Okay, here,” you pat the desk beside you where the phone sits, “you can call my overdue books for me.”

“Sounds good to me.”

He walks around the desk to go behind it with you, pulling over a chair from the closest table and sitting down.

For every phone call you ask him to make, Eddie puts on some sort of voice. A British accent for one, his terrible high pitched old lady voice for another. You’re hiding your giggles behind your hand and you’re definitely not thinking of what your boss might say to you if she found out.

It doesn’t matter, it’ll be worth it to feel this way. Like no time has passed at all, like you and Eddie are kids hiding out in his trailer with the phone book open making prank calls for hours until Wayne had to cut you off. It’s then and now mingling the way they do when you’ve known someone this long.

The door opens again right after Eddie hangs up the last call, right after you’ve looked at each other and burst out laughing because of the reaction he’d gotten on the other line.

“My stomach hurts, Eddie,” you lean back in your chair, and he wipes at his eyes, “stop making me laugh.”

“I can’t help it, I’m just so funny.”

You slap his arm lightly, shaking your head. “So humble, too.”

You sit up when whoever had walked in comes up to the desk, and you find a young boy and a woman who you assume is his mother.

“Go ahead,” she urges him.

Nervously, the boy steps forward, “are you Eddie Munson?” He asks, and it’s then you notice the small Corroded Coffin pin on the strap of his backpack.

Eddie doesn’t really get approached in Hawkins, usually. The people here didn’t really like him for a long time, for the most part, and then they just sort of seemed to accept it. He doesn’t mind one bit, though. He’s lucky above a lot of things.

“Sure am. What’s up, buddy?”

“Could I get an autograph?” The boy asks.

“Totally!” Eddie stands up, grabbing a sharpie and a piece of paper from your desk before walking around it to greet the boy properly.

He kneels down in front of him, gives him a fist bump and wears the kindest smile you’ve ever known. You’re basically a puddle, watching the interaction with fondness melting in your chest.

“Who do I make it out to?” Eddie asks.

The boy looks up at his mom, who nods at him, and he turns back to Eddie, “Frankie.”

“Nice to meet you, Frankie. Sick name.”

Eddie uses his leg to write on the page, scrawling a small message that you can’t make out from where you sit. When he’s done, he looks back at Frankie and hands him the paper.

“There you go, buddy.”

“Thank you!” His smile is so wide, his eyes disbelieving as he shares a look with his mom.

“Thank you,” the woman says. “Sorry to bother you, have a nice day.”

“It’s no bother, no worries,” Eddie tells her, waving at the pair as they leave, “have a good one!”

When he turns back around to face you, you’re smiling all soft and adoringly and he’d sign a million autographs if you’d always look at him that way afterwards.

“What?” He asks, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“That was so cute, Eddie. Did you see his face?”

“What can I say, the people love me.” Eddie shrugs, playing it off. “Think you have some competition for number one fan, trouble.”

Yeah, right. If only he knew about that damn shoebox you have.

“Not a chance, Munson. That spot’s mine.”

-

It feels like you’ve blinked and you’re already driving Eddie back to the airport. Even so, you’re happy knowing that he came home again. It’s like that distance that had painfully wedged itself between you has been growing smaller and smaller, despite him being away.

With every phone call, every laugh, every utterance of the word ‘trouble’ in Eddie’s voice, something welds itself back together, healing over where miles apart had wounded it. Mending like a bone, fractured but never broken.

Beside you, Eddie’s been fidgeting with his rings, twirling them around his fingers as you drive. You’re not sure why, and you haven’t asked, because if he wants to, he’ll tell you and you’ll listen. He’s nervous, that much you know.

Eddie’s been thinking about asking you something for a while, and with how his gut twists when he thinks about not seeing you for months at a time again, he figures it’s worth a shot.

He wants to have you around when he’s doing what he loves, when he feels like he’s on top of the world. He wants you there and he thinks it might feel better than ever that way.

You drive up to the drop-off spot, pulling over and parking the car. Eddie turns to look at you, and you do the same so that you’re facing each other. He’s got a beanie on again, black with a small pair of dice embroidered on the front. There are dark circles under his eyes, and somehow his tiredness makes them shine even more, like the morning sun reflects differently.

“So,” he starts, dragging out the word. “I have a question for you.”

“Okay, shoot.”

Well, he’s gotta do it now, no matter the nerves or the fear of rejection.

“Will you come on tour with me?”

“What?” Is what comes out of your mouth because you’re not sure that you heard him right. Sure, you’ve seen him live plenty of times, but not at this stage of his career, not alongside him that way.

“I want you to come on tour with us, with me. We’re gonna be in New York for a bit, and you should be there.”

“Wow, Eddie, I- what about the library? Or traveling? I can’t afford-”

“A week,” he cuts you off, hand finding yours on the center console, his fingers weaving their way between yours so easily, like magnets finding each other, like it’s meant to be that way. “Come for a week, and obviously it’s covered, honey.”

You want to say yes, you want to shout it and kiss him again, really. Instead you worry a little. The library would be fine, you’ve yet to take any vacation days, anyway, but what if he regrets bringing you? What if he’s asking you on a whim and he doesn’t mean it?

“You really want me there?” You ask, gaze flicking down to your hand in his. His rings are cool against your skin, but his palm is warm, and when he squeezes, it’s an unspoken reassurance.

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t, trouble. I promise.”

“You’re serious?”

You’re still looking at your hands, and that changes when Eddie ducks his head to catch your eye, his gaze is soft and serious all at once, his smile sticky sweet.

“I want you there. If that works for you, I want you there.” His thumb runs a pattern over your hand, back and forth again and again. “If you want to, you’re more than welcome, and I'll take care of it.”

You might not even let him leave if he keeps talking to you like that, delicate and kind with zero trace of doubt. None at all.

“Okay.”

“Okay, you'll come?” His hand is holding yours tighter, like hope spills from Eddie’s body and needs somewhere to go.

“Yeah, I’ll come. I’ll have to check with my boss, but-”

You’re cut off by Eddie’s arms pulling you into a hug. It’s uncomfortable, leaned across the center console, seat belt digging into your stomach, but you wouldn’t dream of pulling away.

“I’m so glad,” he says.

Your face is hidden in his hair, your smile hidden just the same. You’re glad, too.

“You’re gonna be late, Munson.”

He breathes you in again before pulling back, “trying to get rid of me?”

“Trying to make sure you don’t miss your flight.”

“I know. I’ll see you soon?”

He’s unbuckling his seat belt, pushing the door open, but he doesn’t move to get out until you respond.

“Yeah, you will. You’ll have to call me, though. I don’t know where you’ll be.”

“I’ll call you, honey.”

When he gets out and grabs his bags, when he turns to wave at you one more time before going inside, it doesn’t feel so bad this time. Your chest feels whole, your smile still on your face.

I’ll see you soon. It feels much better than a goodbye.

-

True to his word, Eddie covered everything. Your flight, booking the hotel, and more he probably hasn’t told you because he knows that you have a hard time accepting him paying for everything.

You’d even tried to argue it over the phone, and he’s said “too late, babe. It’s already done.”

Now, with a week ahead of you, you’re in New York City of all places, trailing your suitcase behind you as you exit the airport in search of the car Eddie said he’d send for you. Black, tinted windows, guy in a suit standing by it. It’s easy enough to spot when most people around are wearing sweats.

“Hi, you’re here for me, I think?” You say to the man by the car, telling him your name and getting a nod in affirmation.

“I’m Hank, nice to meet you.”

Hank takes your bag for you, even when you assure him you could do it. So, with nothing else to do, you open the back door and slide into the car, door swinging shut behind you. You’d fully expected to be by yourself, and okay with it, too, but you aren’t.

Right there in the backseat with you is Eddie.

You practically tackle him in the seat, surging forward to hug him, leaning across the leather to get to him. You’re not sure what carried you to do it. Maybe it’s the fact that he paid for everything, that he wants you to be here enough to do that. That he wants you here at all.

The wind is sort of knocked out of Eddie when your arms wrap around his neck, your hug crushing in his favorite way. He’s not complaining one bit. He’s so excited to have you here to see this world of his, for you to be able to see something you helped him achieve, whether you know it or not.

So, with a huff pushed from his chest, his arms curl around you, too. Smooth and easy.

“Happy to see me, trouble?”

“I thought you’d be busy,” you say, because his question is already answered with the tiniest squeeze of your grip around him. “And you jerk, you got me first class?”

You draw back into your seat when Hank gets back into the car, unsure of how much he knows or how much he’ll say. Not that you’re ashamed for hugging Eddie, but you’re afraid that he might read things the wrong way and you’ll have to (painfully, achingly) correct him the way you did with Argyle a while ago.

You distract yourself by tugging your seatbelt over and clicking it into place.

“‘Course I did. Had to get the best for you.”

“You didn’t have to,” you say, and looking at Eddie’s face you don’t feel so worried about Hank anymore. You practically forget he’s there. “But thank you.”

“Goin’ soft on me?”

His voice is teasing. He deflects because he can’t exactly tell you that he chose first class, that he covered everything, that he flew you out to him because he’s burying his feelings for you into it all, that it’s easier to do these things without you realizing what it means than it would be to come right out and say it.

He needs more time for that. Time to get brave, to see if you might feel the same. If you might let him kiss you again.

“Maybe I’m just tired. Getting delirious.” You’re really not, but just to be safe you add on a small jest of, “loser.”

Still, your tone betrays you, affection woven into the word.

You share a smile with him, eyes sparkling the way they seem to do when you’re with each other. The glow that only appears when you’re in the presence of someone you like this much, someone you know this well. It says enough.

Turning your head, you look out the window, skyscrapers surrounding you, the skyline flying by as you go. Your mouth drops open a little in awe, the busy streets and towering buildings a far cry from the small town you’re so used to.

While you peer outside, Eddie looks at your face in the reflection of the window, accomplishment blooming in his chest at the widening of your eyes and the look on your face.

Shit, he’s so happy to have you here.

It’s not long until you reach the hotel, the sight of the city enough to occupy you for the drive. Even from the outside, it looks expensive, and you’re about to tell Eddie you can’t let him pay for this again when he stops you, “I already paid for your room, so don’t say anything. Just enjoy it, okay?”

“You’re insane, Munson. Wow.”

He knows you mean it as a compliment; he can pick out the intentions from your voice with ease by now, he thinks.

“Wait until you try out the bed.” Eddie pulls on a beanie he’d had in his pocket, then the sunglasses that had been hanging from the neck of his shirt. “Ready to go in?”

“Hell yes. Need to wash the airport off of me.”

“‘Kay.” Eddie then turns towards your driver, “thanks Hank. And don’t worry about the bag, I’ve got it.”

“Of course, Mr. Munson.”

He opens his door and you follow suit, stepping out of the car and watching as Eddie gets your suitcase from the trunk.

“I can take that,” you offer, reaching for the handle as he walks you towards the entrance.

“Kindly, fuck off, trouble. I got it.”

You hold your hands up in surrender, a little too happy with the way his hand flexes around the handle of your bag, too happy with his insistence to do this simple thing for you.

Even though he doesn’t need to, he stands with you during your check-in process, and he carries your bag over to the elevators and down your hallway, too.

“This is you,” he says, stopping at your room even though you’re the one holding the key.

“How’d you know that?”

“‘Cause I’m right next door,” he says, grinning at you, “I booked it, trouble. We’re neighbors!”

“You’re such a dork.” You’re grinning right back.

-

The crowd’s cheers are piercing. Chants of the band’s name covering every other sound in the venue.

You’re backstage, watching them all warm up in their own ways. Gareth tapping his drumsticks together, Jeff shaking out his hands, Eddie bouncing on his feet. It’s a complete whirlwind of crew setting up, of commanding voices left and right and it’s sort of unbelievable to be standing in the midst of it all.

You move out of the way with an apology when a stagehand moves by you with a guitar. Eddie’s guitar, red and black and the same one he’s been using since he could afford the instrument. The familiarity of it has you smiling.

The memories that guitar must hold, you wonder, the places it’s seen.

With his guitar now over his neck, Eddie turns to you, energy practically rolling off of him, like every shout from the crowd charges him up further.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, stepping close enough to talk into your ear, over the screaming and the bustle of the crew. “So fucking glad.”

“30 seconds until you’re on, guys!” A woman wearing a headset shouts.

Eddie pulls back enough to look at your face, but he stays close, his nose inches from yours, his excitement somehow spilling from him and into you. It’s the sort of infectious feeling you get when it’s obvious someone’s doing what they love, when their passion is palpable.

“Break a leg, Munson.”

“Five seconds!”

“See you on the other side, honey.”

Eddie reaches for your hand, gives it a firm squeeze, and then he’s off, jetting onto the stage behind his bandmates. The crowd roars even lowder, enough to leave your ears ringing but you don’t care. You take it in.

It’s one thing to read about it, to see pictures, to see footage on TV, even. But seeing it for yourself is a whole new kind of crazy.

The size of the audience is a far cry from the shows they used to play at the Hideout, the words to the songs being known and sung just the way Eddie had always dreamed. The pride that swells in your chest is huge, a balloon expanding and expanding only you don’t think it’ll ever pop. There’s always more room to be proud of someone you love.

You stand side stage, exactly where Eddie had told you to. Just far enough that the audience can’t see you, hidden by shadows, but close enough that he can see you.

Eddie hasn’t felt this way at a show for a long time. Not to say he doesn’t love every show, because he does, but sometimes the energy will feel different, better, higher. The crowd is a great one, and even more importantly, you’re here.

You’re here and Eddie flicks his eyes over to you constantly during the show because he just can’t help it. The wide smile on your face makes him want to work harder to keep it there, the way you bop along and mouth the words to his music is something he’ll never forget.

You know the words. Of course, you’d known them to the early songs, when his only performances were in Hawkins and you were at every single one. But even now, albums later, you know the words.

And to top it all off, you’re wearing Corroded Coffin merch, a baggy t-shirt tucked into your jeans. God, he can’t stop fucking looking at you.

Between songs, he goes over to Gareth, and then Jeff, speaking into their ears without a mic so you don’t know what he’s saying. But by the gleam in his eyes, you know he must be up to something.

He walks over to the side of the stage where you stand, trading off his current guitar for his acoustic one, even older and worn than the last. The painted letters reading ‘this machine slays dragons’ scratched and faded by now.

You’d been there when he painted them on, giggling at the lopsided way they turned out, pouting when Eddie smeared paint on your bare arm in retaliation.

He’s gone from playing it in his bedroom in the trailer to playing it for thousands of people.

“Alright guys,” he starts, back at his mic. “We’re gonna slow it down for this next one, that sound okay?”

The response he gets is a wave of cheers.

“Alright, alright. Cool.” He starts strumming, chords you recognize right away. “We’ve got a cover for you tonight. I want to dedicate this song to my best friend. This one’s for you, trouble.”

Your eyes are misty with unshed tears. He’s playing your favorite song, the only one you’d ever learned on guitar because you forced him to teach it to you. Your hands go to your cheeks, warmth bursting through you at his gesture.

And he’d called you ‘trouble.’ Hadn’t used your name because this is something that’s just for you and him. Yours.

Eddie flicks his eyes over to you (again) as he sings, his hands moving with ease on his guitar because he’s known how to play this song for ages. Longer than his own songs, even.

His heart sort of melts at the expression on your face, dripping down his ribs in oozing, pink waves.

Even from where he is, even with the lights beaming down on him, he can see the tears in your eyes, the way your hands hold your face the way they do when you’re overwhelmed. He hopes it’s in a good way, and with the way the words of the song are broken up by a smile on your face, he thinks it is.

After the song, with a quick ‘thank you’ into the mic, Eddie walks offstage, towards you again, to switch his guitar back. Before he puts the other one over his neck, though, he rushes to you.

The arm that isn’t holding his guitar tugs you around your neck into a hug. He’s sweaty and breathing hard, his chest rising and falling where it’s pressed to yours, but you don’t care. You hug him around the waist and squeeze.

“Thank you,” you say, loud enough for only him to hear.

“Thank you, trouble.”

A kiss to the top of your head, and he’s off again.

Eddie’s back at the mic quickly, his guitar in place again. “Alright everyone, back to our regularly scheduled programming.”

-

After the show, Eddie brought you back to the green room with the rest of the band, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as soon as he ran off stage to tug you along with him. Insistent but kind in the way he did it, sure not to pull too tight, turning his head to check on you behind him along the way.

Even when you’re worlds away from his, from the fame and the constant travel and the fans, Eddie makes you feel like you’re a part of it. Like you belong here.

There’s a couch pressed to one of the walls in the green room, chairs set up around it for more seating, a table of snacks and water bottles set up near the door.

Conversations happen all around you, crew members, photographers, big paper writers, but yours is seperate.

After the well-deserved congratulations on a great show, you, Eddie, Gareth, and Jeff found your places on the couch, heads turned towards each other. You’re on the edge, Eddie next to you, his thigh, arm, shoulder, all squished against yours.

It’s nice. The warmth of his skin against yours, the post-show adrenaline that has all three of the boys in a great mood.

After all, Gareth and Jeff were your friends, too. Not in the way Eddie’s your friend, of course. You don’t think anyone could ever come close. Being with all of them reminds you of when you’d watch them practice in Jeff’s garage in high school, sitting sideways in a chair they’d left in there for you, legs kicked up on the armrest.

“What a show,” Gareth says. Eddie’s told you before that a good crowd makes a huge difference, and it’s clear in the way the three of them talk about it, the way they smile and shake their heads at what they’ve accomplished.

“I mean, someone flashed me their tits, so it’s definitely a good night,” Jeff, on the opposite end of the couch from you, sighs happily.

You scrunch your nose.

“Gross, dude.” Eddie leans over Gareth to shove Jeff’s shoulder. “There’s a lady present.”

“Come on! She hung out with us in high school. Peak outcast status.” Jeff defends himself. “She’s hardly a lady to me. No offense.”

“None taken, Jeff.” You lean forward to address him, smiling kindly.

“See? None taken, asshole.” Jeff shoves Eddie back.

By doing so, he’s pushed even closer to you, his weight against you further. Eddie stabilizes himself with a hand on your leg, his palm warm through the fabric of your jeans. He leaves it there even when he sits normally.

“So,” Gareth grabs your attention with your name, “how’s Hawkins? Missing us horribly?”

“Let’s just say, the Hideout is pretty boring now.”

“Good riddance.” Gareth teases, giving Jeff a high five.

You know it’s mostly a joke, but it also isn’t, really. These boys weren’t treated right there. Ridiculed for having passions and hobbies that weren’t so conventional. They’re right to be glad to be away, to be glad to be loved now.

Still, there’s a dull ache at the thought that Eddie feels the same. That Hawkins is too small, too awful for him. That you’re not enough for him, having your life there.

Then, you’re reminded of his hand on your leg, and you shake off your thoughts, covering them with a smile.

“You know,” Jeff, the most lacking of a filter of the group, says, “this guy’s a whole lot happier now that you guys are talking a bunch.” Eddie, he means. You know by the way he ruffles his hair.

Eddie shifts in his seat. He wants to tell Jeff to shut up, to stop because he could say too much, could give away too much. He knows he loves you, and he will tell you, he will. But not like this.

He settles for a glare in Jeff’s direction.

“Oh, I’m not-” you start, flustered at the idea of being any kind of reason for Eddie’s happiness, especially being one that causes a noticeable shift.

“No!” Gareth jumps in, “it’s true. He used to grump around the hotel room and yell at us for having the TV on too loud-”

“I did not yell.”

“-and now he doesn’t care ‘cause he’s on the phone with you, anyways.”

“Right!” Jeff again. “First thing he does when we get to a new hotel is lock himself in his room and call you. It’s soooo cute.” He pitches his voice up for the last bit, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, a faux-innocent smirk on his face.

Eddie thinks he might punch Jeff right now. He thinks that often but he’s actually, really considering it (he’s not really, but still). He sounds like an absolute dork, the way Jeff puts it, even though he’s right. Relying on your voice through the phone to make his nights, counting down the minutes until the next time he can call.

He’s so pathetic over you. So pathetic and so in love he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

He musters an: “okay. Shut up.”

That’s when you look at Eddie, who’s spinning the ring around his thumb on the hand that isn’t on your leg, looking down at his lap all sheepish. There’s a tinge of pink spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears that you can see with the way he’s wearing his hair, a messy bun at the back of his head.

It’s fucking cute. You want to kiss him so bad for it. Instead, you hold the hand that’s on your leg, nudging your shoulder into his.

-

The next day comes and goes. You have the day to yourself to explore New York, wearing in your platform mary janes and doing enough walking to wake up a little sore tomorrow, but it’s great.

You eat brunch by yourself in a quiet cafe, your current read open on the table in front of you. The rest of the day is spent being a full-on tourist, which you’re a little embarrassed about, but it’s a big city, and you definitely aren’t the only tourist around.

Well, the rest of the day minus dinner.

Eddie couldn’t join you because of some press stuff, feature pictures for a magazine, a couple of interviews, a small writing session. Of course, he’d invited you along, but you didn’t want to get in the way, and there were things you wanted to see. It worked out.

Nonetheless, Eddie made sure to meet you for dinner, because there was no way he wasn’t going to do anything with you at all. He’s got about 4 days left, he isn’t going to waste a second.

He’s there before you are, signaling you over before the hostess can offer to seat you, and you send her a smile as you make your way over to Eddie’s table. He’s gotten you both a booth in the far corner, an echo of the table you’ve claimed as yours at Benny’s back in Hawkins.

Eddie trusts this place, it’s private and small enough to have no sign or awning outside. A good place to hide in plane sight.

Despite the reminder, the place is much different than Benny’s. Fancy enough to have you kicking Eddie’s leg under the table at the prices, which he tells you not to look at, tells he’s buying and you don’t have to worry. You still stick to the cheaper side of the menu.

So no, it’s not Benny’s, but Eddie still steals food from your plate, still smudges whipped cream on your nose after convincing you to split some dessert with him.

Over bites of cake he tells you about the song they were working on today—leaving out that he’d written a lot of lyrics about you—and how far they’d gotten.

“It’s not done, but it’s getting there.”

“Does that mean you’ll play it for me?” You ask.

“Mmm, I don’t know.” Eddie taps his chin like he’s contemplating. “You did kick me earlier.”

“Hey! I’ve kicked you before without consequence.”

“You know you’re really not helping your case here, trouble.”

“I’ll hear that song, Munson.”

And it’s left at that, because you will. Eddie can't really say no to you (has he ever been able to?) and he misses playing his songs for you before anyone else. Minus those involved in making it, obviously.

With the bill paid by Eddie, after much stubbornness, the two of you slip out the front doors with twin smiles on your faces, so saccharine it’s insane that the two of you are mostly oblivious to the other’s feelings.

Your smiles fade quickly when a wave of camera flashes go off on either side of the doors, surrounding the entrance to the small restaurant.

There’s a rock in Eddie’s stomach, sinking in dread that you’re with him as this is happening. It’s not what you signed up for and it’s not something you deserve.

“Eddie, over here!”

“Who’s the girl?”

“Is that your girlfriend?”

The shouts come all at once, overwhelming and intimidating and you have no idea what to do. Your hands shake a little, your heartbeat a rapid thumping in your chest.

Eddie’s instincts kick in quickly, though, having been through this many times before. This time, it’s worse. This time, there’s you.

He tosses an arm over your shoulder and rests his hand on the back of your head, gently urging you to look down so that they don’t get your face, his other hand grabbing your arm lightly to take you to the car where Hank waits.

Eddie opens the back door and urges you in first, shielding the entrance to the car as you shuffle across the seat to give him room. He slams the door as soon as his feet are inside, telling Hank to head back to the hotel.

Your chests are rising and falling in tandem, a matching rhythm. Scared, overwhelmed, anxious, and all for different reasons. You, from the completely foreign situation. Eddie, from how badly it could’ve fucked things up.

“Shit.” He breathes, and then his hands are on your face, cupping your cheeks to turn you towards him. “Shit, honey. I’m so sorry. I had no idea they’d- are you okay?”

His touch is grounding, his immediate concern being you and your feelings casting a warmth over your nerves, the sun breaking through the clouds of your mind.

“I’m okay. It just startled me.” You grab his wrists in hopes that your touch can help him, too. “But I’m okay. Don’t be sorry, Eddie. It’s not like you called them there. This isn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t think anyone knew me there.”

“People know you a lot of places, mister rockstar.” You’re trying to ease the atmosphere, but the worried furrow in his brows stays put. “Eddie, I’m okay. I swear.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop with that.” Then, another attempt at brightening things, you try to joke, or maybe you’re thinking out loud. “What if they call us a couple?”

Your voice has a teasing lilt to it, but there’s more underneath it. For once, Eddie can't exactly read what it is.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks mindlessly, his eyes flicking all over your face. So fucking pretty, he thinks. And so his reply isn’t what you expect, but he can’t help it when you look the way you do and when you’re fighting off his concerns with only a few words.

“Would that be so bad?” He says it more than asks it.

It’s your turn to study him, the endearing blush to his cheeks, the way his bangs fall over his forehead, the way his eyes flick between your own.

“No, I guess not.”

For a split second after you speak, you think he might kiss you again, his face barely inching towards yours, his fingertips easing into your hairline.

And then Hank coughs and Eddie’s hands are gone and yours fall away from him, too.

Eddie clears his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Be normal, he urges himself. So, he offers, “how ‘bout I play you that song?”

And when you get back to the hotel, that’s exactly what he does.

-

It’s hours later and you’re still in Eddie’s room. There was the song—the fucking song, played acoustically since that’s all he has in the room, his voice and his guitar and his lyrics—and then a movie paused halfway through so that you could change into pajamas in your room, and then the rest of the movie.

Now, it’s idle chatter, the paparazzi speed bump gone from your minds by now, replaced by a debate on whether or not the movie you just watched was good.

“It was so bad, Eddie. Are you joking?”

“You just don’t have the sophisticated movie knowledge to know good cinema when you see it.”

He’s totally lying. The movie was awful, but Eddie likes to argue with you. He likes the way you scrunch your nose or eyebrows at his stupid jabs, likes the way you’ll smile the entire time because you’re never actually arguing.

“‘Sophisticated movie knowledge,’ he says. Like you haven’t just rewatched the same twelve movies your whole life.”

“And those twelve movies are all amazing!”

“I think to consider yourself sophisticated you’ve gotta watch twenty-five movies. At least.”

“Since when are there rules? Knowledge is knowledge, babe.”

“There are rules since now. We can’t go around letting just anyone say they know movies.”

“Who’s we?”

“Um…”

“Hm?” Eddie urges, a smile growing on his face because he hasn’t had this much fun, hasn’t felt this light, in a long time.

“I don’t know.” You give up, shrugging your shoulders. When a puff of breath leaves Eddie’s mouth, the failed holding back of a laugh, you lean over and shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

You’re sitting cross-legged in the middle of Eddie’s hotel bed. It’s huge, a king size with like ten pillows and crisp, white blankets. It’s a mess now, the blankets shifted and wrinkled, some pillows tossed on the floor, one on your lap.

“I totally just won that.” Eddie says.

“You did not! That movie fucking sucked, Munson.”

He’s sitting near the end of the bed, half facing you, half facing the TV. After you speak, though, he fully twists towards you, shifting so that he’s leaning on his hands in front of you.

“You wanna say that again?”

“That movie sucked.”

“Okay. That’s it.”

And then he’s on you, his fingers pushing into the soft of your tummy to tickle you because he knows that’s where you’re the most ticklish. This is how he used to win all of the arguments.

“Jerk!” You try to push at his shoulders, words broken by giggles, but he’s relentless. “Get off me!”

“Admit you lost.”

“No.”

“Well, then. Your fault.”

Eddie keeps going until you’re breathless from laughing and attempting to overpower him. As a last resort, you bring your knee up and hit him in the thigh. Being the dramatic he is, Eddie clutches his leg and falls onto the bed like he’s been shot.

“Ow, fuck. How am I gonna perform in these conditions?”

“Oh, stop.” You’re laying beside each other now, your face turned towards Eddie, his up at the ceiling in his fake pain. “I just won, by the way.”

His act falls away after you say it, and you think he’s gonna strike again, tickle you or make another silly counterpoint. Instead, he turns towards you, too, your noses a whisper apart, breath hitting each other's faces.

“I fucking missed you, trouble.”

“Yeah.” Your chest is rising and falling steadily, still recovering from Eddie’s tickles, maybe from his words, too. “Me too.”

Your hair has fanned across your cheek from the movement, and Eddie reaches out to push it away, behind your ear. His fingertips are gentle, featherlight, but they have your face nudging into the touch anyways. Like you couldn’t help it, like it’s an instinct.

And then, in a moment, a simple blink, Eddie’s pushing himself closer, putting his lips on yours. Eddie’s kissing you again.

His hand settles itself fully on your cheek, fingers splayed over your skin, sure to leave behind streaks of gold. Or, at least, you’d think they would. The feeling sparkling in shimmers across your cheek.

Your brain takes a second to catch up, but when it does, you’re already kissing him back, your fingers tucked into his guitar pick necklace to tug him closer. It’s easy, you think, to kiss him. Easy to want this, to move your mouth in rhythm with his.

You’ve only kissed once before, but it’s like you’ve been doing it a lifetime with how right it feels.

Eddie hadn’t even realized he was going to kiss you until he was doing it. His thoughts were all you you you and then his eyes were on your mouth and then he was there, kissing you.

He nudges his knee between your legs, shuffling himself even closer to you without breaking it because he’s afraid that if he pulls away, it’ll be the end and he doesn’t want that. He could kiss you forever, could kiss you until he’s completely sick, until there’s no oxygen left in his lungs because all he can breathe in is you.

Your other hand holds his arm, fingertips just under the sleeve of his t-shirt, his warmth seemingly seeping into you through your hand, spreading down your arm and into your stomach and everywhere.

You really like kissing him. You like it so much.

Eddie’s wondering how he’ll ever let you go home after this, how he’ll be able to say goodbye to you at the airport and go back to touring with his bed empty and nobody to give him shit over a movie. Luckily, he doesn’t have to deal with that now.

No, now it feels like he’s dreaming. Because he’s kissing you and it’s even better than he remembered from last time and he wants to be allowed to do this always.

He leaves it at kissing, this thing too delicate to risk, too long spent building up to this and he wants to enjoy every moment. He’d be content if all he could do is kiss you, because it’s the best thing he’s ever had. You’re the best thing he’s ever had.

It’s long before either of you pull away, a push and pull of your mouths, breaking apart for less than a second before jumping back in. When you do pull away, it’s mutual, both of your breathing coming out in pants, both of your mouths slightly agape, eyes locked on each other’s.

Eddie moves first, pulling you over so that your head is tucked beneath his chin, nose pressed against the neckline of his shirt. He’s got a hand tossed over your waist, palm flat on your back, the other holding the back of your head to him.

You fall into place easily, just like you had when he kissed you. One of your hands is wedged under his neck, the other still on his arm. It’s like you’re a set, two pieces meant to fit together just like this.

“I think I won, trouble.”

“Shut up.”

In the morning, you wake up in a similar position, having fallen asleep with the TV humming in the background and the haze of your kiss still heavy over you both.

Now, however, you’ve shifted a little bit. Eddie’s on his back, but he’d brought you along with him in his sleep. Or, you’d followed. Either way, your head’s rested on his chest, your arm tossed over his stomach where his t-shirt rides up to reveal a patch of skin.

You’re struck with the thought that you’ve shared a bed before, countless times, but never this close. You’ve cuddled before, too, but it’s never felt like this. Intimate, affectionate, more.

You close your eyes and go back to sleep, not quite ready to give this up.

-

When you’d woken up the second time that morning, Eddie was already up, the door to his ensuite shut with light slipping under the doorway. And when he’d walked out with a “good morning, sleepyhead,” it was like everything was normal.

You’d fallen into your routine with him, and now, after not nearly enough time, you’re at the airport again. The last couple of days a blur, your parting ways this morning even more so.

Hank had driven you again, and Eddie made sure to be in the car with you, to squeeze out every second of time left. You’d hugged each other in the back seat, whispered ‘I’ll miss you’s and ‘thank you’s for the week you had.

The ache slipped into you again, the uncertainty of when you’ll see him next, the feeling of missing him that lingers and lingers.

Still, you’d twisted around and waved to the tinted windows of the car with a smile before going inside, knowing he’d be behind them, really hoping he’d be looking.

Of course Eddie was looking. He peered into the glass doors of the airport until your figure was completely out of sight, until Hank had to ask him if he was good to go. He should have kissed you goodbye, he thinks. Should have kissed you and told you how he felt but he has no idea how. Next time, he’ll say it. He has to.

The trek through the airport is boring, and you’re still early by the time you get to your gate. Hoping to pass time, you head into one of the duty-free shops.

That’s when you see it.

There’s a wall of magazines and newspapers, a whole shelf taken up by a picture of Eddie. A picture of you and Eddie. It’s from that night at the restaurant, and you’re lucky that your face can’t be seen, ducked down and covered by shadows and Eddie’s hand.

Surprisingly enough, the picture isn’t what gets to you, it’s what’s written about it. You drift over and flip to the page indicated on the cover to see the ‘full story.’ It feels like a punch to the gut.

‘Metal Heartthrob Eddie Munson was seen leaving a restaurant in New York City with an unknown woman. How could she get his attention, I’m sure you’re wondering. We’d love to know, too. Is Munson the type to settle for a normie? Or is she only a fling? The second option would make the most sense, we think. Keep reading to learn why she doesn’t fit.’

You slam the paper shut, setting it back on the shelf and standing there like an idiot, your hands shaking a little, your heart in your throat.

“Can you believe it?” A woman says to you, pointing at the damn picture. “He could do way better. I’m just saying.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you offer weakly, walking away and finding a seat at your gate.

It stings when you know you shouldn’t let it get to you, but it’s like every insecurity you’ve had has been splashed onto a page for everyone to see. You don’t belong in his world anymore, you aren’t enough to be in it, he doesn’t want you that way.

It’s a disgusting spiral that eats at you as you sit and wait, as you board your flight, even as you find your seat next to a man who’s already asleep. You can't believe the things people feel okay saying about someone else, and even worse, you can’t believe how they wedge themselves under your skin.

You wrap your arms around yourself, peering out the window and trying to convince yourself that whoever wrote it is wrong, that the woman in the store was wrong. But all your mind can conjure is reasons why they’re right.

You aren’t a model, or an actress, or anything of the sort like the other women Eddie’s dated since becoming the star he is. You never will be.

Worst of all, these last few days you really thought he could feel the way you do, even a fraction of it. You thought that he buried feelings he couldn’t say into that kiss, that maybe, maybe he could be in love with you, even just a little bit.

Now, you feel like an idiot for ever letting yourself think that could be true, your eyes blurring with tears of frustration and a hurt that shouldn’t even be there, but cuts deep.

You’re just friends, it’s always been that way. It’s your own damn fault, really, for falling in love with him. Falling in love with the best boy you’ve ever known, with your best friend, with the only person who makes you feel the way he does.

It’s your fault that you let a tear slip down the slope of your cheek as your plane takes off. You wipe it away quickly.

Eddie feels strange as he lays back onto his hotel bed after dropping you off. There’s a cold present in his room now. The evident and devastating lack of your presence, like the chill that washes over a summer day when the sun is swallowed by a gray cloud.

He already wants to call you, but you’re miles in the air by now.

He really should’ve kissed you goodbye.

-

Eddie ends up calling two days after you get home. He wanted to do it sooner, but the whirlwind got to him, and after a week in one place, it was back on the road. He got caught up, but he has the time now, and he’s been eager to use it.

Your number is practically muscle memory by now, dialed without a second thought. He listens to the ringing, fingers pulling at the threads in the rip of his jeans as he waits sitting on his bed. He counts the seconds until you pick up.

Back in Hawkins, it was hard to believe that only a couple of days ago you were in New York City with Eddie, watching him play, having dinner with him, kissing him. Being home, it feels like the whole trip had been a dream.

You fell into your life here quickly, a full day shift at the library, a visit there from Dustin with a stack of overdue books and questions of how Eddie’s doing.

It’s impossible not to think about him, still. So of course you’d pick up the phone on the chance it’d be his voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

Eddie’s head thumps back against the headboard when he hears your voice, “hey, trouble.”

“Eddie.” You were hoping it was him, yet you’re still a little surprised. You shouldn’t be, he’s been calling often for a while now, but you’ve been feeling nervous ever since reading that stupid article. Insecure, stupid, a whole bunch of negatives that won’t leave you alone. But he’s calling, so you try not to think of that. “How are you?”

“Good! I’m good.” He shuts his eyes, tries to picture what you might look like right now. He doesn’t think his mind could ever do you enough justice. “Jeff totally ate shit during soundcheck today, you would’ve loved it. You’re good?”

“It’s kind of weird being back here.” You say, your honesty spilling the way it does over the phone. You’re braver this way. “But I saw Dustin today. He asked about you.”

“Yeah?” The grin on Eddie’s face is immediate, your voice soft and somehow exactly what he needed. “Did you tell him I’m still the coolest guy ever?”

“Sure,” you drag out the word.

“Whatever. I totally am.” There’s a lull for a second, the sound of sheets ruffling on his end as he shifts on the bed. “You said it was weird being back?”

It’s hard to read his tone through a phone, but he sounds sincere as ever, his voice softer when he says it. You shift a little, too.

“A little. Just getting back into things, you know?” You’re on your back now, eyes fixed on a spot on your ceiling. “New York is a lot different than Hawkins.”

Eddie’s not sure what makes him think it—your voice going quiet, the way it takes you a little longer to answer—but he can tell that something’s off. You sound sad, and there’s a twinge in his chest at the thought of you upset. You’re undeserving of it, and he’s got the urge to break the rules of the universe and jump through the phone to be there for you.

“Yeah, it is. You okay, honey?”

The question strikes you. You hadn’t known that you’d been acting any differently, but you suppose that’s how it goes. You can only hide so much, and those words splashed on a page about you have weighed heavy on your mind since you’d seen them.

But you can’t bring yourself to tell Eddie any of it. What if he hasn’t seen it? Worse, what if he has and he doesn’t want to bring it up because he agrees?

So, you come up with a lazy excuse, “oh. I’m okay, Eddie. Just a long shift today.”

“You sure?” Even though he can’t see you right now, there’s something in him telling him you aren’t being honest. It’s like he’s got a sense for these things when it comes to you, embedded in his heart the way you are.

“I’m sure. I’m just tired.”

He knows that there’s something else to it, but he won’t pry. All he wants to do is help, so he lets himself say what he’s been thinking since you’ve left. “Is it pathetic that I already miss you?”

A smile flickers on your face.

“If it is, I’m pathetic, too.”

“At least we’re in it together, then.”

After you eventually hang up, Eddie can’t fight off the feeling that something's happened. He’s gotta figure it out, he wants to fix it, to pull away any pain you might be feeling. He’d take it for himself if he could.

So, although he’ll get endless shit for it, he finds Gareth and Jeff watching TV in the living room of their suite and figures he might as well ask them.

“Hey,” he starts, standing in front of the TV despite their groans to make sure they’ll listen. “Did either of you say something to her? About… um, you know.”

The way that he doesn’t even have to speak your name for them to know who he’s talking about says enough about the ‘you know.’ He’s slightly worried that they’d told you how he felt about you and it scared you off. He really, really hopes that isn’t it.

“About you being grossly in love with her?” Gareth checks, though he surely didn’t need to.

“Yes, asshole.”

“Nope. I didn’t. Jeff?”

“No, man.” Jeff huffs, “and you’re blocking the TV.”

“I know! I need you guys to help me out.” Eddie starts pacing in front of the TV. He explains your phone call, how he felt like something was wrong, that you were upset. They both listen, though Jeff occasionally tries to lean around to see the screen. “So? What do you think?”

“Maybe it has to do with that article,” Gareth says.

“What article?”

“You know, the one with that picture of you two leaving that restaurant.”

“There’s a fucking article about that?” Eddie twists his ring around his thumb. Shit.

“Oh, yeah,” Jeff points towards the small table near the entryway of the room, “it’s over there. Kinda brutal.”

“You idiots didn’t think to tell me?”

“Um, it’s pretty popular, actually.” Gareth shrugs. “Thought you would’ve seen it by now.”

“How are we idiots for helping you?” Jeff asks.

Eddie flips him off over his shoulder as he goes into his room, shutting the door behind him. He’s still pacing, flipping the pages to find the right one. His stomach sinks when he lands on it and skims the words written.

‘Is Munson the type to settle for a normie?’

He makes an actual sound when he reads it. Something of disbelief and shock. He knew that having the life he does comes with these things, and he’s learned to deal with them when it comes to comments about himself. But you? No fucking way.

If he was ever lucky enough to have you, he wouldn’t be settling, he’d be the happiest he could ever be, probably. Maybe it’s time he finds out.

If you’d read any of this, if you believed it, he can’t help but feel at fault. Sure, he didn’t write it, he didn’t publish it, but he brought you to that restaurant and he’s the reason that paparazzi was there. If there’s anything he can do to fix this, he will.

So, he makes a plan. He calls his manager and gets himself a spot on the next flight out to Indianapolis. He can miss a studio session or an interview, it doesn’t matter.

This is far more important. You’re more important.

-

Eddie doesn’t pack anything for the flight. He doesn’t have the time nor the concern to do it. He’s got the beanie on his head, sunglasses over his eyes, and a hoodie pulled over it all.

He doesn’t take the time to get a driver, so he takes a cab back to Hawkins once he lands in Indianapolis. It’s already dark out, probably way too late to head straight to your place but he does it anyway. No time to waste.

Slamming the cab door, he tells the driver your address and tells him to drive quickly. He gets a thumbs up in return and that’s it. Eddie’s forced to sit there, his leg bouncing anxiously as he waits impatiently to get to you.

He should be tired, should be fighting heavy eyelids and yawns, but he isn’t. Eddie’s determined and nervous, eager to get to you and agonizing over whether or not this is the right move.

But, he’s made his choice. He’ll stand by it. There’s no denying the way he feels, and he’d do anything to make you feel okay.

Eddie spends the drive trying to figure out what he’ll say to you. His thoughts are a mess of speeches and phrases that just don’t sound right. He doesn’t think there’s a way with words that really conveys the extent of his affections, but he’s going to try. He figures a four letter word is a good place to start.

His palms are sweaty as the cab pulls up to your place, your apartment in a building that’s been converted from its original use. Eddie grabs cash from his wallet and hands it to his driver, telling him to keep the change.

He stands there and stares for a minute, taking off his hat and sunglasses now that he’s on a quiet, deserted street. He’s got no idea what time it is, no idea whether he’ll be waking you up or not, but he huffs and heads to your door, lucky that he can access it from outside.

With his fist raised, Eddie takes as big a breath as he can muster, and knocks on the door.

You were having a hard time sleeping, tossing around uncomfortably until you gave up and grabbed the book from your nightstand. You’d been mid-chapter when you heard the knocking, almost convinced you’d imagined the sound.

And then it comes again, four quick taps on your door. You don’t have a single guess for who it could be, but you set your book face down and kick your blankets off, turning on your light on your way to the door and squinting at the brightness.

You’re not sure what exactly you were expecting to find on the other side of the door, but it wasn’t this. Wasn’t him.

“Eddie? What the hell are you doing here?”

He takes a second to look you over, his hands stuffed in his hoodie’s pocket. You’re wearing a pair of floral pajama shorts, ruffled at the hem, and your fucking Corroded Coffin t-shirt. Yeah, he made the right choice coming here.

He avoids your question. “Can I come in?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” You open the door further and step aside, closing it after he steps inside. “Aren’t you supposed to be on tour?”

“I needed to see you.”

Needed to. Like it’s bigger than a want.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, leaning against your door. Eddie’s not far, only a step away from you.

“That article was bullshit.”

“What?”

He takes the step, his feet toe to toe with yours now. You’re forced to tilt your head up due to his proximity, his eyes unwavering and still, the way they always are, soft. You fiddle with your hands behind your back.

“That article about us, it was total bullshit.”

“I don’t-”

“I know you saw it, and it was wrong. You aren’t a fling to me, you aren’t a fucking normie. You’re my favorite person in the entire world.”

Eddie’s found, now that he’s started, he can’t stop pouring things out. He pushes your hair from your face, trails his hand lightly down your arm until he’s tugging yours from behind your back, weaving his fingers between yours.

“My favorite, okay?” He continues, his stare flicking between your eyes, like he’s making sure you believe him. “Whoever wrote that is a shithead and I don’t believe any of it. None, honey. I’m sorry that I put you in that position, you didn’t deserve it. But it’s bullshit.”

You can feel your heartbeat pounding in your chest, your fingers squeezing around Eddie’s as he speaks like you’re making sure he’s real. That he’s here and he’s saying these things and he’s looking at you the way he did before he kissed you.

“You-” you clear your throat, voice weak at first from his words. “You came all the way here to tell me that?”

His free hand tugs at the neckline of his hoodie, his gaze flicking down to your hands and then back to your face. “Yes.” There’s the lightest blush to his cheeks, “among other things.”

“Other things?”

You don’t want to guess, shouldn’t let yourself get your hopes up and up and up. But your mind does it on its own accord. What if he-

“I love you,” he rushes it out in a breath, but you hear it all the same. “I’m in love with you, trouble.”

“You are?”

Your eyes are wide, your hand tight around his, and Eddie smiles because he can’t help it. He made the right choice.

“I’m in love with you,” he says again. “I have been for a long time, I think. I only figured it out a bit ago, but it doesn’t feel new.”

“Me too, Eddie.” You barely register your own words, your grin spreading wide or the way you laugh in disbelief. Finally. “I love you, too. For a long time. But I knew it.”

His heart squeezes. He wonders how long, how hard it must’ve been for you to keep it inside while he took forever like an idiot to register his own feelings. But he’s got you now, and that’s more than enough.

“Well, you’ve always been smarter than me.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

And then his free hand is cupping your jaw, his nose nudging yours. “Shut up.”

He kisses you then, broken by your smiles but the best one yet. Because it’s out there: you love each other. It isn’t a question of whether or not, it’s a certainty. You’re in love and you can have this. You have this.

Your hand that isn’t clasped in his holds the back of his neck lightly, your fingers tangled in his curls, keeping him close.

Eddie doesn’t go far when he pulls away, his forehead tilted against yours, his hand still on your face. The corners of his eyes crinkle from his smile, and you can’t help but kiss him again. A peck, another, and another.

“I’ve got like 36 hours. Think I could stay?”

You nod, your smile mirroring his. Lovesick, totally stupidly happy.

“Yeah?” Eddie swings your joined hands lightly. You nod again. “Good. I would’ve had to walk back to the trailer if not. I probably would’ve died.”

“Always dramatic, Munson.”

“But you love me anyways.”

“Guess I do.” Your fingers gently tug at tangles in his hair. “You’re sure about this? Even with the distance?”

Eddie lifts his forehead from yours to make sure you can see his face fully. His thumb smoothes over your cheekbone.

“I’ve never been more sure. Ever.” And he hasn’t, not even when he knew he wanted to do music forever. Because he’d give it up for you if he had to, though he knows you’d never ask him to. “I’ll call you so much you’ll get sick of me. And you can come with me when you have time, and I’ll come home when I have time. I want this so much, okay? So much.”

“I do, too.” You look at your hands, thinking about how you’d always thought they were meant to be holding one another. “You’re okay with dating a normie?”

“Fuck that.” His hand on your face tilts it just a little, urging your sight onto his. “You’re my trouble. Nothing else matters.”

My trouble.

“And you’d really come back to Hawkins more for me?”

“I’m going to.” Eddie understands why you’re asking. In the past, he’s gone quiet, he’s gotten caught up, but after tonight? He’s never gonna hear the end of it from the band, that’s for sure. “You’ll totally get sick of me, you’ll see.”

“Don’t think that’s possible.” You look at his face, the eyes you could never forget, the dusting of stubble across his jawline. A face that’s been on TV and countless magazines, albums and posters. “I always thought you outgrew this town.”

“I never outgrew you.”

You know there’s more to figure out, more worries to be had, but you’re in love and you can say it. That’s what’s important now, that’s what you’ll enjoy.

The shoebox that sits in your closet has served you well, but you won’t need to pick at the scraps anymore. Won’t need to hold onto this boy through magazines and newspapers.

My trouble.

When you kiss again, you’re sure that you’ll never want to be anything else.

♫♩♪♬

hi!! thanks so so much for reading these two <3 i’ve had so much fun with rockstar!eddie and i hope u guys did too!!! if you did, a reblog would mean so much <3

i don’t usually do tag lists, and i probably won’t again after this, but the demand was high for this one (like, crazy! thank u so much!) so here’s the rockstar!eddie tag list

@5sosjay @paleidiot @emma77645 @onceuponathreetwoone @copycatkillerfics @munsonmecrazy @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @lbhmoon @icant-hangout-imdrumming @freakymunson @blackcatwoman @l3xiluve @littlestarfighter03 @yujyujj @totally-bogus-timelady @kimmi-kat @spitefulscreenwriter @amira0303 @mylovelycrazyworld @esme-viridian @pippipsquirtsquirt @brassreign @madneedshelp @emilyslutface @alana4610 @crystalr @kirisuteg0men @hesvoid34 @cutiecusp @nerium21 @angel-ann-pops

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

hello! can you recommend some feel-good and no drama vibes BL series? 😭 been a stressful month, badly need a relaxing series 🫠 thankyouu!

Hello beautiful Anon 🌹

It is a pleasure for me to recommend you some feel-good series! It is not that easy to find series without drama, because people think a series without drama is not a good series, but sometimes we all need this swoony, relaxing series to calm our system and to let us believe in life and love again.

I tried to keep the drama level as low as possible, but most of them have a little bit of drama at some point, just to keep the story going.

My main criteria were personal experience and feelings while watching and rewatching those series and how many trigger-warnings there should be (like violence, prosperity, cheating, mobbing, etc.) - in the best case, there should be none and how heavy the topic is. For example: I absolutely adore the series "The Day I Loved You". It is such a beautiful, wholesome series, but the topic is so heavy, it wouldn't fit here.

The only order this will have is by country.

Thailand

Well let's get started with one of the most unproblematic and innocent, happy series out there:

My School President

Tinn likes Gun. Gun is a little rascal and the singer of the school's band Chinzhilla. Tinn is the school president and son of the principle. Chinzhilla needs to build up their reputation and win this year's Hot Wave Music Contest to make sure the band will still be around next year and to be able to date. And now it's Tinn's time to shine and help Gun reach this goal. It is such an unproblematic, fun and sweet watch.

Cherry Magic Thailand

Karan is the model employee. He is everything Achi wants to be. Achi's confidence is weak and the things he does, he doesn't see them as valuable or important. But somehow he is exactly what Karan wants, because he is kind and attentive. A story about self-acceptance, loving yourself and seeing your valuable traits through the eyes of someone else. And hearing other people's thoughts might help as well. I love the story and yes, Japan's version is gem, but I really like the thai one and TayNew did such a good job, imo.

We Are

People said nothing is happening here. But that is not true. The story might not be drama-driven, but that is exactly what I sometimes want. I want to watch friend groups coming together, sharing secrets with each other and fall in love. I want to see this daily life. The story is wholesome and cute and perfect for a rainy sunday to warm up your heart.

Ingredients

This miniseries is a slow burn between two roommates, one loves cooking and the other one music. And they are just the sweetest. I watched this while I was sick and it made my life so much warmer and less tiring and annoying. Jeff and Gameplay did such a good job in portraying these two characters.

Bonus:

Every You, Every Me

This series is not completed and is airing every sunday. There are only two episodes out and I am completely in love with them and the concept of this series. Every week we see those two fall in love again in different timelines. The story about soulmates and the fate to be together in every universe. My romantic heart can't deal with it! It is exactly what I need after a stressful week.

Taiwan

Well Taiwan is more known for heavier themes and emotional series with a lot of trauma included, but there are some lighthearted series too.

Be Loved In House: I Do

I have no clue how many times I watched this series. Is it that good? Well, for me it is one of the most comforting series out there. For others? Not necessarily. The conflict is a little bit dumb, but it is so good to watch these two to slowly overcome their differences and getting all soft with each other. It is just a sweet series where you don't have to think too much about.

History 2: Crossing The Line

The story of a young troublemaker who likes to pick fights and the manager of the school's volleyball-team, who can't play volleyball anymore because of an accident. I mean, I love volleyball and bl, so this is the perfect combination for me. It is funny and somehow emotional and so good to witness the troublemaker finally having something worth to put his energy in.

South Korea

I absolutely love korean bls. They are my favorite, but most of them come with huge baggage and trauma for the main characters. As much as I love them, I wouldn't call them easy watches to relax. But there are a few I want to mention here.

Our Dating Sim

A second-chance love story. They meet again after being separated for years and finally are able to talk to each other about everything that stands between them. And yes, there is some light trauma, but it fits the story very well and isn't that traumatic for the viewer, imo. As a given for korean bls, it is a short watch and perfect to binge after a tough day.

Roommates of Poongduck 304

A fun and short watch about a rich kid who has to work for the first time in his live to understand the value of money and work and his new landlord who is also his subordinate at work. These two need to work together in every parts of their lifes and it is just so good to watch them getting closer. And don't get me started on their chemistry! If you haven't already, do yourself a favor and watch the behind the scenes!

Sing My Crush

Han Baram wants to become a professional musician. He has the talent and the will to achieve it, but most of all he has Im Hantae, his biggest fan and supporter and his best friend. While Baram already knows what he wants, Hantae needs to figure it out in the cutest way. This series just feels so good! It is one of my favorite bls ever. And the music is good too!

Japan

Japan is the king or queen for cosy and wholesome bls! There are so many, I can't list all of them. I really enjoy diving into this yellowish warm world.

I Cannot Reach You aka Kimi ni wa Todokanai

While Yamato has to deal with his popularity with the girls and being in love with his best friend Kakeru, Kakeru really wants to be as cool as his schoolmates and wants to get a girlfriend too, just to notice, that his heart obviously wants something or someone else. This is such a sweet series. It is wholesome and so freaking soft! And the soundtrack is soooooooooooo good!

Takara's Treasure aka Takara No Vidro

Takara once helped Taichin and with that he influenced his life deeply. In the beginning I didn't understand this series and the actions the characters took, but with every episode this little series grew more and more on me. Both of them are searching for something in their lifes and find it in each other. They are the perfect match and watching their connection deepen will comfort your heart.

If It's With You aka Kimi To Nara Koi Wo Shite Mite Mo

I think this series is highly underrated and didn't get the recognition it deserves. The main character Amane is gay and doesn't keep it a secret. He has made some bad experience in the past and doesn't believe in love anymore. Until he meets his schoolmate Ryuji, a kind and hardworking young man, who is so open and accepting that Amane is not able to not fall in love with him. This is such a beautiful series. Highly recommended.

Our Dining Table aka Bokura no Shokutaku

This is an absolutely wholesome series about found family and food. Be aware watching this might make you very hungry! Tane, the younger brother, is such a sweet child and the best wingman. The drama in this series is not the prominent aspect of it, but the healing from it through love in all kinds and forms, acceptance and finding a place for yourself in this cold world is. And after watching this you feel loved and warm and hungry.

Old Fashion Cupcake

A well played age-gap? Finding joy in life? Food? Living your life in the best way possible? Check, check, check and check. This series means so much to me. Meet Nozue, almost 40 without any real joy in life, because he thinks he is too old for it and Togawa, ten years younger, attractive and obsessed with the idea to make Nozue enjoy his life again. And that with eating together. I love this series so much! It is so good!

Honorable mentions:

Fukou-kun was Kiss Suru Shikanai!

Takara-kun to Amagi-kun

Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo Tabetai

BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita: Crank Up Hen

Perfect Propose

Living with him

Kieta Hatsukoi

Anon, I hope there are some series which can give you some relaxation after such a stressful month! And I wish you more quiet and less stressful month to come! Stay safe and enjoy watching bls! 🌼

[glass--beach]

what do you think sixth wave emo will sound like?

gonna be honest i feel like even the definition of fifth wave emo is a little flimsy. it includes a mix of artists that are just continuing emo revival (4th wave) without rly changing it as well as artists who are so far removed from emo that putting them under the umbrella is a little reductive. but emo is just such a polarizing genre that if there is 1% emo in a band's sound they immediately become for emo fans only.

just real quick for any followers who don't know the waves (this is off the top of my head so might not be perfect):

1st wave (late 80s): Washington DC emotive hardcore, not very far removed from post-hardcore at all, just more focused on emotions whereas post hardcore tended (at the time) to be more political. ie rites of spring, moss icon

2nd wave (90s - early 00s): the start of "midwest emo" - develops the sound further through the influence of post-rock among other things, tends to use less distortion & gentler singing. some bands became minor successes through the post-nirvana alternative rock gold rush but many were not appreciated til way after they were active. american football, capn jazz, sunny day real estate, the promise ring, mineral, etc etc etc

3rd wave (00s): what the average person knows emo to be. often known as mall emo. crosses over with pop punk frequently. this wave saw the greatest commercial success due to strong pop songwriting and slick production. spoke to a general malaise among teenagers post 9/11. my chemical romance, AFI, the used, brand new, also includes the whole "scenecore" wave towards the end of the 00s

4th wave (late 00s - mid 10s): the "emo revival". largely a reaction against the commercialization of the genre that occurred in the 3rd wave, and a revival of a more 2nd wave sound. bands in this wave tended to put out one album on a tiny label before fizzling out, and largely found success online. they also all REALLY hated 3rd wave. the world is a beautiful place and i am no longer afraid to die, snowing, the hotelier, algernon cadwallader, modern baseball (honestly i could list 4th wave bands forever it's the wave i'm most familiar with lol)

5th wave (late 10s - 20s): online, postmodern/post-postmodern, lots of influence from genres far removed from the first four waves of emo (jazz, hyperpop, folk, noise), bedroom production, digital sounds, synthesizers, odd instrument choices, autotune, pitch shifted vocals. two of the biggest influences here are Heccra and The Brave Little Abacus (i will go to my deathbed insisting TBLA is NOT an emo band though lmao). the thing is, there are bands lumped into this wave like Home is Where or awakebutstillinbed who generally have a much more 4th wave kinda sound & very few of the traits associated with 5th wave. or Origami Angel & Mom Jeans who remind me more of later 4th wave "weed emo" bands like Jank (fuck that band tho). AND THEN there's also bands here who sound more 3rd wave, like Jhariah. i'd say the bands most emblematic of a uniquely 5th wave sound (aside from the aforementioned TBLA and Heccra) are MEEEEEEEEEEEEE (glass beach), stomach book, lobsterfight, your arms are my cocoon, nouns, weatherday.

tbh the only real common thread with 5th wave is that all of these bands are friends lmao. there are very few bands I listed there that I do not know personally, some are very close friends, and the rest are like, one degree of separation from me. i believe Bea from Home is Where was the one to codify it but critics really latched onto the term because it's every critics dream to be the first to write about a new genre right as it emerges. 5th wave's variety is largely indicative of the breakup of monoculture that's been going on since the dawn of the internet, with this sort of postmodern genre collage aesthetic that has been facilitated by the increased ease of access to ALL styles of music for everyone in the world & micro-categorization of genre on sites like rym for example. i think it's going to take putting this all into historical context to really know what comes next. any new development in emo will inevitably fit under 5th wave's very broad umbrella, and as a result MANY bands in the genre reject the term. hell, the dividing lines between all of the existing waves are extremely arbitrary and there are countless exceptions to this generally accepted categorization going all the way back to the start of emo.

at this point it is genuinely impossible for there to be a 6th wave. i'm sure we'll see some new developments, some albums that shake things up, but it will take literally redefining the genre for there to be a Next Era of Emo.

if i can try to be a little deleuzian on main i predict we will see bands push the genre forward by using the components of the more uniquely 5th wave sound while not overtly referring to fifth wave (or ANY wave) at all. it'll probably take a different setting too, possibly less bedroomy, more live, maybe a more longform classical kind of approach rather than pop structure. small ensemble orchestra + autotuned screaming? tapping guitar over endlessly looping 190BPM 909 beats? otherwise by-the-numbers midwest emo bands with vocaloid singers? rapid oscillation between all of the waves, Naked City style? emo vocals with no instrumental accompaniment whatsoever? screamo jazz? 5th Wave: The Musical? Rites Of Spring meets The Rite Of Spring? fags in skinny jeans burning american flags while Courtesy of The Red White and Blue plays on a boombox? a band that's actually a tech startup that's actually a huge ponzi scheme? Talking Heads reunites but Jerry Harrison only plays in FACGCE now? drum stems from The Black Parade echoing through an abandoned parking garage? another 9/11? Emo bands that don't play music at all and just make out with each other on stage? who fucking knows. all i know is whatever comes next, online music nerds will be crying out "this isn't emo"

sorry for the essay LMAO

[valentoru]

|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 4]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

You twisted your neck and looked up. And up. You were not exactly short he was just massive.

“Oh. Uhm. Hey.”

“Is everything okay?” He said it looking into your eyes. He said it in a low, intimate tone. Like you were alone. Like Maki wasn’t stood mere cementers away. He said it in a way that should have made you uncomfortable, but it didn’t. For some unexplainable reason, his presence in the room soothed you. Like two seconds ago you hadn’t been freaking out. Maybe two types of unease neutralised each other? It sounded like a fascinating research topic. Maybe someone should look into that. Maybe you should excuse yourself and run a google search about it. Honestly, anything but this whole situation would be much nicer. Maybe you’d expire on the spot, that’s how you’d get out.

“Yes. Yes, everything is great. Maki and I were just…chatting. About our weekends and stuff.”

Gojo looked at Maki, as though he was realising she was in the room for the first time. He acknowledged her by giving her one of those nods guys give each other in passing. His hand slid lower on your spine just as Maki’s eyes widened.

“Nice to meet you, Maki, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Gojo said, and he was good at this, you had to admit. You were sure that at Maki’s angle it looked like he was groping you, but in fact he was…not. You could barely even feel his hand on you.

Maybe just a little. The warmth and slight pressure and—

“Nice to meet you too.” Maki looked thunderstruck. Like she might pass out. “Well-um. I was just about to leave. N/N I’ll text you later when um yeah—”

And with that she was gone, before you could even say anything. Which was good, honestly. You didn’t have to come up with any more lies. But also this was slightly less good as it was now just you and Gojo. Standing way too close. You would have payed good money to say that you were the first to step away, however that was not the case. The embarrassing truth was that Gojo was the first to put distance between you. Stepping back to give you the space you needed, then some more.

“Is everything okay?” He asked again, his tone was still fairly soft. Not something you expected.

“Yes. Yes, I just—” you waved your hands around. “Thank you.”

“Did you hear what she said about Friday?”

“I did that’s why I…” He looked at his hand—the one that had been on your lower back mere second ago—and you almost immediately understood.

“Thank you.” You repeated. Because Satoru Gojo might be a known-ass, but you were feeling pretty damn grateful for him. “Oh, also I couldn’t help but notice I’ve not had any agents or cops come to my place and arrest me on the spot.”

His eyebrows furrowed and the corner of his mouth twitch, minimally. “Is that so?”

You nodded, “Which makes me think that you haven’t filed a complaint. Even though it would have been totally within your rights, so, thank you. And for stepping in just now—you saved me a lot of trouble.”

He stared at you for a long moment, suddenly looking like he did when people got facts mixed up or said something he personally didn’t agree with. “You shouldn’t need someone to step in.”

You stiffened, right. Known-ass. “Well I was going to handle it myself. It’s not as if I asked you—”

“You shouldn’t have to lie about your relationship status.” He paused then continued. “Especially not to your friend so that she can date your boyfriend guilt-free.” Another pause. “That’s not how friendship works, last time I checked.”

So he had been listening when your spewed your life at him. “It’s not like that.” He lifted an eyebrow and you raised a hand in defence. “Yuta wasn’t really my boyfriend and Maki didn’t ask me for anything. I’m not like some sort of victim, I just want my friend to be happy.”

“By lying to her.” He added, dryly.

“Well yeah but-but-well she thinks we’re dating.” You blurted out. God the implications were painfully ridiculous. Too ridiculous to bare.

“Wasn’t that the point?”

“Yeah.” You nodded suddenly remembering the cup in your had. You took a sip of coffee. It was still warm. That conversation with Maki couldn’t have lasted any longer than 5 minutes however it felt more like 5 years. “Yeah. I guess it was. Oh I’m Y/N L/N incase you still want to file that complaint. I’m with Freak—”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh.” Maybe he had looked you up then. You tried to imagine him combing through the different people working with this record company. Your headshot had been taken a while ago so it wasn’t exactly accurate anymore. Before you had become fully aware of what you were in for, when you actively tried to look good. Taming your hair better and actually taking your makeup off before going to bed. Before you were so sleep deprived it could honestly be a little life threatening. Before the thoughts that you may never actually be able to make it as a guitarist.

“Okay.”

“I’m Satoru Gojo by the way.”

You burst into laughter. Essentially in his face. And then regretted it when you noticed his confused expression. As though he seriously thought you didn’t know who he was. As though he wasn’t one of the most popular solo artist of the century. The modesty was not at all like Gojo. You cleared your throat.

“Right. I know who you are, Gojo.”

“You should probably call me Satoru.”

“Oh. Oh god no.” That would be too-that would be dead wrong. To you it felt like overstepping. He was such a superior to you it felt dead wrong. “I couldn’t—”

“If Maki happens to be around.”

“Oh right.” That made sense. “Thank you, I hadn’t thought of that.” Or of anything else really. Your brain had stopped working properly 3 days ago when you decided kissing him to save your own ass was a good idea. “If that’s um okay with you. I’m going to go this whole thing is kind of stressful and—” if you were having it your way, you be at home, watching Ninja Warrior or RuPaul’s Drag race for the rest of the day while eating any junk you could find laying around your apartment.

He nodded, “I’ll walk you wherever your going.”

“God. I’m not that distraught.”

“In case we pass Maki.”

“Oh.” It was, you had to admit, a really kind offer. Surprisingly so, since it came from Satoru “I’m too good for everyone” Gojo. You knew he was a dick. So you couldn’t quite fathom why today he was…not. He was actually being fairly kind. Maybe your own appalling behaviour was at blame since it made anyone look good in comparison. “Thanks but no need.”

You could tell he didn’t want to insist but did anyway. “I’d feel better if you let me walk you to where your going.”

“I don’t know where I’m going.” I had had the most drastic fuck up of my life it’s no wonder I’m a little disoriented. You didn’t bother adding.

“Well why did you come here?”

You fell silent for a moment before it finally came back to you. “Oh, I have a meeting for some music video.” You rolled your eyes at the mere thought of having to shoot a music video.

He opened his mouth. Then closed it. And opened it again.

You kissed that mouth, Y/N. And it was a good kiss.

“Well what floor?”

You shrugged. “Well what floor are we on now?” You’d definitely lost all your barring. You almost completely forgot where you even were. It was only the midday and you’d completely lost it.

For the second time in a week, you’d been in an awkward predicament with Gojo and for the second time that week you couldn’t handle being around him a second longer.

“I’ll see you around, okay?”

His chest rose as he went to sigh heavily. “Yeah. Okay.” Then the sigh. What sounded like disappointment?

It didn’t matter, the with that you got out of the room as fast as you could.

TAGLIST(24/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @lavender-hvze @fushism @angstmuncher @fackeraccount @astro-stars

AN

Oh my gyatt I gyatt to stop saying gyatt

© valentoru all rights reserved- do not publish my work on other platforms, plagiarise or translate.

[undying-love]

Paul & Stu rivalry: A Compilation

"John knew Stuart was the group's weak link, but he didn't care: he wanted him along. It was the perfectionist Paul who found such an inexperienced guitarist hard to accept and this led to rows and even fights between him and Stuart. I think Paul was also a bit jealous of Stu; until then he had had most of John's attention." (Cynthia)

"Even though the girls loved Pete, Paul wasn’t really jealous of him. But he hated Stu.” In fact, everything Stuart did now seemed to enrage him.  And after years of excusing this travesty, suffering Stuart’s arrogance and capitulating to John’s apologies - still, Paul was forced to swallow his anger. It wasn’t just the music and the hair and the clothes. “It’s true that Paul had his eye on Stu’s bass,” Dot says, “but in fact, he was jealous of Stu, especially Stu’s friendship with John.” What’s more, Stuart flaunted it. Time and again, he put it under Paul’s nose and gave it a scornful swish."-Bob Spitz, (recounting Dot's comments on the subject)

"I have known in my heart for many years that Stuart and John had a sexual relationship but to protect my mother I kept my counsel about it although everything I knew, personally and professionally, pointed towards it. And, with hindsight, it was a lovely happening: two lost boys who needed and found each other. [...] I’ve wondered many times over the years if that’s what some of the antagonism between Stuart and Paul might have been about, whether Paul suspected something [between John and Stu]. None of us directly connected to the Beatles have publicly acknowledged that John had less than conventional sexual attachments." (Pauline Stutcliffe)

"It's true I didn't care for Stu, but I wasn't against him personally. He just couldn't play bass. That was all there was to it. I had a functional, ambitious-for-the-group sort of objection to him. He knew he couldn't play. (Paul)

Sure, Paul. It was just bacause he couldn't play bass.

Also Paul:

"We’d had a few ding-dongs, partly out of jealousy for John’s friendship. We all rather competed for John’s friendship, and Stuart, being his mate from art school, had a lot of his time and we were jealous of that.” -Paul

“When he came into the band, around Christmas of 1959, we were a little jealous of him; it was something I didn’t deal with very well. We were always slightly jealous of John’s other friendships. He was the older fellow; it was just the way it was. When Stuart came in, it felt as if he was taking the position away from George and me. We had to take a bit of a back seat. -Paul

"He and I used to have a deadly rivarly. I don’t know why. He was older and a strong friend of John’s. When I look back on it, I think we were probably fighting for John’s attention. He was older and John was a year older than me, and that year makes a hell of a lot of difference at the age of eighteen. So I wasn’t such a big friend of Stuart’s."

“Looking back on it now, I think it was little tinges of jealousy because Stu was John’s friend. There was always a little jealousy because Stuart was John’s friend. He was like the guy you aspired to.”-Paul

-----------------------------------------

I love how Paul says "we were jealous", instead of "I was jealous". Typical. George, for example, whom Paul mentions when discussing the rivalry for John’s attention, never expressed any kind of jealousy towards Stuart. In fact, he once said, "Stuart was cool. He was great-looking and had a great vibe about him, and was a very friendly bloke. I liked Stuart a lot; he was always very gentle".

[lilac-den]

Okay. So, imagine this. TSR MC's wearing a backless dress to an event, because it's the newest trend of the social world. MC wears it as it's a gift from one of the haute couture house that forms a closed relationship with Sylphina (in fact, the designer is obsessed with MC's charms), but here's a thing: MC's scars are shown, faint but visible (MC might have a scarf or silk between their waist to cover most of it, but...), and so people keep talking about it... What will the ROs reaction to be to this, assuming that they don't know MC that well enough yet... And, can we perhaps see one of the ROs siblings who's said to be a future designer too?

While there's no option for a back scar, I'll entertain this little scenario:

Maverick: He's known about malicious rumours, including ones about him, and he finds them something to be taken with a grain of salt. Still, the fact MC is walking among the ton with their scars showcased, Maverick would have that brief moment of curiosity before brushing it off as a rude thing to think about, especially if its a sensitive topic for MC.

All in all, I don't think he'll have much of an opinion with the rumours and unless one of the nobles try to harm MC, he'll just resort to watching from afar, unaware of how often his eyes glance towards them.

Rydigan: He's known as the most charming one amongst this little band of misfits and an excellent socialite. However, the moment Rydigan hears people whispering about MC, he'd smoothly cut in and somehow, the conversation turns from gossip about what MC's scars could mean to curiosity of what sort of person MC is. It might not be enough to stop the bad rumours, but at least people might be less susceptible to jumping the gun of who MC is.

Still, Rydigan would still approach MC regardless of the rumours and try to make conversation with MC. He'll ask about what they think of the food, how lovely their dress is, who might their dance partner be, etc. He would make an effort of getting to know MC.

Ittania: She'd probably bulldoze her way to MC from how excited she is to see Sylphina's cousin and treat her like a friend. She wouldn't really know about the rumours - or acknowledge them to be honest. Some people might think it's just Lady Ittania being gullible or naive but there are also other people who might consider talking to MC directly. After all, how bad could MC be if Ittania del Toro is talking to them so animatedly?

Enid: Hrmmm...Enid's the 'when there's smoke, there's fire' sort. While she knows rumours are far-fetched at times, it doesn't change the fact MC has those scars. The most common one to get is probably from either torture, accidents or battles. She would be on guard still and wouldn't try to talk to MC - though, she might coincidentally encounter MC, especially during a confrontation against nobles who thought MC might be easy pickings.

As for meeting Ittania's twin brother, who's an apprentice to her tailor dad; you might meet him in the future. 👀 Hopefully there isn't any bad impressions going on. . .It's too early to say though, so I can't make any promises.

[thecoleopterawithana]

Hello!

I'm looking for a section of the lunchroom tape (from the Get Back sessions) where John says something to Paul along the lines of "I mean, you've only recently realised what you were doing to me". Does that ring any bells?

You seem to know your way around amoralto's archives, and I'm not having any luck searching there :)

Thanks!

Hi, @i-am-the-oyster (love the name, by the way)!

I think you might be referring to this section of the Lunchroom Tape:

JOHN: And it’s just that, you know. It’s only this year that you’ve suddenly realised, like who I am, or who he is, or anything like that.

I find this bit of the conversation particularly impenetrable; and all the more fascinating because of it. It's here that we have this famed exchange (whose full meaning still eludes me):

JOHN: Because you – ’cause you’ve suddenly got it all, you see. PAUL: Mm. JOHN: I know that, because of the way I am, like when we were in Mendips, like I said, “Do you like me?” or whatever it is. I’ve always – uh, played that one. PAUL: [laughs nervously] Yes. JOHN: So. PAUL: Uh, I’d been watching, I’d been watching. I’d been watching the picture. YOKO: Go back to George. What are we going to do about George?

I encourage folks to go listen to the full audio and transcript and try their hand at decoding it!

I don't know if it's accessible on the mobile app, but @amoralto has a separate page with links to all the Get Back excerpts, listed in chronological order. It's a pretty neat resource if you want to just binge through interesting little snippets from these sessions (some that made it onto the documentary, and many that didn't).

To those curious about the Lunchroom Tape in particular, here's a (play)list of all the transcribed excerpts, with @amoralto's descriptions for context:

We Have Egos

Over lunch, the remaining Beatles touch on George’s resignation from the band on the 10th, as well as a group meeting held the previous day which ended in less than desirable circumstances (with George leaving the room, frustrated by John’s persistently Yoko-filtered standard of communication). While Yoko contends that it would be easy for John (and Paul) to regain George’s favour, John points out that this is a more deeply-rooted issue than it may seem, compounded over the years by John and Paul’s treatment of George and his defaulted status within the group. Upon this problem of overriding egos, however, Paul suggests (passive-aggressively) that it isn’t just the Lennon-and-McCartney tandem that is causing George upset and consternation. 

Jealousy For You

As the problem of George’s current resignation from the band is discussed, John makes it about him and Paul wonders what it’s all worth.

The Way We All Feel Guilty About Our Relationship To Each Other

John contends with how the force of his partnership with Paul and his relationship with Yoko has negatively affected George and perhaps directly contributed to George’s walkout on the group three days prior.

Cabbage

During a discussion on how the rest of the group should move forward after George’s departure on the 10th, John wonders if they should get George back at all, suggesting his role as a Beatle is replaceable (unlike his own or Paul’s), and likens this unkindly to how Ringo first replaced Pete Best. Paul notes that John has been the top buck in getting himself heard (and getting his way) since the inception of the group (which John protests) and quickly reassures Ringo when he wryly declares himself to be little more than rabbit food for the group. Paul admits that both he and John have done one over on George, albeit unconsciously as an effect of the competition and unaware of how it may have hurt George in the process, but John argues that he’s known since early childhood how manipulative he himself can be, and has tried to curb it to little avail.

What You Are

In the middle of a personal discussion with John and Ringo about the band, its tenuous future, and their relationships with one another, Paul (in response to John’s admission of insecurity in the face of external pressures from the public and media to perform) is emphatic about his faith in them and their abilities and contends that whatever interpersonal problems they have can be resolved, for what their music is worth.

Working At A Relationship

While Yoko and Paul conduct their own conversation with each other, Linda talks to John about the inevitable difficulties any relationship faces - even in the context of a musical partnership - and why it doesn’t prove the relationship itself is an expired one. John (inexplicably or not) laments that the White Album doesn’t sound like the genuine, inspired band collaboration they achieved in the past. 

You've Got To Blame Yourself

As Paul encourages an unconfident Ringo to go ahead with his plans to record a solo LP, John hedgingly brings up his own apprehensions about following his instincts (especially when he’s not even sure what he really wants to do). In their inimitable and emotionally non-committal fashion, John and Paul engage in metaphors about intentions, conveying these intentions in actions, and how these actions may be conveyed by those who see it. (Basically: what John and Paul talk about when they talk about love.)

How Much More Have I Done Towards Helping You Write?

John and Paul have an obfuscating conversation about their songwriting partnership and creative process, which has been incapacitated by a lack of direction, misplaced (misread) intentions, and the unmet (unrealised) expectations they’ve inflicted upon each other. (In other words: issues. And some projecting of issues onto George, for good measure.)

What We're All About

In the midst of a personal discussion about working together within the band, John tries to explain the disconnect in their process, and why he can’t envision their songs the way Paul can. As both John and Paul circle around the issues of honest communication and (living up to) each other’s expectations, they eventually project onto George bring George into the quandary of the Lennon-McCartney partnership. 

[avatarmerida]

Um idk what to say about this except Hunter deserves to receive more compliments and Amity has never known how to process Willow’s taste in men

-

“Okay guys, just gimme like 10 minutes, okay?” Willow said, running eagerly ahead. “I just wanna check on my plants real quick. I’m sure they’re okay but I just wanna be totally sure because I-.”

“Go on, we’ll be fine!” Said Amity, seeing Willow was slowing herself down for their sake but desperately wanted to run ahead. Willow didn’t need to be told twice as she darted full speed up the stairs to her room. From the sound of it, her plants were just fine and delighted to see her. As they headed back to the Owl House, Willow’s house was on the way and when she had asked if they could make a quick pit stop Camila saw nothing wrong so long as they were quick and stayed together.

Hunter smiled at the distant sound of Willow happily greeting her plants as he looked around the living room, suddenly aware that it looked stuck in time. A few months ago it was brimming with life and light, and now it was dark and cold without Willow and her dads gracing the rooms with their love and laughter.

“Hey, what are these?” Hunter asked, turning to the dining room table which was covered in glossy brightly colored books.

“Oh, those are just some silly magazines Willow and I used to read when we’d do our homework,” said Amity as she walked in from the kitchen, the vibrant colors reminding her of a less chaotic time. “We would fill out the quizzes inside and gush about these bard coven bands and argue over who our favorite was.”

“Really? Heh.” Hunter flipped through the pages with a quizzical smirk, remembering Willow had once mentioned listening to a band once while they were messaging on penstagram back when they had first met. “Who was Willow’s favorite?”

“Take a guess.”

“Probably the most handsome one, right?” He said pointing to the obvious front man whose face was featured much more than the other members in the collection of mini posters that occupied the series of pages.

“Uh, not exactly,” said Amity, pointing to the corner to the “mysterious loner” of the group. His smile was more reserved than the others and his overall demeanor carried something... familiar.

“Him? Really?” Hunter chuckled, swearing he saw imprints of faded green lipstick stains near his photo. He wondered just how long they had been fading.

“I dunno, Willow has... unique taste.” Amity said with a shrug and slightly soured look. “We very rarely agree on things like that. I mean, she does not get Azura like at all, which just doesn’t make sense if I’m being honest, because I think...”

As Amity continued ranting, Hunter flipped through the pages and read the silly answers written in Willow’s bubbly handwriting, each ‘I’ dotted with a flower and the words twirling at the end as though they were carefully arranged vines. He treated her circled answers like a treasured artifact, admiring the little hearts and daisies she doodled in the corner of the pages. He also couldn’t help but want to take the silly quiz himself and see if their answers matched.

“...but I guess disagreeing can inspire debates. I mean, like the other day I was telling her how when I first met you I called you scrawny and that practically set her off because when she first met you she thought you were sooo cute, so obviously we don’t-.”

“She thought I was cute?” Hunter repeated, tuning back into Amity's rambling.

“Huh? Oh.” Amity’s hand sprang to her mouth, quickly realizing she should not have said that. “Uh maybe? Ya know, ha, it was so long ago, I might be misremembering. Actually, she might have been talking about a wet cat she saw on her way to school so actually-.”

“You just said you were talking about it yesterday.”

“Did I say that? You know, it was so long ago who can really remember what I said, we should-.”

“Amity, if you’re gonna make fun of me could you at least not use Willow? I don’t know why you’d think-.”

“I’m not making fun of you! I just, uh...” Amity insisted, quickly looking back at the staircase to make sure Willow wasn’t coming back yet. She changed her voice to a harsh whisper. “Ugh, okay listen, Willow would kill me if she knew I told you this but... do you remember before Halloween when I told you to change out of your costume?”

“Yeah?”

“She was actually really upset that I said that because she thought that you looked... handsome.”

Now THAT is a look

“Me?” Hunter asked as though there was someone else she could’ve been referring to.

DON’T listen to her.

“Yeah?” Amity replied, still unable to give a reason. “I mean, she was so mad at me for telling you to change, she threatened to summon a cactus to my bus seat before I sat down.” Amity laughed at the memory, knowing Willow was only a little serious about following through. “And she stared at the photo she took of you like the entire ride, like you were a magazine model or something.”

“She thought I looked... handsome? In my costume? Like the costume I’m wearing right now?”

“Shh! Yes, but you can’t tell her I told you,” said Amity, looking around paranoid. “I wouldn’t lie about that though, I promise.”

Hunter made his way into the living room, finding his reflection for the first time in a hall mirror. It was dusty but still he could see the difference from the last time he had seen his own face. There was a lot to process. Days ago he looked completely different and now it was though he had suddenly aged, he was tired and dirty and covered with scars.

“Do you think... she still thinks I look handsome in it?” He said, his hand tracing his newest scar.  “Ya know, with how... different I look?”

“Well,” Amity started, knowing there was more within the inquiry. “She also talked about how much she liked you, ya know? The way you talk, what you talk about-

“She never mentioned my voice being... annoying?”

“No, actually,” Amity said, realizing Willow was probably the only person she had never heard refer to it in such a way, even as a joke. “Which is saying something because she used to always say that having bad eyesight made her hearing better,” Amity recalled. “I don’t know if that’s true or not but Even when you wore those hideous shoes with the holes all over them she still thought you were so cool... for some reason.”

Handsome AND cool? It seemed too good to be true.

“Does she... talk about me a lot?”

“Ya know, if you really wanna know what Willow thinks about you then you should ask her,” said Amity softly, putting her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “But don’t tell her you talked to me, otherwise she’ll get suspicious.”

“But has she said anything about... the way I look now?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting any more information from me!” said Amity dramatically, walking back to the kitchen table. “I’ve said too much already, if she ever found out that I said any of this I’d have more than a cactus to worry about.”

“But why wouldn’t she want me to know? Is she embarrassed?”

“Well I dunno, do you tell Willow you think she looks nice every time you think she looks nice?”

Hunter opened his mouth to offer a smug response before he realized that while he did in fact let Willow know she looked nice it was usually agreeing with someone. She would walk down to the basement to show off a new dress she had found while thrift shopping with Vee and wanted to show how nicely it complimented the cardigan Hunter had repaired for her and Hunter would be in awe of how she always managed to pick colors that brought out her eyes. He would think how lovely, how stunning, how utterly beautiful she looked but he never said these words.

Instead, Gus would usually deliver the compliment. He’d say “Wow, Willow you look great!” and then nudge Hunter in the ribs with his elbow as he’d raise an eyebrow and say “Doesn’t she Hunter?” Willow would look at him with anticipating eyes for his thoughts, but the sparkle that found her eyes with her expectations only increased the things to say, and Hunter would end up only being able to nod in agreement or mumble a simple “yes.”

Is that how he made Willow feel? How could he ever...?

“Fair point,” He cleared his throat and tried not to convey the journey his mind was on and hoping he seemed like he was totally normal about the question. “Thank you for your clarification, I shall keep the matter between us.”

“You’re not gonna act... weird about this are you?” Amity asked, fairly certain she already knew the answer.

“Me? Weird? No! W-w-why would I be weird about this?” Hunter sputtered nervously.

Oh, she definitely already knew the answer.

“Okay, well I hear her coming back so zip it,” ordered Amity. “If I wake up with a cactus in my sleeping bag, I’m taking you down with me, spaceman.”

Hunter wouldn't know how to bring it up even if he wanted to.

“Sorry it took so long,” said Willow, entering the room on a vine. “But they’re doing great, luckily the automatic water system I instilled has been working perfectly.”

“That’s great, Willow.” said Amity with a smile.

“Yeah that’s totally great!” agreed Hunter, his voice sounding panicked for no apparent reason. “Awesome! Cool! Yeah...”

“Yeah,” agreed Willow, confused by the room’s vibe. “But uh, we should probably get back to the others. I don’t want Camila to worry.”

“Oh yeah, good idea,” agreed Hunter.

“Oh, before I forget,” said Willow, pulling something off her wrist. “I found this yellow scrunchie in my room and I thought since your hair is longer again, you could use it to keep your hair out of your eyes.”

“Really?” he said, as she slipped the hair tie onto his wrist. “Thanks, Willow.”

“’Course,” she said with a smile. “It’s your color, after all. Plus we gotta make sure we can see that pretty face of yours.” She added with a wink.

“Haha yeah o-o-okay,” he said with a gulp. “I should uh, g-g-go check if the coast is clear.”

He ran ahead as Willow chucked to herself, clearly pleased with his reaction. She watched as he ran to the doorway and pulled his hair back into a ponytail and secured it with Willow’s scrunchie.

“Woah, did it just get hotter in here?” Willow whispered to Amity, a faint crimson gracing her cheeks as she watched fondly as he scanned the outside area, his pulled back hair making it easier for her to see his defined jawline. Before Amity could offer her comment on the change in temperature, Willow cut her off as she continued in a dreamy tone. “Never mind, I think it’s just Hunter. If ya know what I mean.” she added playfully, bumping Amity’s arm with her elbow.

“I really, reeeally don't,” groaned Amity as though she was in physical pain, having endured this talk for months in the human realm and now realizing that there was no end in sight. “You have got to stop saying things that to me I am begging you!” Amity pleaded.

“I’ll stop when he stops,” said Willow with a shrug, fanning herself with her hand for emphasis (half to upset Amity further and half because she was truly grateful she had found that scrunchie).

[cupidspup]

𐙚 ˚🍰 ⋆｡˚ ᡣ𐭩

Hello hi everyone! I am now back by popular demand!! (From my therapist)

Sorry that it's been a while, I've honestly been struggling lots with mental health and school and stuff but I'm back mostly!! Also I got a new phone and it’s making all my cute border things white and yucky so my posts may look a little band for now i hope thats okay!! ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა I've got lots and lots to say (i thinks-) so please take the time to read everything below because it's super important to me and this account!

So firstly, I want to address all the requests! My requests are still open and everyone is more than allowed and welcome to send in their requests! I will say at this time I may start tweaking what I will and won't write (in terms of fandoms) due to the lack of interest I'm starting to have lately (which may be due to mental illness) but that's not as important! My therapist wants me to get back into the swing of things to cope and he loves the idea of be doing regression fanfictions. It's something that helps me cope with my stuff and something that genuinely feels rewarding and healing for me for yo guys. I love seeing your guys reblogs, likes and comments and hearing how it helps you all so much and I want to keep doing that! Below I have included the main things that currently pique my interest and help motivate me to write things more!

Let me preface, this isn't me saying you guys can't request these things from me or anything like that! They're still on the table but they probably won't be as prioritized as the others! So without further ado here's my new list!

Creepypasta

FNAF (especially characters from Security Breach such as Sun and Moon who are my faves!!)

This one is less of an interest per say but it makes it easier for me which is making requests such as "Shy CG x Outgoing Little" and maybe providing some smaller details of things you'd like from it like in terms of vibes or scenarios!

The reasoning as to why I've significantly lowered what I will and won't write for is honestly hard to describe. I'm dealing with a lot of imposter syndrome on my end and I find it's easier to write for things that I'm either super passionate about or something I'm passionate about but is lesser known, that way there's a lesser chance of me comparing myself! (Sorry for this small rant, I do wanna be transparent and honest with y'all and it helps be set the standard in a better way!)

Anywho!!

As for my birthday countdown!! I know not a lot of you guys are super interested in that and I've sorta given up on that but I may just go along with it anyway and just answer it whenever I feel like it! I want you guys to get to know me and see that I'm a person beyond than what I post x) so we'll see how that goes!

Moving on! I will say, if you make a request for me there is a slight chance that I love the idea/request so much that I might tweak it just a tiny bit! And I hope that's okay with y'all, ultimately, I always write what I vibe with and what makes me happy and I try my best to fulfill your guys' wishes along with my own!

With that I think that's the end of everything I had to say and if you made it this far, thank you so much! It means a lot to me when people read this far!

I love you guys so much please be safe!!૮ ᴖﻌᴖა🩷

Love,

-Puppy 🐾♡₊ ⊹

𐙚 ˚🍰 ⋆｡˚ ᡣ𐭩

[insomniamamma]

Circle, Circle: Dieter Bravo X f!reader

A/n: written for my @yearofcreation2023 Year of Kisses. This prompt was a kiss for comfort, and a whole lot of real life happened between when I started this and now. This is a love letter to the theater nerds I knew in high school and the theater nerd I became later in life. This one turned out different than I thought it would. This story refused to be smutty. This story refused to be sexy. I don't make the rules. Inspired largely by this.

warnings: drug and alcohol use, angst, implied fatphobia, insecurity, cuddles and fluff, being dieter's best friend implies it's own warning.

You saw the clip. Annika belting Dieter in the chops in the middle of some posh party while Kate looked on with the kind of face you make when your drunken best friend barfs in a potted plant at your parents house. You never loved me! You never loved me at all! Dieter's hands thrown up in self defense, grinning at the cameras as security goons hook their arms around Annika's waist and pull her out of the shot. Day in the life.You saw the clip and knew what was coming. Dieter fuckin Bravo.

You've known D since middle school, gravitating towards each other because no one else wanted anything to do with either of you. The girls called you stupid and fat and ugly. The boys called him faggot. So you'd banded together, smoking cigarettes you stole out of your Gramma's dresser, smoking shake-weed out of pop-can pipes at the edge of school grounds, right under that stupid sign that read 'drug free school zone' and then kicking it into the tall grass when some terminally bored teacher's aide came to round up you and D and the rest of the burnouts. Nobody ever gave you more than the cursory straighten up and fly right speech. Neither of you were actively failing so no one cared. Then, in high school Dieter discovered the theater program and so did you.

You saw the clip and knew your phone would ring eventually. Or buzz rather. Coming home, he texts. Can you pick me up? Sure. What time? Knowing exactly what will happen. He'll say he won't be any trouble, that he'll book a room at the holiday inn and you'll tell him no and invite him to stay. Because you always do. Because home has turned on him for getting out. He's won an Oscar out in the world, but here? He's sneered at, deep well of contempt for those who strike out and fail and come home licking their wounds. Who does he think he is? Who do you think you are? Hurts less for you because you never tried to leave as much as you wanted to.

You should try out, you told him. If I'm trying out you should too, he told you. Little Shop of Horrors. He was gunning for Seymour so you learned Audrey, so you could practice the songs with him. I can't try out are you kidding me? You can, D told you, you sound...rested his hand on your upper arm the way someone might touch a live nuclear warhead. You sound good. We sound good together. You know that right? And inside you do. The way his voice weaves through yours, the way you can let go when it's just the two of you. His garage or your basement, singing over the piano track the music teacher made.

He's a mess. He looks about four days out from his last shower, his curls sticking up in greasy quills, his eyes are red-rimmed, from drugs or crying, you can't tell. This is how it is for him. He fucks up spectacularly and then he comes slinking home. No one cares here. No one gives a shit about his Oscar here. Just that no good Bravo boy limping home like a kicked dog. But you care. Dragging his carry-on along behind him, broad shoulders slumped, you feel that unwilling, unwitting spike of pity lodge in your chest.

They'd laughed. At the audition. When you and Dieter took your positions on stage, a bit of rough blocking you'd worked out between the two of you. Not loud braying laughter, snickers and titters of girls expecting a debacle and you feel your chest constrict and your eyes burn--

"Lift up your head Wash off your mascara Here, take my Kleenex, wipe that lipstick away Show me your face, clean as the morning I know things were bad, but now they're okay--"

But Dieter has you, grips your chin with finger and thumb just like you practiced, those big brown eyes terrified and deadly serious hold yours as he draws you to your feet. Audrey's lines pour out of you in a rush, the accompaniment a hair slower than the recording, I blew it, I blew the song and then you find the tempo, you find your voice and it rings out like it did all the times you and Dieter ran it together, belting it over the cast recording, rings out into the dark auditorium, the way you've heard it in your head this whole time, and you feel your skin prickle as Dieter's voices threads through yours like a grounding touch, and you finish together, singing into each other's faces.

The accompaniment stops and there's polite applause.

"You saw?" "Everybody saw--" "Fuck."

He smells like stale beer, fast food and no sleep. "You knew it wasn't gonna last with her right?" You keep your eyes on the road, but you can feel D bristle in the passenger's seat. "How do you mean?" "Come on, man, she's, like, half your age. Even if you hadn't cheated on her with Kate--" "Hey--" "You and her have nothing in common other than being trapped in that weird quarantine bubble," you say, "That's not love, that's fucking Stockholm syndrome." "You're probably right." "I'm always right. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

"This is some bullshit!" Dieter jabs a chipped black fingernail at the list of names tacked to the bulletin board outside the auditorium. "Your name is nowhere on that list. We sounded so good together! They--" "Dieter it's fine," you say. "They cast Emmy Lancaster as Audrey! What the fuck?" "Emmy's fine. She's got a nice voice." "Yeah, but she's not you! How'm I gonna do it if it's not you?" "D! Stop it!"You grab him by his upper arms and shake him a little, and those big brown eyes lock onto yours and he looks like he's drowning. "You've got this. I know you, dude, you're gonna be great." His eyes flick back and forth like he's searching for something. "Will you still run lines with me?" "Of course I will, you asshole."

"You hungry?" "Starving." "Mabels?" "Mabels."

"Oh, man, I forgot how good this is."

You and Dieter order the same thing as ever, garbage omelets with and order of biscuits and gravy split between you. D slathers his plate in hot sauce and you wrinkle your nose like you always do. And the question comes up as it always does. Can I stay with you? Just for a little bit-- and the answer is always yes, because D is a disaster but he's your disaster.

He's held your hair while you puked, you babied him when his girl dumped him right before senior prom. You ran lines together, even though you couldn't act with him. You don't have the right look for Audrey, they told you, but we do need a stage manager, and you threw yourself into it even though it hurt, because what where you expecting? And you had a knack for it, which surprised you and everyone else. The Audrey Two puppets were rented, but everything else had to be built and you found that you loved it, sketching out the sets, figuring out how to make the pieces light enough for you and the half-dozen other nerds you'd press-ganged into being stage crew to lift easily. We can do most of it with scrims, paint right on the fabric and then light it on from the back, or we could project the images right on them, like what Nine Inch Nails does. We can get with the AV club, see what they think.

"You can always stay with me, Dieter." You reach across the sticky table and wrap your hand around his forearm, "You know that right?" And there's a flicker across his face that says no, and it feels like a spike in your belly--

"Everyone's saying-- Christ. It's like everything I touch turns to shit."

"C'mon, that's crap and you know it, Hunger Strike--"

"That was different!" He surges forward and takes your hands in his, a bit of coffee sloshed between you, turned ears and cocked heads of the few patrons haunting Mabel's this time of night. "I had something there! It was like, something entirely outside of me--"

"Like catching lightning in a bottle?"

"Exactly like that!" And he smiles, brilliantly, the real one, not the cool little smirk reserved for the red carpet, for the press junkets, the smile that lights him up, the one you remember from way back when the lights came up and the orchestra played the main theme, the cast linked arm and arm, ready to take their bows and Dieter broke ranks, deviated from what you'd done in the previews, running the show for a cadre of bored teachers who'd rather be doing just about anything else, he sees you in the wings and catches your eye, waves you out two handed, a huge clownish gesture that requires a response, so you and the tech crew pour onto the stage, while the actors slide down to make room for you and you dip your outstretched hands to the orchestra and raise them again to the soundboard and spot operator the way you've seen every night this run and then everyone links arms and bows in a wave and suddenly Dieter's arms are locked around you, releases you and then turns to the crowd, raises your hand and his together, as the applause comes up.

"Do you know how that feels?" And you remember the way you and him sounded together, how Audrey poured out of your lungs like she had always been there-- "Yeah, D, I do," and his eyes flicking back and forth across your face still and hold yours, his hands warm in your grasp.

"Yeah," he says, and squeezes your fingers in his, "Yeah, I think you do." And you stay like that a beat, hands folded together across the sticky table, ancient cigarette smoke and old coffee and hand sanitizer. The waitress brings the check. One of Mabel's spray tanned granddaughters. You draw your hands away like you've been caught.

You've kissed Dieter exactly once, under the much-graffitied overpass, neon slurs and pentagrams and pigeon shit, both of you drunk on Wild Irish Rose, him smelling of weed and his mouth was warm, tentative against yours, and you'd laughed about it afterwards, circle-circle dot-dot now i've got my cootie shot, and you'd leaned together with your arms around each other, warm and solid against each other.

During tech week you'd pulled double duty, running lines with Dieter because outside of the auditorium Emmy Lancaster wouldn't even look at him, rolled her eyes all through rehearsal as if she was doing the world a favor by being there. She wanted nothing to do with him outside of scheduled rehearsals and Dieter was scared. The tech crew you'd rounded up was a different story all together, the lights are down and they can't see us so go nuts, so backstage you'd gone full goth, all black and dramatic makeup, and some of the others had followed suit, a little bit of rebellion behind the curtain where no one could look at you.

After one particularly grueling night, you and Dieter find yourselves side by side on the futon in your basement. Your bedroom proper is upstairs but your folks have let you build a nest down here so won't bother the rest of the house. They've mostly given up on you but that gives you some freedom.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he says, looking up at the crappy drop ceiling and glow in the dark stars that you've decorated it with. "Emmy hates my guts. She thinks I'm a creep. How'm I supposed to make this work?"

"Pretend she's me."

"What?"

"Pretend. She's. Me. You're good singing and running lines with me, so just imagine it's me and not Emmy fuckin Lancaster up there with you."

"Will that work?"

"Dude, I don't fuckin know, but you better figure it out quick. We open in a week."

The ride home is silent save for the scrape of windshield wipers, low, warm spit of rain, winding back roads and Dieter's fallen asleep, head turned away, slumped against the window, comes blearily awake at the sound of your tires on the gravel driveway.

"Hey, D, we're home." He stretches in the passenger's seat and yawns hugely.

"I can still get a hotel. I don't want to be a problem--"

"Too late. C'mon."

You fall asleep under fake plastic glowing stars and wake to find you and him wrapped together, his forehead pressed to yours, your arms tucked around his ribs, his hand folded over the curve of your hip, his breath warm against your face, and you're not sure how this makes you feel, because you've never been close with someone quite like this and you're not sure what might happen next, but at the same time this is Dieter and you've known each other for what feels like a million years and he looks so different asleep, face all slack like a little kid who's zonked out in the back on the car on some long road trip.

"I'll take the couch." "The fuck you will. I know the wire-work on Cliff Beasts 6 tweaked your back." "Was it that obvious?" "I could tell." "You can always tell."

"D. Hey, D." You try to squirm out of his grip without waking him, but you haveto resort to a good hard poke in the ribs. His eyes fly open and the two of you launch up and out of bed and away from each other like two magnets forced pole to pole.

"hoooomygod. Oh shit I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--" "Dude, it's okay, I didn't mean either-" "I was just so tired holy shit," his eyes are wide and his cheeks are fire engine red and you can feel the embarrassment and anxiety pouring off him like radiation. You start laughing. You can't help it. "What?" "You remember that scene from Planes, Trains & Automobiles?" Dieter brays laughter and the embarrassment flicks out like a candle flame.

You offer your hand and he takes it. You lead him upstairs. You need to get cleaned up. You smell like the floor of a taxi-cab, and Dieter laughs, a small one that just barely touches his eyes, his big be-ringed hand folded around yours, stroking your knuckles with the pad of his thumb, eyes down-turned.

"You always let me come back to you. No matter how bad I fuck up. You don't have to- you shouldn't--"

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do Dieter Bravo. You can always come to me. Unless you become a serial killer. Which seems unlikely considering how squeamy blood makes you."

Dieter laughs, a real one this time, that dimples his scruffy cheek and crinkles his eyes closed, and he knows you're talking about the time in Mrs. Wilson's home economics class when Lola Stevens sliced her thumb opening a can of peaches to make cobbler and Dieter got one good look at the running blood and slithered bonelessly out of his chair, eyes rolled up to the whites.

He laughs and pulls you into a crushing hug, his arms banded around your back, pressing you into him and it catches you off guard and you stumble against him, sorry. I didn't mean, and you don't give him space to elaborate, tuck your face into his neck, wind your arms just as tight around his middle. He smells like skunk weed and whiskey sweat and fast food and exhaustion but also like home, like those fevered days leading up to opening night, like when your first serious boyfriend had dumped you, like when he'd held your hair while you puked in the weeds by the side of the road, walking back home from a kegger that he cops broke up, the two of you creeping into the basement, got you a big sweating plastic tumbler of water in the ugly yellow light from the range hood, his eyes big and dark and serious, afraid of waking the rest of the house, and laughter had come bubbling up silent giggles that he caught like the plague, did you see the way Greggie ran?-- shut up you're gonna get us caught--

"Christ I missed you." "Missed you too, D, but you really need to shower." "That bad, huh?" "Yeah, that bad."

With some coaxing Dieter sleeps beside you, curled away from your nightstand lamp. Can't ever sleep without reading a little first, a horror yarn you've read a half-dozen times, plucky hero and damsel in distress threaded through with Dieter's even breath. He looks oddly frail in the soft light, back hunched in and knees tucked up like he's cold. You kill the light and slide the book under your pillow. You already know how it ends.

You kill the light and tuck yourself against his broad back, slide your arm around and his hand finds yours, folds your fingers into his, tucked against his chest. He smells like your soap and your shampoo because his toothbrush and a hair-clotted razor were the only toiletries that made it into his tangle of luggage. Walmart, you think, need to go anyway. You feel him soften, relax into your embrace, his weight settling against you, press your lips to the back of his head before tucking your face into the warm join of his shoulder.

His voice, sleep heavy and slurred-"Did you just kiss me?"

"Circle-circle, dot-dot"

[eegasleega-will-change-this-l8r]

Sooo I wasn't planning on doing this post just yet and I don't have a good digital drawing of her yet, but

Ana!!

So my take on her is very different from how I think most people imagine her, I wanted to go in a different direction that made her more than just the girl one/ninten's girlfriend/nicher Paula and she's become one of my favorite characters to play around with ^^

Design details and a giant wall of text detailing her character and story below :3

So like the entirety of my interpretation of Ana stems from one thing

That face

T_T

Very prominent eyebrows (Invasion From the Unknown actually mentions the same thing!!! the illustrations don't show it though and there's not really any other similarities between that version and mine), mouth usually spread in a frown, she's not a happy person Pink dress with a white collar and frill at the bottom, pink hat with a black band (or maybe cream with a red/pink band? i might play around with that idk), red shoes and white stockings She almost always wears her hat when she's out, having to leave it behind in Reindeer was very frustrating but she knew she'd get it back eventually at least (And yeah, she's fat. Her sprite doesn't look fat, I haven't seen other designs that make her fat, I didn't really take inspiration from her model because I hate it and it's not really fat either, I just wanted there to be a fat girl who's not, like, a mean-spirited joke, and since MOTHER's sprites are suuuper vague I decided to take advantage of it and design the characters however I wanted. thank god i'm on tumblr and not posting these to reddit or something, they'd crucify me)

Now her character!

Basically, Ana is grumpy and sour Constantly

You can contrast that with Ninten's 24/7 positivity

In general, I see the world of MOTHER 1 being very bleak and gloomy, with Ninten being the sole exception who helps bring light to the places and people whose souls are being crushed by the weight of everything Ana's sort of the final boss of repressed emotions and pessimism for Ninten to tackle (besides the actual final boss, who completely blows anyone else's emotional repression out of the water - I have a Giygas post in my drafts but I honestly have too much to say about him, I need to trim it down ><) It alllllll plays into the themes I wanna play with in my M1 interpretation :3

So Ana was a young girl living with her mother and father in Snowman's local chapel. Even before the Invasion she was pretty well-known for not being particularly upbeat. She was super reserved, pretty much never smiled, and preferred reading and praying to other people's company. She got some of it from her father, who was a priest and raised her to value proper behaviour and following God or whatever, but she's also just kinda like that. Her mother was much warmer, loving her daughter and never judging her for being less outgoing than the other kids, and Ana was always happiest curled up with her next to the fire, listening to a story.

Oh, and of course she's psychic, powerfully so. Bad news if you tick her off. Her family regards it as a miracle from God. She's a little clairvoyant, but not enough to know exactly what the future holds. Just short little confusing snippets and hints of what to do and expect.

One day, everything suddenly changed. The town was hit by an earthquake, everything was covered in darkness, the animals on the outskirts of town went berserk, and people went missing. The sounds and the shaking jolted Ana awake, and she ran down the hall hoping to be comforted by her mother. Opened the door, standing there with a candle, staring at the empty bed and a shattered window.

Ana buried her feelings and set out to try and find her mother (her father just stayed home and prayed, never leaving the chapel), but the monsters and creatures that had appeared were too strong for her alone, and she could only get as far as Reindeer before she had to turn back. But she heard a little voice in her head that told her to leave her hat behind, and she knew that whoever returned it to her would be the person she had to follow to rescue her mother. She waited impatiently back at her home, praying with her father, obsessively reading the news (similar disappearances all over the country, especially in Easter, interesting), and hoping that the hero, "Ninten," would show up soon.

Eventually, after FAR longer than she was happy with, he showed up and. Is this really the hero? This is just some bucktoothed kid and his geeky friend. She shoved down her frustrations along with everything else (at the very least she appreciated finally having her hat back) and told him that she needed to join him. He's happy to meet her of course because he's Ninten ("New friend!" "We are not friends.") And so the trio gets to set off on their journey!

In the completely wrong direction. Why are we stopping in Halloween.

For some reason, Ninten doesn't seem overly concerned about the fate of the world. He and his stupid friend just keep goofing off and hunting for these useless melodies. This isn't a scavenger hunt. The world is gonna be destroyed. She's furious, but she bottles it up. This is the person who's apparently fated to save Earth, so she has to stay with him, no matter how annoying he is or how much time he wastes.

So Ana spends the whole journey getting progressively more ticked off as they keep getting distracted by the hunt for the melodies. Ninten's shenanigans and his relentlessly positive attitude continue to get on her nerves, and she refuses to engage with them. This is a SERIOUS mission, and she's not gonna stoop to their foolish level, even if she has to stick with them.

So I'll be able to get more into the fight among the group when Teddy joins when I do his post, but short story is that Ana is against Lloyd staying. If they're actually gonna see this mission through to its end, someone strong like Teddy's gonna be far more useful, and they've wasted far too much time to let Lloyd slow them down. Her anger's really starting to boil over at this point. They've been together for ages, and they've barely gotten any closer to saving the world.

This all finally comes to a head on the Mountain (I love the Mountain, everything happens on the Mountain). Ninten's starting to lose his cool as the stress of their journey starts getting heavier and heavier, having to leave Lloyd was incredibly painful, and he's angry with her for not having their backs. She snaps that they aren't friends, they're just allies on the same mission, and they can't afford to waste time goofing off and making pals, and the fight gets more and more heated until everything Ana's been holding in finally bursts free.

She's terrified, and she's been terrified ever since her mother disappeared, and she doesn't know if they can really win or if she'll ever see her mother again, and having to just stay bottled up while they just wandered around seemingly not doing anything has been awful, and infuriating, and she can't stop herself from crying anymore.

Ninten quiets down and lets her have what she needs for a few minutes before he tries to comfort her. He didn't realize she was keeping all this inside, and he feels horrible that she was dealing with this the entire time. Once her tears die down, he rests his hand on her and assures her that they're gonna save her mother, and everyone else, too. He doesn't know how, and he's terrified sometimes too, but he also knows that for whatever reason, they need the melodies if they want to win. He apologizes for just ignoring all her feelings for the entire journey, and tells her that even though she's been so firm about not liking them, he doesn't want her to be alone. She can tell him anything, she doesn't need to keep everything to herself. That's what being friends is about, right?

So this is huge for both of them, and it's when Ana finally starts to warm up. She finally sees that it's good to be open and have friends, and that they'll be stronger for it if they're close. And, as they climb further up the Mountain and continue being friends, she starts to realize some muuuuch more uncomfortable feelings, too. Of course she pushes them down at first, but when they reach the cabin, they're alone together, and who knows if she'll have another chance to open up like this, she comes out and asks Ninten to dance.

I flip-flop a lot on whether Ninten actually feels mutually about her (you can choose yes or no when she asks if you like her back, I don't think Ninten's really ready to figure that stuff out for himself), but goddd I love this scene so much, for such a simple, clunky game, its tender moments hit so hard ;-;

So by the end of the story, Ana's reunited with her mother, she finally has friends that she loves and cares about, she's discovered new things about herself, and she's developed a new sense of hope and brightness for the future. A happy ending :)

So that's my version of Ana, I think she's very different from every other version I've seen of her so it's not like I'll ever see content for her that'll really speak to me unfortunately, but I love her and I love thinking about her dynamic with the other characters ^^