#was originally going to include the coffee date but that would have made it like 12k words lol

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FIVE: HOLY GROUND

I LEFT A NOTE ON THE DOOR WITH THE JOKE WE MADE, AND THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY. AND DARLING, IT WAS GOOD NEVER LOOKING DOWN.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, minors dni

☆ WC: 8K+

☆ A/N: trying something new in the formating here amongst the chapter - please bear with me <3

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” 

Oh, how you realize you’ll come to regret that taunt. 

The first week of working on organizing Corroded Coffin’s single release party is easy enough. Most of the communication is restricted to Matt and vendors, beginning the process of assessing venues as you start your list of all that will be needed for the party. An actual location, an open bar, entire stage crews. Matt is able to provide a few connections here and there, people in the live music industry that owe him a favor as he had so kindly put it. You had your spreadsheet of contacts that was growing with each passing day, you had several venues that looked as though they would work well for the occasion — the only thing you had yet to do was go over options with the band or properly reach out for their list of requirements for their night of celebration. 

You had tried to be sneaky about it. Get around asking for any of their emails, continue living comfortably in the radio silence of not hearing from Eddie. And then you’d made the fatal mistake of asking Matt if he could gather the list of things the boys may want.

And of course, as any sane person would do, he had only forwarded the email to all of the boys’ professional emails and replied: I’ve CC’d our rockstars. I’ve instructed them to personally send you any requests they may have.

Fuck.

Eddie’s email sat at the lead of the list of CC’d emails, almost teasing you as it stared back at you from your laptop screen. A full week, you had avoided this. Even if he could have gotten your email from Matt, he hadn’t, and like a fool, you’d assumed that meant you were in the clear. 

So much for that.

You compose and erase multiple emails until you decide that if the boys want to reach out, they can. There was no need for you to make first contact; they now had your email, a bait set for them to initiate a conversation by sending you their lists. If Eddie wanted to reach out to you, he had the perfect excuse to do so. 

For a few hours, you don’t hear anything, and instead of sighing in relief, it only puts you further on edge. You want him to just get it over with. To send you an email, preferably an impersonal list that allows you to continue your job. No relations, no interferences. You didn’t know it, but the Universe was already laughing in your face. 

The first email from any of the boys comes from Jeff.

A simple list, just as you’d requested. There was nothing outrageous; he’d recommended an open bar, asked for a specific brand of whiskey if possible, and thanked you for all you were doing. Simple, kind, appreciative. Jeff, it seemed, had stayed as humble as you remembered him. 

The next email came from Gareth. Less simple, but still just as expected.

Nerds (the CANDY) of any kind. That vodka infused whipped cream (does it even get you drunk?), the softest robe money can buy. Actually, can I get matching house shoes with that robe? Can we also have some cigars in the dressing room? (We are getting a dressing room… right?) 

You’re so busy snorting at his requests, rolling your eyes but also losing yourself in the warmth to know he also hadn’t changed much, you don’t see the next email come through.

It was comforting. You knew Eddie had changed — more than you could ever wrap your head around — but these boys you once knew seemed to still be connected to their roots. You read the requests and recall the times you’d spent in Gareth’s hot garage over the summer, sitting on warm concrete as you cheered overly excited, even occasionally standing up to jokingly mosh to their rehearsals. Sweltering summer nights between friends and beers that lost their chill far too quickly, laughter that echoed down the driveway and out into the empty streets of Hawkins. Nostalgia burns away at you, sitting restlessly in your chest as you let yourself simmer in it for the first time since…. since moving to New York, really. Even in that first year, life had moved so quickly, you and Eddie never took the time to ruminate in your past too often. If you did, it had caught you off guard, always fleeting to make room for the next uncertain experience. 

You two had been so busy running away from your hometown, you’d never stopped to consider what you had given up in the process. 

A soft sigh escapes your lips, and you swear you can still taste the shitty Miller Lite, the only brand that seemed to occupy the Emerson’s fridge, on your tongue as you exit the email and scribble on the notepad before you. Even if Gareth had been joking around with some of his requests, you’d take them seriously — besides, the mental image of Gareth in a plush robe and fluffy slippers to match made you laugh. You were thinking about your past, and for once, you were laughing. This part wasn’t a stain, wasn’t something you had scrubbed away at in a haste to make it fade from your ledger. This was the part you should have been lingering on. 

And linger you did until you glanced up to find the next unread email.

Eddie. 

EDDIETHEBANISHED@gmail.com. You could fool yourself, tell yourself that email is from anyone else, but you know it isn’t. It isn’t even the email that had been CC’d. It’s his personal email. 

Your mouse hovers over the highlighted and unopened message, heart dropping with each passing second. There’s a small preview of his message, but your vision blurs just enough that you can’t make out the small words. 

Is this how you were always doomed to live out the rest of your days? To freeze, to panic, to malfunction at every slightest thing that has to do with the man you left to begin with? Would he always pull such visceral reactions from you? 

In an act of bravery, you press the tip of your finger against the smooth mouse pad, a muted click that doesn’t reach your ears signaling the official opening of the email. All of your hopes are shattered as you realize it’s clearly too short to be a list similar to the other boys, a simple response that you could acknowledge and move on from. 

No, he sends something that specifically calls for you to play with him. To reply and interact, to give him what he wants. To talk. 

Two fucking words. Two loaded, vexing, provocative words that call to you with the titillating grin you imagine he wore as he typed them. 

Your fingers work faster than your brain, slamming away at the keys hurriedly without thought as you type your least professional email to date. 

The bottom of the email is automatically signed off with your work signature, including your direct personal line. If you had half the mind, you would have erased that bit of information to keep it from Eddie. It even has your actual signature, a mature one that differs from how you used to scrawl your name atop of schoolwork in high school, that you had scanned into your computer after having gone through the painful process of rewriting it what must have been a thousand times. No one had let you in on the fact that most other corporate monsters and coworkers just used one of the sloping fonts available to them. No one had shown you the ropes – you’d just assumed that it was the normal, to go so above and beyond. 

Another brick in the foundation you’d built for yourself, separate from Eddie. Another attempt to change from the girl he’d once loved. 

You’re shocked when a reply comes very quickly. You hadn’t even clicked out of the thread before it entered your inbox.

You try to channel fury, years of irritation and calluses you’d built up against him. But your chest has been weakened by that brief moment of nostalgia that Jeff and Gareth had triggered, and it’s a fruitless battle when he sends another message rapidly. He’s treating it like casual texting rather than stiff business interactions. 

Your entire body flushes, a shock to your system coming that brings you out of the allusive hypnosis easily. 

My emails are monitored. They’re going to see that we know each other. I’m going to get fucking fired. 

You steady your breathing and try to stave off the anxiety. It’ll be fine; Lydia has no reason to comb through your emails at this time. Nothing said would trigger any bells or whistles to cause concern. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It has to be. 

You wish you had it in you to see red. He had an incomprehensible amount of nerve to be asking for your personal email all because he refused to use his professional email. 

Soft. You’d worked on becoming a hardened version of your old self for two years, and all hard work was quickly going down the drain as you remained too soft for him. It was easy, too. All the rough edges had melted so discreetly somewhere amongst the in between. 

You think he’s dropped the topic of your personal email, but you should know better. Not even mere seconds after you receive the first email, brimming with nonchalance and a teasing tone that has no room between the two of you, another message comes through.

Good to see he’s still annoying and persistent as ever, I suppose. 

He’s all bark, no bite. That’s what you convince yourself. There’s no way he could find your personal email, a plethora of power and connections at his fingertips or not. Even if he could, it would take him ages and more effort than it would be worth. 

All bark. No bite.

You hadn’t realized just how quick and consistent his replies had maintained until you’re met with silence. You wait impatiently, biting at your fingernails as you await for another one of his responses. The more the time passes, the excessive minutes piling up in the quiet midday hum of your midtown apartment, the more noticeable Eddie’s online silence becomes.

No, you think suddenly and strongly. No, I am not doing this. 

You refuse to sit around like this and succumb so easily. All your half-healed scars thrum with aches deep-rooted within the skin you’ve grown over the last two years, screaming out in phantom pains with a reminder of what happened to you the last time you’d let yourself sit around and wait on the boy on the end of the line. Every lonely night, every tear shed, every beat of your bleeding heart — you cannot be doing this again, and not so soon. 

Quickly, you click out of your email tab and back onto the list of vendors you needed to contact for the bar commodities. Distract, distract, distract. You comb through your list. Some vendors seemed to hold more potential than others, more attainable in the grand scheme of it all. For the first time ever in your very short career of event planning, budget wasn’t the issue.

Eddie’s reputation was.

But you’re not thinking about Eddie. No, your focus was anywhere but him right now. You weren’t thinking about him, or his new cologne, or his new rings, or his new life-

Just as you pick up your cell phone to start your calls down the list, a notification pings.

Only seven minutes had passed. Seven minutes, and your phone is suddenly alight with a small but terrifying notification from your personal email.

New email from EDDIETHEBANISHED@gmail.com!

Oh, fuck.

Your thumb hesitates over the tiny banner before you release the breath you were sure you’d been holding the entire seven minutes. It shouldn’t have taken him such little time. You expected it to realistically take him a few hours, all your anxious waiting aside. 

There had been only one fatal flaw in your taunting — well, technically there were several becoming more apparent as the seconds ticked by, but only one so glaringly obvious. Your personal email address. You had forgotten.

You hadn’t changed it since high school, since moving to New York, since meeting and since leaving Eddie. 

CORRODEDSUGAR@gmail.com. 

The stupid inside joke haunts you. 

“Why does your email even matter?” Eddie huffed from where he was sprawled out on your bed, tossing around some bouncy ball he’d acquired a few nights before during dinner at a local pizza joint, “No one even uses email anymore.” 

He tossed the ball of rubber into the air once more, a blur of the rainbow swirl pattern whirring too close to your ceiling for comfort. Your focus waned from your laptop for just a moment as you suddenly shot out a hand, attempting to intercept the ball. 

No use. Eddie used one hand to swat yours away, the other happily capturing the toy in his palm with a muted thud. 

“Nuh, uh, uh,” he drawled as he looked at you with his boyish grin, eyes sparkling as his fingers closed loosely around his prize, “If you wanted one so badly the other night, you should have also coughed up a quarter.” 

You snorted, “Are you really proud of that? You spent a whole twenty five cents on a hunk of rubber, Rockstar.” 

“A hunk of rubber you’re now trying to steal from me.”

“I’m not trying to steal it,” you scowled, “I’m trying to focus here. Emails are important, despite your pessimism. Something my English teacher said about professionalism.” 

“You’re really going to listen to that dinosaur? The old O’Donnel-saurus?” Eddie mused, chuckling beneath his breath at his own joke.

You refused to crack a smile in return, or show any recognition at the awful joke, but your chest still warmed. The smoke of your affection for the boy in front of you unfurled, thick enough to choke you up a few extra seconds but thin enough to not suffocate. Never suffocate — it was a time in which you could never imagine your love for Eddie Munson being your downfall. It was a wispy and adaptable type of adoration, just like the smoke that flows off of the end of the incense you’d taken to burning in your room lately in lieu of candles. 

“It’d do you well to also come up with a professional sounding email, you know,” you hummed. You were mere seconds away from shoving your laptop away and joining Eddie in his relaxed position, maybe even laying your head on his chest or shoulder and bringing up the idea of a late afternoon nap you knew he’d never turn down, “Can’t go around emailing important people when you’re a rockstar with your Dungeons & Dragons nickname.” 

“One,” he held up a stern finger, “Like I said — I don’t use email. And two, I’m very happy with my email, sweetheart. I’ll probably email the damn President with that name. Life’s too short and we’re too young to get a stick up our ass about shit like that.” 

You reached out and wrapped your palm around his finger, tugging it down. Unlike with the ball, he let you capture him in your grasp, “I don’t have a stick up my ass about it.” 

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“Then make it something funny,” he wiggled his brows, “Make your email something stupid and live a little.” 

“A little?” you scoffed, “I think I live plenty for the both of us. You’ve put me through at least three lifetimes worth of stress before I’ve hit twenty. I probably have grey hairs already.” 

Your hand curled around his pointer finger drops to your thigh, but doesn’t release him. The touch remained, ever constant, now more for comfort rather than defiance. And he let you continue to hold him, as if your touch was a luxury he was indulging in just as much as you were his. 

“Wanna check?” he taunted. He lifted up off his back for a microsecond, tugging your arm with his before the roll of your eyes had him falling back flat once more.

It was a losing battle, arguing with Eddie.

Your conjoined hands settled back atop your thigh as you sighed. Maybe Eddie had been right, and you were stressing out too much about this. He was right; you were young, and having a dumb email was a right of passage. Something to giggle at in your maturity when you’d provide it later down the road, a flash of your youth to keep close. 

Fuck professionalism, or whatever high horse O’Donnel had been on.

“Fine,” you huffed, “What do you suggest?” 

“… To check for grey hairs?”

“For my email, you idiot.” 

A bit more back and forth, a bit too raunchy of ideas that passed Eddie’s lips only to be rejected quickly with rough shakes of your head. His finger remained locked in your palm, at some point his knuckle wiggling between suggestions to stroke at your skin. 

“Sweetheart, you’re being too picky,” Eddie finally whined as you shot down yet another one of his ideas, “At this point, just make it something related to the band. You’ll probably be Corroded Coffin’s manager when we make it big, anyways.” 

“That sounds like a nightmare,” you murmured, even if you enjoyed the thought. You already had started to get a hang of wrangling the boys in your small town for menial tasks and day-to-day activities. But on a wider, professional scale? You could already feel the headache pressing into your temples. If they ever offered you the proposition, you wouldn’t have said no, but you certainly would have complained to no end. And definitely got grey hairs.

“Sweetheart.”

The repetition of the nickname froze you. Your eyebrows furrowed as the wheels in your brain turned and you looked down at your boy, the formulation of an idea that was combining both of Eddie’s suggestions suddenly.

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” 

Eddie was taken back by your question, face crumpling with confusion, “What?”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?” you repeated yourself as you finally let go of his finger and twisted to face him fully, laptop momentarily forgotten as your legs folded beneath you and pressed into your worn mattress, “Like, I call you Rockstar because I know you’ll be a rockstar someday. Already are technically, to me, but don’t let that go to your head,” you explained, smiling shyly as Eddie narrowed his eyes and shined his dimples at you, “So why do you call me sweetheart?”

He hardly had to think about it, although his answer came out as more of a question, “Because you’re my sweetheart?”

“That’s all?”

“Is this a trick question?” 

You nearly cackled at his hesitation, “It isn’t, I swear. Just… humor me.” 

This time, he took his time to carefully deliberate his answer, “Well, I guess because it just fits,” he paused, wide eyes catching yours as you lifted your brows in question, “You know? Cause you’re sweet like sugar, and you’ve got a heart of gold,” he grabbed up the hand that once held him and drew it into his lips, peppering kisses across your knuckles and fingertips, fighting a grin as he groveled, “There. Is that romantic enough to humor you?” 

“Almost.” 

You pulled your hand away despite the fact that you wanted to let him continue his display of affection. You would have laid around all day, letting Eddie Munson shower you in all the affection he had to give. But you really needed to create this email.

And now, you had the perfect name.

CORRODEDSUGAR.

You created the account quickly. Set everything up with ease before you proudly turned your screen to Eddie. 

“Corroded sugar?” he read outloud in a murmur as a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Cute. But also, very metal. Very badass. I approve, Sugar.” 

A new nickname was born that day, to haunt you and taunt you at every corner. In soft mornings when he woke before you, his voice softly cooing ‘wake up, Sugar’ as he’d brush his nose along your jaw and attempt to awaken you with needy nuzzling. Amidst heated and passionate arguments had all in good fun while out with friends, where he knew you were right but the closest he’d come to admitting it would simply be ‘whatever you say, Sugar!’. He’d even once weaponized it against you during sacred moments, where his lips worshiped you as they trailed leisurely down the skin of your torso until he’d settled between your thighs, humming as he wrapped ringed fingers around your hips and whispered nothing more than the nickname. ‘Sugar’. He had sighed as if he were a starving man, and you were the plate of sweetness that would bring him back to life.

Sugar. A prayer, a promise, a reminder. 

You couldn’t remember the last time he’d called you that. Until now.

When you’d tried to reset, rebuild, remake yourself, it had been hard to figure out a new email address. Amongst all the changes and all the decisions to be made, choosing a new email just felt overwhelming. And you’d been foolish, clung to one last relic of your past like an estranged child fisting a blanket to sleep. 

The seven minutes suddenly makes crystal clear sense. 

Whether it had really been Eddie’s rockstar connections from his fame, or simply recalling a far away memory, you hadn’t made yourself a very hard person to find. And you never considered that your laziness would have a consequence like this. 

You don’t know what else to say. Your mind keeps reading over that silly five letter word, the bold lettering jumping off the page at you. All recollections of every time he’d ever called you that slip into the forefront of your brain, slapping away any concentrated thought. 

You’d had dreams of him calling you that again. A mixture of memories and fantasies that would wake you up in the months following your departure. Compared to the other dreams you’d had amongst those, they had been a sweet reprieve. Not a nightmare of Eddie with his lips pressed to another, or mournful dreams where you reached out to him only for him to become intangible smoke where your hand should have connected with his torso. They were one of your only dreams you had awoken from without immediate tears. 

They were the type of dreams where you’d awake, and for just a moment, you’d forgotten all that had happened. They’d twist you up in a blissful blanket of delusion that he was still yours, that you were still laying in a shared bed in that small apartment, that there was still a calendar on the wall with the date of his return marked with a scarlet heart. 

The tears would come later. Once the dreamy fog cleared, and your eyes opened up to see the unfamiliar space you had taken to calling home instead.

The two of you should be discussing the release party. He should be handing over a list of requests and you should be adding them to the same page that you’d copied down Gareth’s. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. 

Talking, like nothing happened. Having a playful conversation over email that reeked of the same make-believe that had clung to your dreams of Sugar. 

He won’t break the illusion, so you do.

Messaging him from this contact only reminds you of all that could have been. All the joking conversations back in Hawkins of your involvement with the band once they inevitably blew up, all the late nights where you’d been privy to a private show as he hunched over his guitar and hummed out melodies to new songs, all the bruises those once familiar hands had left and then caressed in the afterglow. 

For just a moment, you miss it all. 

For only a second, you wish he wore the same cologne and you wish you still signed your name as you had when you first met him. You wish for days of instability and the solid touch of his shoulders beneath your palms as you convince him to take a leap of faith on himself and the band. Dancing in a small apartment, falling asleep on the phone while he was a world away, quiet confessions of love to soothe the wound that distance made grow larger — for just a moment, you want it all back. Even the pain. Even the hurt you’d been burying alive for years.

Silence. Once again, he’s left you with static lines as the minutes pass and no new message is received. 

You think you liked it better when he was being inappropriately playful. 

At least then, he was saying something. Now, as he says nothing, you have to resort back to doing your job. You bring up a knee to rest your chin on as you adjust in your home office chair, clicking over to tabs of information on a physically small but well-known venue that had several different capacity options. Ranging from a small room that could hardly fit twenty five people to a rooftop set up with the ability to entertain several hundred people. Something about it had felt very Eddie to you; reclusive, with opportunity for an afterparty. Some odd mixture of who you once knew and who you’d seen flashes of through headlines and brief encounters. You hadn’t been given many guidelines from Matt to go off of, and when you’d questioned capacity size, he’d only brushed it off.

Just something smaller than the venues they play on tour.

Would Eddie even want this small of a venue? Looking over the venue’s website, you catch sight of the approximate occupancy limit for the “largest” stage room — 750 standing. What was Corroded Coffin’s new normal? Once upon a time, you were amongst a crowd that couldn’t even break double digits. But now, a show like this might sell out for them in five minutes flat. Hell, they could probably even sell out a thousand person capacity room. 

A ding sounds to signify a new email. 

For a second, you’re nonsensically relieved when you see it’s from Eddie. You find yourself blindly hopeful for a continuation of banter, another message solely trying to get on your nerves – something to satiate that stubborn need to slip back into old habits, even if for only just today. 

It’s not. It’s a stale list of requests. Sent to your work email, this time.

No sight of his playfulness between the words. No beckoning of him taunting you, teasing you, whispering for you to just give in and play pretend with him one last time. 

It’s probably for the best. 

—

Have Mondays always been this hectic? 

Week two of working on Corroded Coffin’s album release was starting off very differently from the first week. It seemed every corner you turned, you were faced with a new challenge that only made the headache behind your temples pound more relentlessly. Denial from venues, cold calls being forwarded to voicemail when you’d reach out to vendors, and Matt being impossibly busy with the band to get back to any of your emails in a timely manner. 

If you had to hear one more venue representative turn down your business proposition with a “Sorry, but we’ve heard about Eddie’s reputation…”, you might make a detour to go jump off the Empire State Building. 

Had he really been that awful to venue properties? 

“You look stressed,” Romina notes when you hang up on your third unsuccessful call of the day, slamming the phone down more violently than you should. 

“Who, me?” you bitterly reply, looking over your shoulder to where she leans in her chair, turned entirely from her desk to watch you with gentle amusement, “Never. I have never been stressed a day in my life.” 

She quirks an eyebrow, “And before this new secret project of yours, I would have agreed.” 

“Every venue is shooting me down.”

“It happens,” you yearn to feel the nonchalance that flows through the shrug of her shoulders, as if she’s now the one without a worry in the world, “Are they giving reasons?” 

You open your mouth, but your tongue stops short. Because yes, they were each giving the same resounding, completely valid reason. But to admit this is to inform Romina what your secret project really is – something that a certain NDA strictly prohibits for the time being. 

“Conflict of schedules,” you tightly lie as your glare diverts to your computer screen, still open on a mostly empty inbox. 

Eddie hadn’t emailed you since last week. 

Somewhere amongst your frustration, there was a sore disappointment lying in patient wait. You have not a single doubt that once the storm of the task at hand passes, once you finally secure a venue, that you’ll be forced to deal with it. But for now, a boy not emailing you after being so insistent for your personal contact was the least of your worries. 

Romina’s voice draws you back in, “Really? How far out are you trying to book for?”

“Three months.” 

The squeak of her chair pauses abruptly. Your eyes shift and you catch the way all her mindless swaying has ceased, mouth flat with eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Three months?”

“What?” you finally spin your chair to face her, playing off nonchalance. You know why she’s reacting so dramatically, “Should I not be booking that far in advan-”

“I- No, no. You absolutely should be. It should actually be making it easier to book,” she leans forward in her seat, squinting at you, “Is that really the only reason they’re giving?” 

You get it. Because she’s right; giving such fair notice should be making your job easier. But you can’t defend yourself and explain how the client you’re representing is the real issue. 

“Yeah,” you force a forlorn sigh.

“Jesus,” she whistles out, “Well, that’s just… Fuck. I’m sorry, babe. That’s rough. What types of venues are you even trying for? Wait - didn’t you say you were arranging for a grand opening of a bakery? Wouldn’t they already have their shop set up-”

“Hello ladies.” 

Thank fucking God for Lydia. 

“Lydia!” you sit up just a little bit straighter, nearly leaping out of your seat with relief as your boss approaches. You knew exactly where Romina’s train of thought was heading, and you wouldn’t have been able to come up with a single pitiful excuse to keep up with your little white lie, “How are you today?” 

Romina is still perched in her chair with a confused look, but Lydia doesn’t even glance her way, looking just as concerned as she looks down at you, “I’m… fine. There’s a client for you in the conference room.” 

Straight to the point. Except, you didn’t have a meeting scheduled today. 

“A client?” you echo, shrinking down a bit. You only have one client, technically, at this moment, “I didn’t have anything on my calendar.” 

“Apparently, they were just on this side of town. Said you’d left a few voicemails and he thought it’d be easier to just pop in to discuss things.” 

It had to be Matt. He must have gotten one of your frantic voicemails you’d left over the weekend, the ones you’d instantly regretted and worried had lacked in professionalism. 

It has to be Matt. 

“Oh,” Romina’s eyes are burning holes in the back of your chair as you fumble to lock your computer screen, scrambling to gather anything you might need. The notebook you’d been using to keep track of the entire ordeal crinkles slightly in your grip, “Yeah, of course, that- I’ll go straight there. Are they in one of the smaller conference rooms or the-”

“The main one,” Lydia interrupts you, and her tone makes you pause. 

She sounds as if Matt’s arrival is the largest inconvenience she had experienced in the last month. 

Why would Matt popping in to talk to me be such a big deal? 

She’s clearly not in the mood for questions, so you only nod as you stand up, “Got it.”

And then she’s gone. No interest in joining you, or to question what could be going wrong. No sign of involvement like the day you’d originally met with the band and Matt to sign all documentation. 

Your gut twists in knots that not even boy scout’s have discovered yet. 

And they only worsen when Romina calls after your retreating figure, “Good luck with your baker!” 

You’re kind of fucked. It’s clear she’s no longer buying into your lie of your client, and the thought of facing her after Matt is nausea-inducing. What if you just came clean? Would they sue you for telling Romina? Would Romina tell anyone else if you confided in her? Your thoughts race with question after question as you quickly make your way through the maze of cubicles, taking lefts and rights far too fast as you worry about making Matt wait much longer. 

It was just stupid. Because amongst the questions, one rings out that’s insane enough to make the rest of them actually sound reasonable.

If you did manage to fuck this up in any way, would Eddie protect you?

Whether it be because you couldn’t complete the task at hand that was beginning to look impossible, or if it was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, would he defend you? 

You’d figured you’d lost his servitude and protection long ago, back when you’d first left that apartment and ignored every attempt at contact. But if it came down to it, would he offer you one last privilege of his defense? Probably not. Which — fair enough. You hadn’t done anything in the last week to have already earned that back. You hadn’t wanted to earn that privilege back, either. No matter how badly you found yourself wanting a new email from him in your inbox, there was a clear line in the sand drawn by your own stick, and you had to stay to your side of it. 

You were a big girl. You could handle it.

Just as you finally approach the conference room, eyes trained to the ground and brows tightly furrowed in careful consideration (definitely not frustration, because the thought of Eddie surely couldn’t frustrate you), you make a fatal mistake. It’s a small detail you’d never paid much mind to prior — a stain on the carpet just outside the doorway, subtle yet large once the shadowy shifting of the carpet’s color caught your eyes. You’re so busy letting your eyes trail the perimeter of it, trying to focus on the threaded shades rather than the shade of Eddie’s dark eyes in the hallway the week before, that you aren’t prepared when the toe of your shoe catches against the said carpet. 

You should have ate shit, to put it plainly.

One quick fumble, and you’re flying forward, hardly thinking as you throw out your hands to brace for impact. Foolish, considering the fall would have left you with severely aching wrists, or a bruised face. But it never arrives. 

Large hands suddenly appear to grab you, catching you halfway through the sudden fall, and the unfamiliar cologne that’s plagued your waking thoughts for a week now overtakes your senses. 

You thought it was Matt waiting for you.

“Woah!” his voice echoes easily in the empty hallway, “Shit, are you okay?”

You swore it was Matt waiting for you. 

“Fine,” you strangle out, pulling away from that touch as quickly as possible. Like he’s burned you. Like those hands that once knew you all too well held your entire demise in their palms.

 And they might. 

It wasn’t Matt waiting for you.

Eddie doesn’t seem shocked by your retreat, only watching with a blank face as you regain your balance on your own and avoid eye contact. He looks nice – a leather jacket too shiny to be the one he wore when you wore together, a faded band t-shirt beneath you can’t fully see the logo of but know was bought that distressed just for looks due to the familiar unfamiliarity that has begun to cloud around the man you once knew, heavy boots planted right on the stain in the carpet that had distracted you. 

“What did you even trip on?” he finally questions, looking curiously behind you as he retraces your path, “Was it-”

“Air,” you cut him off, “Save me the embarrassment, but I tripped on air.” 

If you had half a mind, you would have interrupted with something more useful. Maybe demanded to know why he was here in your office. Questioned his intentions of showing up unannounced. Asked why he never emailed again. 

Okay, maybe not that last one. 

He lets out a short chuckle, more a breath than anything else as his face finally cracks and he almost grins, “I see. To be fair, it’s an easy thing to trip on. Very hard to see. Almost as if it’s invisible.” 

He gauges your reaction, but you don’t let yourself so much as smile at his awkward attempt at a joke. 

You can’t. You can’t casually joke with him, you can’t laugh and pretend like there isn’t an elephant sitting on your chest every time you occupy the same space as him. There’s no magic eraser to everything between you two; no amount of emails, no amount of bad jokes that can vanish all that has transpired. Your past and the carpet, it seems, have something in common.

Never thought you’d say that about the ugly threads you only look at to disassociate during particularly long days. 

“What are you doing here?” you finally whisper out the right question, and internally cringe as your mouth keeps moving only to tack on a completely unnecessary addition of, “I didn’t receive any emails about a meeting-”

“Matt sent me,” Eddie shrugs. You watch the way the leather creases and fits his wide shoulders, catch yourself studying to see if there’s any new muscle beneath the layers to further estrange you further from him, “He’s been stuck in meetings for the album and single, and said you’d left him a few voice mails so… I’m the rescue team, I guess.” 

You finally look him in his eyes, jaw dropping ever so slightly, “You?”

“What about me?”

“You’re my ‘rescue team’?” the words are bitter on your tongue, his presence anything but a relief of rescue, “No offense, but how can you possibly help me?” 

And then he smiles. And, oh Lord, you’ve forgotten how nice of a smile he has. It’s painful – a sharp reminder of the past that you just can’t shake. He’s an old photograph that never quite burns, a stain on your favorite article of clothing you’ll never wear again. For a moment, it doesn’t matter how many parts of him he’s replaced, how many pieces of him have been turned over brand new and unfamiliar, because he looks just like the boy you left behind. A relic you can mourn for once you return to your apartment all alone. A whisper you’ll exchange with your children about someday, as you tell them all about the boy who changed you for the worse. 

“You’d be surprised,” he muses, reaching a hand up to drag over a chin shadowed over in faint facial hair, “Apparently, once you make it big, you have to learn about more things than just how to play an A chord on a guitar or sing in tune. Business, for example. That’s what you’ve been struggling with, yeah? The business aspect of it all?” 

You kind of want to walk away from him. To go and eat shit in a different hallway, on your way to tell Lydia you can’t do this anymore. 

“I’m not struggling,” you snap. 

He’s quick to lift his hands in surrender, “Don’t shoot the messenger. Those were Matt’s words, not mine.”

“Yeah, well, tell Matt I’m fine,” you huff indignantly, “I’m a professional who can handle myself. I can figure this out on my own.” 

You’re turning your back to him, ready to storm off dramatically for your own sanity, when he clears his throat. 

You pause. You don’t turn to look, but you halt mid-step. 

“Humor me, for a second,” he begins, “What exactly are you fully capable of figuring out on your own?” 

“The planning,” you state the obvious, staring at an odd piece of art on the office wall to your left. Not quite turning your head to him, but angling so your voice carries. 

“Yeah, no shit,” his words spark a little more anger, a little more rage, “I mean what part of the planning? You’ve left Matt at least two voicemails. Probably more, if he’s resorted to sending me.” 

More like five. Possibly seven, but you’d indulged in more wine than would be wise to admitting this weekend after receiving your third venue rejection. 

“Maybe he just got tired of babysitting you. Decided to make you someone else’s problem.” 

“Maybe,” Eddie hums, and you can hear his slow footsteps as he slowly walks to block your vision of the abstract artwork. Your gaze is cut off from the silvery lines splattered across a black background and forced upon brown eyes that are more lively than you remember from the previous week, “But I already made the trip all the way down here. Might as well make myself useful to you.” 

He’s still wearing that smile. The one that belongs captured in a polaroid at the back of your closet. The one frozen in a time that was so much simpler than this. 

The kind that leaves a mark – a stain. 

“You want to make yourself useful to me?” you narrow your eyes, straighten your shoulders, prepare for battle, “Then leave. That is the most useful thing you can do for me right now – walk out of this building, and leave me to figure this out without being a pest.” 

Your words should hurt him, but they only seem to fuel him. It’s the exact same reaction you’d imagined on the other side of all the emails. A pep to his step and a perk in his posture that elicits unhinged annoyance from deep within you. 

“No can do,” he smirks, “Sorry, I’m on Matt’s orders to not leave until we figure this out. Together.” 

You don’t care how nice Matt is – you decidedly hate him at this moment. 

“Eddie,” you don’t notice the way his chest catches when you say his name, even in your defiant tone, “I am telling you right now, there is nothing you can do to help.”

And then he takes you off guard, breathing still not quite steady as he breathes out, “Let’s go get coffee.”

“I already told you, I have no interest in getting coffee or lunch with yo-”

“Not like that,” he waves off, finally slipping back into his casual demeanor, “Just- throw me a bone here, Sugar. We don’t even have to talk. You can bring your laptop and phone, focus on work and pretend I don’t exist the entire time. But I have to stick around long enough to get Matt off my ass, and you clearly have been stuck in this stuffy ass building for too long.” 

Sugar.

Your breath catches at the nickname, just as his had when you said his name. 

Shakily, you exhale, “No, I-”

“Funny thing,” he shoves both hands in the pockets of his jeans. Well-fitted, fairly new. No signs of distress like he preferred in his youth. Just starch black that clings to skin you once knew, “I’m not asking. Technically, I’m your boss. And as your boss, I’m instructing you to join me for nothing more than a free coffee and change of scenery. Like I said, it’ll be as if I’m not even there. I’ll keep my mouth shut the entire time – strictly business.” 

You nearly slip up and inform him that it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t talk – if he’s near you, your body always seems to know. Your body, your senses, your soul. Any time he occupies the same room as you, his vicinity lights something in you impossible to ignore. It had been that way since the first day you met him. And would probably continue to be that way until the day you were buried six feet under. 

Even in death, his soul would probably haunt yours. You would never know another day of peace since meeting Eddie Munson. 

“You’re not my boss,” you argue, crossing your arms, “You’re my client. Lydia is my boss.” 

“And would Lydia appreciate you arguing with a client like this?” 

“What do you want from me?”

The question falls from your lips with unexpected weight and exasperation. 

Your arms fall down from your chest just as quickly as they’d risen, the two of you encased in silence as you both realize the implication behind the question. It’s about more than just the coffee, more than just his impromptu visit to your work. It’s the heaviest question you could have asked at this moment; and one that neither of you were ready to hear the answer to quite yet. 

There’s a million unsaid words swirling behind whiskey irises. A hundred and one conversations never had, a thousand and one battles never witnessed on both ends of this war. Something in them whispers you might not be the only one haunted. 

Maybe, just maybe, his soul will only haunt yours for as long as yours haunts his. A haunted house, a ghastly gallery. Two ghosts always meant to hang up parallel to each other in crooked frames, in an empty hallway. 

“Just a coffee,” he whispers, and something in you cracks quietly, “Just one cup of coffee, for now.” 

With all things considered, it’s not asking that much of you. 

You don’t have any fight left in you. Whether he’s here, whether he’s a world away, you’re still destined to be stuck across from him in the damn hallway. Always staring, always drawn. There might not be a single corner of this world far enough away to break whatever thread ties you to the man before you, whether you still know him or not. 

After a pregnant pause, you sigh, “Let me grab my purse.”

With all things considered, he probably should be asking more of you. 

But you’re grateful he isn’t as you retreat and do exactly as promised, not looking Romina in her eyes before you begin your doomsday march for just one cup of coffee. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

join my taglist!

[tsams-and-co-memes]

TSAMS Solar Canon Info

UPDATED - 11/10/24

Solar's likes:

Cats

Hanging out with Lunar and Earth

Being helpful

Project Zomboid (a game)

Designing things

Solar's dislikes:

Hunter x Hunter

Black coffee

Mixing his sodas with different things

Rooms. Unlike most people, he prefers to sleep/charge out in the open (<- maybe retconned? He sleeps in what used to be Moon's room now)

Boss Baby

Naruto

Dragon Ball Z

Doing anything with the portal

Eclipse

Bloodmoon

Physical contact (before death, he was never a huge fan of it)

Pokémon

Sweets (he doesn't care for them all that much)

Miscellaneous:

Solar is both a mechanic and a technician in the daycare

He has no qualms against threatening people and he’s capable of killing, but he prefers to be peaceful and nonviolent. He doesn't kill unless it's in an act of self defense

He may have the same birthday as OG Eclipse (June 1st) <- his actual birthday is February 2nd

He's dabbled with a bit of everything, except for grave digging and sewing (<- retcon on the sewing bit, apparently he's good at it now. Could be a new skill he picked up since the list of skills was first made)

He actually hates the name Eclipse, and has canonically chosen to start going by Solar

He's the one who carved the statues that are in the fixed gift shop

The list of skills he has would include (but is not limited to): mechanics, carpentry, engineering, painting, and roofing

Solar has canonically decided to start working as a theater attendant

Solar’s rays don’t move as much as Sun’s

Solar installed a plasma cannon into his arm

He seems to like getting people back for pranks and teasing when they least expect it

Solar practically lives off of coffee

Solar thinks humans are weird

Solar and Earth met up to crochet things together

Solar did a lot of his tech work in the basement of the theater (before he died)

Solar once built an oversized hamster wheel and ran on it to try generating power for the daycare. He only ended up generating enough power for one room (back in his original dimension. I'm assuming that "one room" was a party room)

Solar doesn't have a gender preference for partners. He would date someone of either gender (possibly bi or pan, but it's unconfirmed)

Solar sleeps with his crocheted snake

In the first body that Solar had to himself (after he first separated from his Sun), his power button was on his eyeball

[ssahotchnerr]

This scene but Hotch is dating reader 🥺 it's pretty new, but everyone can already see the change in him, and everyone just wants to know the amazing woman that has given them some weekends off 🤭

subtleties

hehe i had to write a lil thing for this, kinda a different take but still very similar! cw; none! just how the team notices aaron is in love <33

there had been a shift.

one day, it was just there. the bullpen seemed a bit brighter, the atmosphere was lacking it's usual apprehensiveness, even the provided coffee seemed more flavorful- not as bland and definitely not as tart.

and no one could figure out why.

dave was the first. and since, well, dave was dave, it didn't take long for him to question the matter at hand. all he had to do was forwardly ask, and the expression he received in return told him everything he needed to know. he also gained the immunity otherwise known as bragging rights- in case anyone asked, he knew all along.

the next telltale, as pointed out by penelope and caused all heads to turn- a newfound, frequent smile. the usual, timid frown was still persistent, it hadn't become a stranger and probably never would, but the ability to pull a smile wasn't as challenging. it made it's presence multiple times a day, comparable to the past where a smile typically appeared a few times within a month.

in accompaniment, a softened gaze. the harsh lines drawn between his eyebrows had seemingly faded. he looked younger. happier.

one could only imagine how surprised the team was receiving the instructions they could leave early if they so desired one friday night, including the "action reports can wait until monday" a double-take was necessary; did they hear correctly? monday? a whole three days away? accordingly, it became the new normal. as long as the group of them weren't called away at the hands of serial killers, weekends lived up to their name and purpose.

dutifully, even more questions arose. rumors were traded. and everyone had a feeling- only one thing could be the origin.

with a schedule dictated by serial killers, abrupt departures were never a surprise, but heavily inconvenient when preoccupied. no matter the hour, one had to drop everything and go.

once all were settled and en route, it consumed the air. an aroma that was sweet and playful- a touch of berries, jasmine, sandalwood. the close quarters of the jet was never shy in terms of enhancing sights, sounds and smells, so it didn't take long for it to be noticeable.

"what is that?" derek said suddenly with a scrunch of his nose.

spencer didn't skip a beat, not even bothering to look up from the novel in his grasp. "what is what?"

"someone doesn't smell like themselves."

"you smell your colleagues?" emily snorted out a laugh.

"no." derek balled up a scrap of paper within reach, chucking it at her. "call me a profiler, but haven't you gotten used to, i don't know... we all have our signature scents, you know? whatever that is, it's new. and strong."

dave presented a knowing smirk of a smile, side eyeing the culprit, who was also doing his hardest to refrain from smiling. but again, in the constricted space of the jet, it was visible to everyone. in addition, it promptly confirmed the rumor that had been circling the past few weeks.

"hotch?" derek pushed, raising his eyebrows in question but with a knowing expression on his face.

"maybe you should save your keen observation skills for when we land, morgan." aaron shrugged as he studied the file in his lap, the smallest of grins pulling at the corner of his mouth. "it could do you some good."

[leth-writes]

yandere CEO x reader

Summary: Your boss has never been anything like the rumours suggested. Maybe you should've listened sooner.

Warnings: My blog is 18+, though this piece is not explicit. As well, usual yandere content warnings apply.

So this is actually an original character I'm workshopping, and I wrote this piece to get the character down. If you'd like more, just let me know!

“Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay, my love…” he said, running a hand down your face gently, cooing quietly. You struggled, shifted, trying your hardest to break free, but you were stuck, locked in place by the soft leather straps keeping you tied to the bed. You were gagged with a silky slip of fabric, cushioning your teeth and preventing your cries from reaching even into the rest of the ornate room. You were trapped, completely unable to so much as shift, kept in place without the ability to set yourself free.

You hadn’t ever expected it to end this way, working for one of the best companies in the world. All you wanted was to be safe, to be able to pay your bills and finally enjoy some stability; working as his secretary was supposed to be a well-paying gig. Turns out that his behavior with you was unlike that of the myriad of people who had once held the position.

He had a reputation for being harsh and cold, incredibly analytical, with high standards and higher expectations. When you first met him, however, you’d seen a man with kind brown eyes and a bright, soft smile, staring at you as though you’d lit the room up just by walking in. Your work had been unexpectedly easy, and he’d paid you incredibly well. Now you suspected he’d done all of it just to prevent you from trying to leave.

He’d lulled you into a sense of false security, after all, building up a relationship and getting you to trust him. He’d been so kind, so loving, and you’d fallen for it. It started with the small things. First, he’d always brought you coffee in the morning, then breakfast, then he was always taking you out for lunch. Then he’d started taking you out to dinner, until every meal of every day was spent with him, including the times you weren’t even working. He started invited you over to his house, you were more of a personal assistant than a secretary at that point, and you started spending more and more time there. He loved cooking for you, making you delicious dinners you knew you wouldn’t be able to afford otherwise, ingredients costing more than a month’s rent for you. Then you started staying over in a guest bedroom, more and more, until you were barely ever even going home. You couldn’t help it, being around him was just so relaxing; the stress seemed to melt away in his presence until you couldn’t picture your life without him.

That’s when he first kissed you. It was soft and sweet and it made your heart pound, your feelings swelling until it felt they couldn’t fit in your chest anymore, until all you wanted was to be with him.

So, the two of you started dating, and the true gift giving began. The gifts grew more and more extravagent, clothing and jewellry costing more than a house being dropped in your lap, and something started to seem… off. But he made you so happy, and he was so nice! So, you buried your worries under layers of tulle and started enjoying the luxury of it all. After a lifetime of barely scraping by it was nice to be able to sample some of the finer things.

After only a month, he asked you to move in. At first, you refused, but soon you found your lease abruptly ended with your landlord; with no where to go, you had no choice but to stay with your gracefully accepting host. You should’ve guessed that was all his planning, it was too convenient, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to make your landlord kick you out. Hell, even a threat would be enough to justify serving you up to him on a silver platter.

But then, the dynamic started to change. You felt bad, not contributing, and you started trying to insist on paying him rent or contributing in some way. He refused, you’d barely make a dent and he had more than enough, but you still felt off-balance. Eventually, he started giving you less and less work, until you mainly spent your days just reading in his office as he came in and out. It didn’t feel fair, not doing anything, and the two of you had plenty of fights just about work.

It all came to a head when you decided to move out. You wanted to be independent, to be able to support yourself, and you couldn’t justify leeching off of him anymore. of course, he didn’t see it that way, and the two of you got into a little spat. It worsened and worsened until suddenly, without even thinking, you blurted out that you wanted to see other people. Maybe you should’ve considered your words better.

Like a switch went off, gone was the bright, cheerful man you were used to, the analytical businessman emerging from the dust with a graceful smirk. He’d warned you, told you not to continue the sentence. You wouldn’t want him to think you were cheating, would you?

So, you doubled down. You insisted on a break-up. You couldn’t be around someone who could switch so drastically, who wouldn’t let you work, who was so… controlling! You felt it deep in your gut that this was a bad situation, and that you needed to leave. And just like that, the analytical version of himself was gone in a snap, and the gentle gleam was back, though it didn’t quite fit, like was wearing a too-big mask.

He’d agreed, smiling brightly, that you needed some space to think. You didn’t bother correcting his assumption. He implored you to at least stay for dinner, he wouldn’t feel right letting you walk out into the cold night after such a big fight… So you agreed. Maybe this way the break-up would be amicable, and you wouldn’t have to constantly look over one shoulder.

Halfway through dinner, he’d fired you. His face had been a facade of pity, lips slightly pouty as if to mock your shocked tears. Then, you’d started to feel a wave of exhaustion, and before you knew it, you were out.

It all led to this moment, him sitting beside your prone form as he smiled down at you. It was then you saw that crazed gleam, the one everyone had always described but that you’d never seen before. He’d informed you that you would be staying with him, that you could finally just be together without the pretense of work, and that you didn’t have to so much as lift a finger. He’d do everything for you.

You were starting to worry he was being literal.

[melodymunson]

older! Rockstar Eddie Munson x fem! reader x eventual older Steve x fem!reader.

(Eddie is 38 and the reader is 25.) The year is 2008. All 21 chapters are on ao3. Only chapter 1 will be on tumblr.

series title: Love Buzz

chapters 1 and preview of chapter 2 (5K words)

chapter 1: like a dream come true

series summary: Corroded Coffin have a reunion tour with none other than doom/gothic metal legends Type O' Negative. Reader recently finished college with a bachelor's degree in the music business. After being interviewed by none other than Eddie Munson himself, you get the job as their touring band manager. What starts as a business relationship grows into friendship and eventually an epic romance. Steve Harrington is CC's bodyguard. Eventual Steddie x fem! reader. Multi-series.

Ao3 link

The sound of your alarm clock blared in your ears as you removed your eye mask and stretched. You turned it off, then got up and put on your house slippers, then made your way to your shower to get ready for the day. Gone were the days of doing pole dancing and burlesque for money to pay for college. Your college debt was all paid for and you had a temporary, yet steady job working at your best friend's family-owned restaurant. Pay and tips were good, but today you were interviewing for your dream job. You couldn't wait to meet the frontman and lead guitarist of the legendary 80s metal band Corroded Coffin- Eddie Munson. They toured with so many amazing bands back in the day before they reunited, such as Carnivore, Cinderella, Whitesnake, The Scorpions, Bon Jovi, W.A.S.P., and even the Prince of Darkness himself- Ozzy Osbourne. The 80s were a bit of an obsession to you, even though you only grew up late in the decade and were just a kid when the 80s were about to end. The 90s were just fine, but you had the fondest memories of your childhood in the 80s. Once you washed your hair and used your favorite body wash, you shave your legs and blow dry your hair before applying your favorite scent of perfume and lotion. The interview flyer said to dress casually, so you dressed in your favorite pair of black leather pants and a Black Sabbath tour shirt. You paired it with your most worn and metal pin-decorated black leather jacket. Although you were a bit apprehensive about anything that could go wrong, you instead decided to focus on all the good. After getting some breakfast, you headed out to go to the drive-thru and pick up your favorite coffee order then go to Eddie's studio for the interview. Corroded Coffin was recording a brand new EP and it was the first music they would release in over 10 years, since their last show and album was back in 1995. The original lineup was back together, though and they needed a new manager- someone reliable. With your degree and experience working a little in the music industry throughout college and in your 2-year internship.

When you arrived at their studio, Eddie's uncle Wayne led you into the recording studio and told you to make yourself comfortable. You had a short phone interview with Eddie but this second interview would be the last one to see if you would get the position. That summer Corroded Coffin had a 30-date North American tour that was sold out, including 4 dates in Canada. Traveling was something you wanted to do much more of and this would be the perfect opportunity for that. Your last relationship ended only two months ago and you couldn't wait to find more things to do to keep yourself busy. This dream job would hopefully be the best distraction. As you walked into the studio, Eddie saw smiled at you as he looked you up and down. He was quite impressed with what he was seeing. When you sat down in the room opposite the recording booth, Eddie put his guitar down and made his way over to the room you were in. You stood up as soon as he entered and Wayne left. Eddie looked even more attractive in person. He had the most stunning tattoos and his curly locks of hair were something else. When you were younger, you had a big crush on him, but now you felt like you were smitten. Seeing him in magazines, on posters, in interviews, and even in music videos didn't do him enough justice. He was not just hot and sexy he was a very handsome man and his stubble only added to the allure. His ripped Ozzy shirt complimented his pair of spandex jeans quite well.

"Sit down, please. I'd like to get this interview started and after you can stay if you'd like and hear us record a new song. How does that sound?" He asked as he sits down in a chair opposite from yours.

"Yes, sir. I mean Mr. Munson. I would like that very much."

"No, no, don't call me sir, or Mr. Munson. That's my father and sir just makes me feel like an old man," he admitted, trying to hold back a slight chuckle.

You sat back down and nodded your agreement, waiting pensively for the interview to start. Even though no one else was around or super close by, you couldn't help but feel your nerves get the better of you. Here this beautiful rockstar and guitar Adonis was sitting right in front of you, and it was making you nervous. It was a good thing you had some time before the studio to do your makeup- some black eyeshadow, lipstick, and foundation.

"Well, to be quite honest with you, judging from your resume, you are one of the two most qualified so this interview will be the last one before I make my final decision. I will call you with the news by tonight after talking it over with the rest of the guys. Now my first question is, are you completely dedicated to being on a full-length all-summer tour across North America with Canada included?" He asked with a raise of his brows.

His brown button eyes were so gorgeous. You couldn't fall for him though. He was your potential boss after all. If you didn't end up getting the job, then you probably wouldn't hear from him again unless you went to one of their shows.

"I know I am qualified for this job and I am very dedicated to my job. At the moment, I work at a restaurant, but I can give my week's notice and be there for you at the start of the tour and throughout the summer, Eddie. I also have my passport renewed and ready at my disposal now if you'd like to check it out."

"That won't be necessary." He clears his throat, then eyes you up and down again with a small smirk on his lips. "I need to have you sign an NDA otherwise known as a nondisclosure agreement. What happens and what is said on tour and in the studio stays on tour and in the studio. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Eddie. I understand that fully. I am familiar with NDA and I could sign one."

"Good, because we wouldn't want my band's new songs to be leaked, now would we? The album isn't being released until the very end of the summer after all. Not even the song track titles," he explains to you as he gestures with his hands for emphasis. His metal and sterling silver rings were a sight to see and you liked his style.

"I completely understand. I can keep it a secret."

"Now there's no set uniform for this job, but just to let you know I like your style and would like to see you wear similar outfits on the tour. Just throwing that out there. I've seen your references, resume, as well as your degree in music and your GPA, and I am highly impressed. I just have one last question for you. Are you prepared for long days and some grueling nights? Can you keep up with that sort of lifestyle with little sleep some nights, well most nights actually, and being around as well as managing 4 crazy old dude rockers?"

He didn't want to scare you off or make you nervous. Those things were far from his true intentions, but he wanted to know that he had someone reliable for him. Someone who truly was a person he could count on, because there were so many people he couldn't even trust.

"Yes, Eddie. I can be the manager that you and Corroded Coffin need."

He got up and put out his hand for you to shake. You took it and shook his hand.

"I'll be in touch. We are about to record our guitar and drum solos for the new track and I think you should stay."

"I will. Thank you."

He nodded and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. As they recorded, you watched in amazement and fascination, as you banged your head along to the music. His eyes met yours as he played his solo, and a wicked grin was on his face whenever he made eye contact with you. Later on, he talked to his bandmates and they decided on the new band touring manager.

Eddie's POV:

I like her already. She has a good personality, likes great music, she seems reliable and trustworthy, and even better she certainly has the look to be my band manager. I just wonder if she will have what it takes to survive out on the road with the 4 of us crazy rockers. The relationship is going to be professional and I won't let myself stray from my music and my job but God if I said I didn't want to take her out I would be lying. She is drop-dead gorgeous and I feel like she is the perfect fit for our band. Once I call Miranda and let her know the job position has been filled, I will call her to let her know she has the gig.

Your phone rang almost right after you had finished up your dinner and watched one of your favorite movies on DVD. You picked it up almost instantly once Eddie's name showed up on the caller ID.

"Hello?" You asked.

"It's me, Eddie. I just got off the phone with the other interviewee and I had to let her down easily. You got the job."

You muted your mic for a few seconds to do a happy dance and scream before unmuting him.

"Great. When do I start?"

"I'm glad you still want the job. Two weeks from tomorrow, we start tour prep, and two days after that we are off on the road. Are you sure you're ready for this and fully committed to it?"

"I am. I swear."

"Good now get some rest and I will call you in about a few with some more details."

"Thanks, Eddie."

"Good night. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Eddie."

You hung up and danced all around your house before you called your best friend to celebrate. She came over for celebratory drinks and hugged you before she left. She more than understood you calling it quits with your job at her family's restaurant and things were great between the two of you. You slept well that night.

Your best friend couldn't help but gush about it with you when you revealed you had gotten the job, and that you were now officially the touring band manager of Corroded Coffin. She was so happy for you and it was going to be the best thing ever to go out on tour with one of your favorite bands. The summer tour started in Los Angeles, California, and ended in Brooklyn, New York, with some other dates. Of course, there would be a stop in Hawkins, Indiana, the band's hometown. Your friend couldn't help but talk about just how hot she thought Eddie was, especially in recent interviews and magazine print photos. She was so jealous of you and you promised her a backstage pass in New York. Eddie and his fellow bandmates had moved to Brooklyn in the early 2000s because of the great music scene there. The tour with Type O' Negative was a co-headliner with the bands switching stage times each night of the tour. Of course, you thought Eddie was great looking and getting to know him better throughout the tour, which you imagined would happen, was going to be pretty great. According to the tabloids, he was recently single but of course, your relationship with him was going to be professional. You didn't dare ask an almost stranger about his relationship status. Eddie was formerly married with no children. His ex-wife, Hailey, supposedly could be a real bitch, and you hoped you would never have to cross paths with her. It was going to be the summer of a lifetime guaranteed and as you packed for your trip, you listened to Corroded Coffin as your bestie and roommate helped you get ready for the tour. The way he smelled at the interview was a mixture of nicotine and a nice spicy cologne and aftershave. His hands were calloused from playing the guitar, but it seemed like he had the tried and true hands of a real guitarist. What you wouldn't give to have his hands in yours. You fantasized about him at night and thought about his big and strong arms wrapped around you, but of course, that couldn't be possible, right? He was your boss and good-looking, but still, you didn't want to jeopardize your dream job. You would keep your hands to yourself. For all you knew, he probably had a girlfriend, and in a low-key relationship, he hid from the public's view. Either way, there would probably still be groupies on tour.

A few nights later, just days before the tour, Eddie called you post-band rehearsal.

"Hi, Eddie. I hope you are doing well."

"Thank you, and I am. I just wanted to get in touch to talk to you about a few things. The plane and itinerary that you have received in the mail are all paid for up-front and included in your salary. Is now a good time to talk?"

"Definitely. I wasn't busy doing anything."

"Good. I assume you also got the checklist for what you need to bring on tour and what's suggested, what you should probably leave behind?"

"I did. I received it in the mail today," you told him sounding eager in your tone as you lay on your bed.

You took another sip of your glass of red wine, as Eddie took another puff of his joint.

"Well, great then. Now on this tour, family and friends can be invited backstage, and on the tour bus, but we have a strict schedule, with a limited number of days off. I was just making sure it's understood that you run it by me first before any family or friends come backstage?"

Secretly, you wondered if Eddie liked younger women but quickly dismissed this thought.

"That's perfectly understandable and I will let you know in advance. My best friend wants to come to the New York show. Is that alright?"

"In Brooklyn? Definitely. I just have one more question for you." He paused for a few brief moments, and took another drag, before placing the joint down on his ashtray and continuing. The suspense was killing you. It sounded like he was smoking, and his voice was smoky, but in a good way. "Well, since all the technicalities are already taken care of, and the traveling logistics, as well as the food budget, I was just wondering if you would be interested in directing and being in our next music video?"

At that moment, you wanted so badly to jump up and down in excitement- and to scream, but contained yourself, and calmed down before you responded to him.

"That sounds pretty amazing. I'd love to direct and star in your new music video," you told him, sounding very intrigued.

"Great and finally, I just wanted to make sure you don't have any further questions for me."

"Not at the moment. My best friend will take care of my dog and I will be there for the full duration of the job. No one will come in between my job or be in the way."

"Well, you are still pretty young. You'll be pretty great for the job then. I have one more thing to say. You'll be one of the very first people to hear the new album in its entirety, including bonus tracks and all. Also, I wanted to tell you about one of my good friends. Steve. Steve Harrington. He's going to be our merch guy. Just letting you know."

"Great. I can't wait to meet him."

"Me too. Take care and I'll see you at the airport on Saturday?"

"Definitely. See you then. Good night Eddie."

"Good night, Y/N."

As you counted down the days on your calendar until the next time you would see Eddie again, you made the most of it. You spent each day with your best friend, until the day of the flight. After a nice shopping trip together and buying some new clothes, as well as shoes for your trip, you had a sleepover and reminisced about old times. When the day finally came to see Corroded Coffin and meet up with the band at the airport, you put on your best perfume after your shower. You changed into your favorite band tee, along with ripped jeans, your best black leather jacket, and platform boots. You took a taxi to the airport, and when you arrived at JFK international airport, you checked in through security and met Eddie, Jeff their guitarist, Gareth their drummer, and their bassist, Grant, by the gates.

Everyone ended up being nice in the band, and as a late arrival, Steve showed up.

"Hi, I'm Steve. You must be the new band manager, Y/N."

He extended his hand for you to shake, which you accepted.

"Eddie mentioned you. Nice to meet you."

As everyone sat around waiting for the plane to board, Eddie went to the nearest snack machine and brought bag packs of chips and bottles of water for everyone. You thanked him, glad to have a snack. Soon the plane was called to board and you got on soon finding your seat in first class. It was amazing to be sitting next to Eddie, and you felt like rock royalty, as you were in that section with the band. You didn't quite feel worthy, but you felt so at ease around him and near him. The faint smells of both tobacco and a nice cologne were coming off of Eddie. It was so comforting to you and as the plane took off and emerged into the air, you felt more calm than ever before. Soon you had champagne, and after your first big swig of it, you could feel the alcohol hit you. It was a nice feeling to have. The movie Playing on the flight was a horror film called The Devil's Rejects, and it was pretty enjoyable so far. You wanted to pace yourself and had just one glass as opposed to the other guys having between 1-3. Soon it was lunchtime, and after you ate you fell asleep and napped for the next few hours. The total flight time was about 6 hours. When you woke up close to the time of the plane landing, you were resting against Eddie's shoulder. Startled a little bit by your position, you looked up into his chocolate-brown eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked with a smile on his face.

"I slept well," you replied, trying your best to not make anything seem awkward as you smiled back at him.

Eddie said nothing about the way you were sleeping and instead looked out of the window. Soon the plane made its descent, and you felt a mixture of emotions, including apprehension and happiness, but also a feeling of euphoria. After all, you were in the city of Angels and you felt like anything was possible. The following night was the first day of the tour at The Mayan. It was a sold-out show and would have close to 2000 attendees. The night after was Vegas, and you were looking forward to seeing some of the West Coast.

"So, are you ready to hit up the hotel and then maybe go out after for some drinks?" Eddie asked you.

"Oh, that would be great."

"Good. You have your room at the hotel, of course, and with the best view."

"Thanks, Eddie." You wondered if the bar meet-up would be with just Eddie or some of the other guys as well.

As you got off the plane and went to collect your luggage at the airport, Eddie stayed close to your side. He couldn't wait to take a smoke break, but right now, his priority was getting everyone safely to the hotel. He hailed a cab for you and him, along with Jeff. Gareth and Grant would take the next one though. L.A. was so busy and crowded, but as the traffic lightened up a little bit, you soon found yourself at the entrance to the Sheraton Hotel. The place was very nice, and after checking in with the hotel staff at the front desk, you took the elevator with Eddie to your rooms on the fourth floor. Once you parted ways with him, you explored your room and unpacked, before freshening up just a little bit. He texted you he would be at the local bar at the Virgil in downtown L.A. around 630 p.m. You texted back you would be there. Soon you left for the club and when you arrived, you found Eddie outside smoking. As you walked up to him you noticed the song playing in the bar was a Corroded Coffin song.

"Sounds like they are playing your song."

"Yep, they sure are. Shall we go in?"

You nodded your approval and walk with him into the bar. Soon you sat down, and the bartender came over to ask for your drink orders and ids. You showed her your ID, and she took your order of a mojito and Eddie's order of a triple shot of bourbon.

"So, what do you like to do for fun?"

"I'm very into art, cinema, photography, makeup, concerts, and shopping. That sort of stuff."

"Nice. Pretty much the same for me except makeup and shopping aren't all that bad. It just depends on what you are shopping for I guess. I love record stores."

"Me too. Swap meets, garage sales, and vinyl record shows can be pretty fun too."

"I agree. Great minds think alike."

With drinks in hand now, he gave you a toast.

"To us."

"To us," you repeated after him right before clinking your glasses together, then taking a big sip of your mojito. It was delicious, and most importantly, refreshing.

He loved how his bourbon tasted on his tongue, and he loved the feeling of the liquor in his system. A good drink after a nice smoke was just what he needed.

After a long silent pause, the song Master of Puppets began playing in the club. Eddie's head banged along to it and you smiled at him warmly, feeling a slight buzz from the liquor as you took another big sip of it and so did Eddie.

"This is my favorite to cover live especially," he mentioned with a slight hum, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I love this song and I'm sure the cover live is great. Hopefully, I will hear it on this tour."

He nodded in agreement as a big smirk formed on his face.

"Definitely. You sure will," he told you as he lifted his glass again to clink against yours.

He drank and leaned his head against his hand as he looked at you with his beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

"What's on your mind?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious as he stared at you.

You took a big gulp of your drink, practically finishing it now, then set it down on the counter.

"I'm thinking about dancing. Head banging. I mean Metallica is awesome and makes me want to move. Know what I mean?"

"Sure. Why not?"

He got up and offered his hand for you to take. As soon as your hand met his and you made contact, you let him escort you to the dance floor.

As you moved in time to the music and danced close to him, you spun around, then bravely bumped and ground against him, with your back facing towards his chest. You boldly moved against him and leaned your head back. He enjoyed the close contact as the song's second verse wrapped up and the chorus kicked in again. He sang along to the music, and his head banged as you continued to move against him, but almost lost your balance. Catching you instantly, Eddie whispered in your ear.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, fine."

"I think we should dance a bit more, then head back to the hotel," he suggested.

You nodded in agreement, then continued dancing as he held onto your hips so you wouldn't fall. Eddie was all smiles as you danced for him. He was just so happy. You felt so excited and felt that at that moment, anything was possible. It was getting late and the tour was starting tomorrow. Right now you were going to live it up.

More songs came on, and with each one, you danced close to him, getting so close that your lips almost brushed against his. The way he smiled at you made you smile. He made you feel so safe with him. It was getting late, and soon you said goodbye and parted ways. The next day would be the first day of the tour and it would hopefully be amazing.

You slept well that night. Morning light soon came into your window and without hesitation, you turned off your alarm clock, eager to start the day. You checked your phone- finding a text from Eddie.

It was great to spend time with you last night. Eager for tonight. Let's rock!

His text made you smile, and you texted him back.

Can't wait for tonight. It's going to be the most metal show ever! :)

Eddie soon read your text, eager to see you again. Getting a good morning text from you was the best way to start his day, and you felt the same way about him.

After the concert, there would be a meet and greet. As the manager, you had to run that, but hopefully, it would go by well without a hitch. Beautiful women who were around were sure to be throwing themselves at Eddie. At least those that would give him their numbers. He was your coworker though. You had no right to get worked up about this. You wanted to look out for Eddie. You didn't want him to get used by any woman. Spending more time with him was all you wanted, and if anything more happened between the two of you, then so be it. Everything was going to work out and your dream job was starting today. You needed to be focused, but hopefully, later there would be time for some fun and getting to know Ed's better. As for Eddie, he was glad to have a dedicated person to be Corroded Coffin's tour manager. With you, he had just that.

chapter 2 title and preview: rock n roll all nite

Summary- Corroded Coffin put on their first concert of the tour. After Eddie has a fun night at the show he seeks comfort in someone else but realizes he needs you.

The club was one of the nicest you had ever seen. Everything about being there felt like home to Eddie. Playing gigs and living it up every night as a rockstar was his calling. His life revolved around Corroded Coffin, and his band meant everything to him. Without his bandmates, he wouldn't be where he was after so many years of putting both his heart and soul into his music. The hard work paid off, and he could launch a successful musical project even with all the turmoil of his past and being the town freak. Saving Hawkins from the likes of Vecna, and all the destruction that came from Hawkins' lab- he still had received no acknowledgment for any of it. Left for dead in the upside down, he eventually made his way out of the other side alive by some miracle. After extensive healing, he made a full recovery and healed. Music kept him going. Tonight was special. Type O Negative was one of the most respected bands from the east coast and Brooklyn. Being around the band and finally meeting them was one of Eddie's best experiences. Peter Steele was an influence of his. Doom Metal meant a lot to Eddie, with his favorite band being Black Sabbath. They were also the biggest influence on Peter and Type O Negative. The day had finally come that they would play a show- a co-headliner no less with these doom metal legends. The soundcheck went by without a hitch and everyone had a good time. You had the best view and once they had played through a few of their big hits; they took a short break before the VIP guests would arrive. Most of the tour had been a sell-out already, with the meet and greets sold out.

The meet and greets were very exclusive, but Eddie was going to meet every fan individually, along with Jeff, Gareth, and Grant. Everyone arrived in a timely fashion. To no one's surprise, at least half of the guests were women. All of them were so pretty. No doubt Eddie would have a groupie or two, maybe even more tonight. As a manager of the band, you had to be professional. Some girls had him sign their boobs, which was nothing new for him as to be expected. Many had magazines and posters to sign and when you took their group pictures, some women hugged him. The women were at least classy enough to not flash anyone.

One woman had fan art for Eddie and she got a backstage pass from him. Everything about Eddie was charming, so it was no surprise this was happening. Once the meet and greet ended, you accommodated all the guests back outside and assured them they would have an early entry. Eddie was too old for all the groupie stuff, but he wanted to meet every fan that wanted to meet him.

the rest of this chapter and the full 21 chapter series can all be found on ao3

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for how I reacted to a coworker asking me out?

(♠️ to recognise)

I (26 NB but present pretty fem) wasn't getting on very well in my old office so I moved to a new one. While I was there I started chatting to one of my coworkers (23 M) since we share a few hobbies and a dream of making a game. I had a conversation where I mentioned I was asexual and NB, he said he was straight and asked me a few questions about being ace including if I would date an allo, particularly a man. I didn't think anything of it at the time, since I've answered questions like this a few times after saying I'm asexual, but I realised afterwards that he was probably interested in me.

He tried to hint that he was into me a few times after this, with me trying to shut him down gently. I kept hoping I was wrong, because I haven't handled this situation well in the past. He asked me out just before an outing where we and another coworker had agreed to go to the gym and then out to dinner together, and wouldn't accept that I was saying no until I gave him an itemised list of why. I know that wasn't great of him, but he's pretty socially awkward and not good at reading the room. I think he just assumed I would say yes and was confused that I was saying no rather than trying to force me to change my answer.

I didn't want to embarrass him or myself in front of our coworker by leaving, so I followed through with our original plans despite being extremely uncomfortable the whole time. He was pretty upset when I said I probably wouldn't sign up for classes at the gym with them.

Now, this is the part where I think I might be the asshole: we had discussed making a game before since it was something we were both really interested in. I still really wanted to make a game, so I tried to keep being friends with him for a while. He would invite me for coffee or to meet up online most days, and a few times after the confession I said yes, but ended up cancelling last minute with some flimsy excuse because the thought of being alone with him made me feel extremely anxious. So did the idea of explaining my feelings, even though I know I should have, so I continued to pretend to just be sick or tired as an excuse.

I stopped coming in to the office and started working from the library until I got permission to work from my old office. I haven't talked to him alone since. I still have to interact with him because we work together but I make sure its always in a group setting and avoid directly talking to or looking at him because it makes me very anxious. He hasn't threatened me or done anything bad enough to make me this scared of him, this is mostly just me having an anxiety disorder and romanitc situations making me really uncomfortable. I'm worried I've hurt him with the way I've been acting, am I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[newvegascowboy]

Proposal based on your food post and some things in Fallout.

:readmore:

Homemade sodas and sweet drinks are incredibly common based on home recipes passed down through the generations.

In Fallout new Vegas, and in Fallout 4 you can make drinks such as Nuka-Cola.

Filtering water and making it drinkable will be a big priority wherever you go. But making it palatable will also be a big goal.

Local settlements will probably mix sweeteners like syrup, juices, or even honey to mix it in the water.

Tea will be very popular too with all kinds of local teas made from local plants, sweetened with local sweeteners, and traded or even sold to each other.

Tea has the advantage of being boiled, filtered, and flavored making it a popular drink with massive variants between region to region and even settlement to settlement.

Brahmin milk will have a lot of nutrients and apparently good for treating radiation so odds are its also used as a medicine and a big part of a lot of diets.

Some rare drinks may still be possible but take a lot of work such as coffee, and ice cream.

Coffee needs specific growth and a lot of space to grow. So maybe it'll grow in small quantities.

There's ways to make ice cream without machines but it takes a lot of salt, ice, and milk. So you'd have to be very wealthy or very well located to have it

Shaved ice with simple syrups and fruits may make good treats in areas where there's a lot of ice

I fully agree with all of this! Not including it was probably a bit of an oversight on my part, but this is exactly the kind of extrapolation and worldbuilding I was aiming for.

Soda was invented in the mid 1800s, so I don't think it's beyond the realm of possibility for people to have reinvented soft drinks. Originally, the water was taken from springs that were naturally carbonated and today, we can do it at home with compressed CO2. Even if the drinks aren't carbonated, I totally believe and agree with the idea that they're making sweet drinks.

I was going to mention in the original post and forgot, but lemons? Those things totally still exist. Citrus is too much of a botanical freak not to have survived. It might not be lemons (or limes, or oranges) as we know them, but they are OUT THERE and that means lemonade is real.

Tea is canon within the realm of fallout because you can brew several different varieties in 76. Also, hot drinks are comforting, especially in the winter and I think it's totally reasonable to think that new brews have popped up with the addition Coffee grows in Mexico at a similar latitude to Florida and parts of the southern united states, so I think you could claim that certain strains have been cultivated and grown in those areas, though it might be rare and extremely expensive.

Ice cream's origins are known to reach back as far as the second century B.C., although no specific date of origin nor inventor has been undisputably credited with its discovery. We know that Alexander the Great enjoyed snow and ice flavored with honey and nectar. Biblical references also show that King Solomon was fond of iced drinks during harvesting. During the Roman Empire, Nero Claudius Caesar (A.D. 54-86) frequently sent runners into the mountains for snow, which was then flavored with fruits and juices.

Ice cream is one HUNDRED percent a thing in the wasteland. The milk and cream is easy to source from Brahmin milk. Cane sugar can be grown in Florida and Louisiana, so it's not unreasonable to think that that's another rare and expensive import. It would be easier and cheaper to get your sugar from tree sap or malt grain or reduced fruits, but cane sugar is out there. Making ice cream is a pretty popular thing for kids to do -- put some rock salt and ice in a bag with cream, sugar, and vanilla, and shake it until it freezes. On the coast, salt is probably pretty abundant, even if it's time consuming to harvest, but vanilla is probably one spice that nobody has access to in the wasteland.

Ice houses and cold cellars are probably pretty common in the wasteland, so ice could be available all year round. Plus, refrigeration is useful in the process of preserving foods rather than canning or bottling.

I think it's important to keep in mind that people are smart, and just because the bombs dropped, we didn't revert back to the stone age. The knowledge of canning, bottling, making jams and preserves, cold storage, curing meat, making cheese -- all that knowledge is old. Just because modern technology makes it easier doesn't mean people couldn't do it two hundred years ago. If the knowledge is lost, logic and human ingenuity will rediscover it eventually.

[soft-teddybear]

ateez - gifts they’ll give their s/o

genre: fluff

cw: none that I’m aware

summary: Christmas special! What would ateez give to their s/o as a christmas present and why.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction made for entertainment and from my point of view of the members.

members under the cut.

seonghwa: thootless plushie.

he wanted to give you something to keep you company while he went away for his activities, but he wanted to be original and after thinking about it for long he finally got it: a toothless plushie with recording of his voice saying different things like i love you, stay safe, take care. seonghwa also made sure that the button was har to get while cuddling so it won’t scare you at nights if you press it by accident, he also got matching scarfs for the three of you so it could be part of your family.

hongjoong: personalised bag.

he would buy a bag of your favourite color and decorate it using things you loved: lyrics from your favourite songs, meaning full dates or things that remind you of special occasions or events in your life, everything to make it more you. for someone that didn’t know you most of i wouldn’t make sense, but you knew the meaning behaving everything and were surprised hongjoong knew you so well. the big was a big art piece of everything that represented and made your personality and it included things that hongjoong loved about you.

yunho: favourite drink gift card.

call it coffee, boba, regular tea, yunho know what you love to drink and that you drink it lots, so he thought of a gift card, but a normal one was boring so he went big. yunho got a membership card and added money to it, the equivalent of a drink for each week of the year, that way he could “invite” you for a drink even when he was away or busy whit his schedule. that isn’t stoping him from paying your drink every time you go out, no, he still pays saying that this way the gift could last longer.

yeosang: gaming set.

most specific a keyboard and headphones, you liked to play online video games with him when you couldn’t see each other, it was like a long distance date but your sent wasn’t the best and it caused problems. so yeosang helped you build your own gaming set by giving you part of it, on your favourite colours of course. that wasn’t the only reason thought, he wanted you to have a set that would also motivate you to do your school work and study and he loved your company while gaming so it was a win-win situation, a gift for the both of you.

san: matching jewellery.

he wanted to give you something to remind you of him even when he was away on tour or really busy to meet you, and he also wanted it to be discrete so he could use it on his daily life with out getting too much attention so a matching set of a necklace and a bracelet was. they has each other’s birth stone, so you’ll have san’s and san has yours, it was an expensive gift but he really didn’t cared because he wanted to feel you close and four you to feel the same but in a more discrete and fashionable way.

mingi: big coat.

it was an inner joke, you always steals his hoodies, jackets and coats because you “were cold” but in reality you just wanted to be hugged by his warm clothing full of his smell, so he bought you a big coat that matched most of your clothing, with a little extra gift inside a pocket: a bottle of his perfume. that way you could ad it to the coat or any other thing you wish that smelled like mingi. he made sure you knew you could still take his clothing but that he wanted to help you build your own style and maybe keep most of his coats to himself in the process.

wooyoung: photo album.

printed and decorated lots of pics of his favourite memories with you, all of them takes by him, the album was almost full of beautiful memories and had some empty spaces for you to fill them with your favourite. the decoration was so pretty too, some doodles, stickers, quotes and detailed that brought even more life to the images, they were really amazing and you almost cried while looking at it, because it was almost full because both wooyoung and you loved every single time you spend together, ben if it’s not really planed.

jongho: big teddy bear.

went extra because it’s dressed and smells like him. once you told him that you missed his cuddles, you were particularly needy that day so the statement came out dramatic, but jongho took note so when Christmas was near and he looked out for a teddy bear big enough to wear human clothing and bought him an outfit soft enough to cuddle with, he then spend lost of nights cuddling with the plushie and adding his perfume so it’ll smell just like him on the day he’ll give it to you. said day came and you cried a bit when you opened it because it was the most perfect gift.

n/a: Rosie Christmas gift, sorry if it’s a mess but i had to rewrite the whole thing besucase i lost the original and i was sad. thank you for supporting my work this year, it was really one of the highlight and it makes me really happy.

[dailydanielewski]

MZD Interview 03.2024

Bit of a different post, but here you will find some words from MZD himself about things like a House of Leaves audiobook, the impact of HoL on modern horror, the TV Series Teleplays, Inspirations and more.

This is a translation made back to english from an official interview published earlier this year in march in brazilian portuguese in regards to the newly published brazilian translation of the book.

The interview with proper formatting in google docs can be accessed here, but is also pasted down here in the See More for ease of access.

MZD Interview [2024-03-13] - Every book is an universe of inspirations

This was translated from the source https://darkside.blog.br/entrevista-mark-z-danielewski/, dated March 13th, 2024. I am in no way affiliated with Darkside Books, or MZD for that matter, and am just a mere instrument in translating this translated interview (of which no original record is available) back into english. This was translated on October 4th, 2024.

DarkSide (DS) interviews Mark Z. Danielewski (MZD)

[Intro]

It’s expected that an author that has written such work that has taken over a decade like House of Leaves has a lot to say. More than that, Mark Z. Danielewski is a person who doesn’t only like to talk, but to listen too.

Like a good novelist that knows how to draw inspiration from everything around them, he shows a genuine interest for people he just met and with whom you could easily spend an entire afternoon talking ideas without seeing time pass.

This is the way that this conversation with the author from House of Leaves happened with DarkSide/DarkBlog [the blog from the Brazilian publisher of the translation]. With the humility of someone that considers himself a mere instrument of the universe through his books, Danielewski went a few decades back to tell us about his book first steps, its repercussion and the theories around the work and even his relation to Brazil – at the end of the 1980s he visited the country, getting to know Rio de Janeiro and Saquarema, and doesn’t hide his will to come back and get to know other regions.

This will be a conversation that is wide and with many layers, the way House of Leaves deserves. Check it out:

DS: When did you start to write House of Leaves at the end of the 80s, did you imagine the impact your work would have in modern horror?

MZD: What does a young man dream when they are 22, have close to no money, and no idea of his place in the world, or even if there is a place in the world? With these initial creations, that are so hard at the start of any young person’s career, you can’t go beyond the obvious despair that you’ll never finish. And that when it’s done, if anyone will ever read it. And if someone does, that it will never be published. Oh, to think “well, maybe it is a success”.

But how can we categorize this success in terms of impact on horror, impact on literature? There is something that happens in a book when you are in the middle of its creation, especially on a so intricate book like House of Leaves, that takes so long that you start to orbit it. At the start, it’s the book that kind of lives in your orbit. You are the central mass. And that mass includes everything that is frenetic or calm in your life, be it doing laundry or going out to get some coffee. But step by step, as you start to craft and create and imagine it, the story becomes the bigger mass. And that mass grows, then suddenly it’s you that are orbiting it. And the more you orbit it, the more you are governed by its necessities and requirements.

So you don’t really think much beyond that. You don’t think what will happen to it, because to you that became a planet now. A sun or a black hole. You are just a tiny particle that is becoming increasingly smaller, as the story becomes increasingly bigger. Not to talk much about me, but I’m writing a western which I've been working on for the past five or six years, and I’m exactly in this situation. And I have many questions about how it will be received. Where will it fit in the bellic culture of today? But those are just some sparks, because the main thing that is drawing me to its orbit is its immensity and complexity.

This is a way to both answer and not answer the question, but is at least an introduction about how this process worked and how I see it many, many years later. Even now, as I work on this new novel, I’m fascinated by how a book almost takes a life on its own. And that feeling is scary and great at the same time.

DS: It’s almost like you are being taken by your story, and not the other way…

MZD: Exactly. And I believe this applies to any creator, from any medium. It’s when you start to understand that your piece gained a bigger mass, a bigger gravity, than you. It’s at that time that you know you are starting to reach the end. There are all types of metaphors for that, be it talking about stars or about someone being born. It’s that sensation of “oh, we have a conclusion here”. There is an immensity, a component that changes your life with it.

DS: One of the more famous aspects of the book is its experimental formatting on some chapters. Was there any visual experimentation that did not go into the book?

MZD: The final version represents a beautiful evolution of it all, so there is nothing that I was attached to that is not there. I believe that, as you get older, and if you are lucky like how I was to have a successful career – unless you were swollen by your ego instead of by your books -, you realize how lucky you are. Of having met the right people along the way, of having the editor that I had at the time – and I still have almost 30 years later. Someone that instead of saying “no, don’t do that”, says “well, how will it be visually? How are people gonna see it?”. And part of the mythology of the book is that it was presented with all these typographic explorations everyone now knows so well.

But in my ingenuity, I believed the publisher would help in this process, that there would be a room dedicated to this type of work with layouting for every writer that would show up. Soon it became clear that I would be responsible for it. My editor/agent/publisher basically said “If you can come to NY, we can give you access to our computers and everything you need at Pantheon”. And that is what I did. I arrived there at Pantheon in NY every morning at 6am, bought the best coffee that I could find so, when everyone would arrive (they had that thing), we would have the best aroma/scent of this gourmet coffee, that at the time was something new. A gourmet coffee that I had no way to provide by myself, but that was important to me, to have some coffee, and one or two more for others, to understand that that was not a creative process. I used the word “creative” a lot, but it was not about destroying things – although the house destroys things in different ways -, but it was the evolution that was in the process.

Things being that way, I started the formatting, and my editor/publisher was always with me and I started to talk with preparers and advertisers, and the people that printed books, and everyone was getting increasingly curious. Slowly I was finishing chapters like 9, with its labyrinth with all its convolutions and stamps. And then I saw how people got fascinated by that, and, as that happened, people would get increasingly excited.

I’m very cautious to say that, but while the book looks impactful and original, It comes from a tradition of old poets that worked with concrete poetry, be it Pauliner, Mallarmé, there were a lot of folks that explored that before. We can go very far into antiquity, where we can see ways that were already present.

I believe the novelty there was the use of film rhetoric, that I learned with my dad, of basically understanding how movies/films were edited. It’s not just getting an image and then putting another image right after. It’s the way angles are divided, be it from up or down, the position of focus on the screen, the movement, the way how you can slow down the audience response to a scene by doing some specially long cuts/shots, and then speeding up the experience by using quick cuts/shots and moving the focal/focus point of the scene.

All this was incorporated in House of Leaves appropriately, because it is about a movie. This, in that sense, starts to intensify the experience. There were a lot of first readers, long before the book’s publication, but even at that time, and, once more, how lucky I was to have some of the best readers. They were professional readers, and just for getting a single moment from them to see some few pages, made me see about what was and was not working with the book, what maybe would not work and how to better refine it.

DS: You mentioned your father, who was a filmmaker. What was his influence, and of movies and general audiovisual works, in the construction of the narrative and format of House of Leaves?

MZD: Oh, very big. We still get mentions from cinema academics that identify some various references from movies that are there, be it Nouvelle Vague, or even the origins of cinema, and all those little gestures and moments that readers see some reference. And that is fascinating, because in some ways, there is a story, albeit a dark one, of cinema that is hidden between the scribbles of that house.

DS: On the internet there are numerous reading groups and discussion forums dedicated to unravel all the book’s references and riddles. Are there secrets in the book that are impossible to be solved?

MZD: There have been very intense readings of it and certainly many findings. But there still are tiny moments, like when a person contacted me about a specific movie, that no one, as far as I know, had mentioned yet. And this person was able to say with certainty that there was in fact a reference there and its own variety of mysteries. It's the influences, whether literary or cinematographic, but there's still other ways that the house works.

But yes, the book is extremely dense and there's still layers that were not completely deciphered to the present moment. But it still is the source of some smiles, for example, in my daughter's school, the mother of a student reached me and asked "I finally started reading your book. It's really good". She looked relieved and gave me the impression that she had this big idea that it would be very hard, that, according to what people said, it would be a very hard read for a reader that just wanted to dive into the story. And then she discovered that it was exactly the opposite, that there is a genuine pleasure and a real horror there, and that surprised her.

It's one thing to have all these intense groups, where people read the book many times before. They are not on a different level. They are advanced readers, sure, but there still exists the wonderful experience of being able to read the book for the first time and discover how it really is.

Recently I had this experience: only two people read my new book completely, and here there is a note because my wife is still not finished, but she is almost at the end, and keeps telling me to get out of the same house space as her because she wants to finish it, and I realized that I envy her for that experience. I envy the feeling of getting to have the first experience through everything that is about to happen. Now that I think about it, I can think of some people that read House of Leaves for the first time and how special that was.

Every author is tormented by the anxieties of "will they like it or not". But if you can get past that, and that is something hard to say to someone that is just starting this path, because you are very vulnerable. You still don't have any type of skill, scars or calluses that will keep you ahead of it. If you can focus only on the story, the unraveling that I had the opportunity to observe in some of the first readers entering the house for the first time it's pretty incredible. A great feeling.

DS: There is a theory that some of the blank spaces in the book's formatting are an invitation for the readers to make their own annotations and footnotes. Was this intention there? Do you like to see House of Leaves scribbled out in various ways?

MZD: I love it! I love any book that is annotated. Even when I buy a second-hand book, I get fascinated when it has the margins scribbled. It's like I've received a gift from two minds. What has this person discovered? I'm infinitely fascinated by that.

And yes, there was an intention there, there are many intentions there, so I rarely get surprised. I say "rarely", but honestly I think I never was surprised. The book was so planned out. I don't say that I don't get surprised by the connections people made, that are very personal, but for the book as an artifact. Even the way the margins were created, the spaces, everything you mentioned, that the spaces are there for people to add their own annotations, their own perceptions, of becoming other editors of that process, even more narrators.

There even is some recent discussion in transforming House of Leaves into an audiobook or not, for example. How would that experience be? Would it be completely different? Should we look at it more like a movie that is being made and is something completely separate, and kinda an experiment too? Or is there a way to create some kind of space in which the listener can participate? These are some of the questions that come up.

The same with an e-book. In some way, you are a company to House of Leaves when you have the book, and the e-book doesn't allow that. But when you have the digital version, you are facing a glass screen, in a way. You are robbed of the unquestionable interactivity that the page allows. Yes, you can write in an e-book, in some you can create annotations, but it's a bit complicated. It's less personal. And also a bit risky. Yes, the technology got better, but I remember creating annotations in a digital version and lost all of them, and that was not cool. I still have annotations on my books, in my bookshelves, that are 40 years old.

This is an important question, and one that made me think a lot, literally in the last two days: how do we feel about an audiobook and e-book? That said, I give the question back to you and all readers of this work: what do you think? Would you like to hear an audiobook version? Would this bring something new or would it lessen the experience?

DS: It's a valid question. Talking adaptations, much has been said about a possible House of Leaves film or TV series. In your website there are Teleplays for the work. We know the challenge it is to adapt a complex work like this one. How do you see an audio-visual adaptation of the book? Is there something in the works or that you would specifically like to see?

MZD: No, I'm not attached to any one vision of what I would like to see produced and made. I'm a novelist and there will come the day, when the right constellation of people align, there will be a meaningful representation of the book. But it's a dance, and unfortunately we don't have all the celestial time to make this dance, but there are, yes, many brilliant and creative professionals in Los Angeles and the whole world, but here specifically, those involved in making things happen

Many times that just doesn't work. But the question is: Could it be done? At this point I am still on the dance. There is nothing to announce, but there is allways excitement. We always have requests coming. People want meetings. If I answered them all, and got into all those meetings, I would never be able to write another book. And that is what I love to do. So the process gets slowed down. But still, there are people asking "what about Hulu? You could make something on FX". Maybe, who knows?

DS: Yes, A24, maybe?

MZD: Yes, A24, maybe. Talking about A24, I think someone sent it to me, something going around, maybe on TikTok, a false advertisement that A24 finally made the movie. And it was created with generic images. I don't know if any kind of AI was used, but it was like a trailer and everyone was saying "Oh my God, it's happening", just because they put on A24's logo. It was fun and I like to see that kind of stuff. There is a joke tone to it and I allways receive that well.

DS: Even though there is no adaptation, there are many known movies and games inspired by your book. Do you consider any oen of them particularly good or faithful to your work?

MZD: I don't follow that too closely. Like, these works are not House of Leaves, they don't answer the ideas and the energy that are part of the book. And who am I to say if anything is better or worse? There are inspired things that are really fun. There's this magnificent map of a Doom mod that was made on YouTube. It's extremely well done and you can see in the comments how people lived that. You can see that it's honest work, from the person or group of people that made it. If you look now, there's over 10 million views [12 million by the time I'm translating this]. Like the term I used before, it's something meaningful. It was not an errant attempt of just looking if the house was bigger or not on the inside just by looking at this. It's something that looks at all the complexities of how we understand space.

[Here, they linked the video. So I am too. https://youtu.be/5wAo54DHDY0]

A simple example is like when you're in a relationship and you feel much closer to that person. And suddenly there's a rupture in the way you communicate, or the way you present yourself to each other. And that person seems miles away, even if you are sitting close to one another. It's there that the complexity shows up. There's where the emotional journey starts in House of Leaves. I believe that's why readers come back to it.

So, when I see a project like that that was executed with so much emotion and integrity, it's not exciting only because it's related to House of Leaves. It's exciting because it's a continuous conversation, because this shows that there are big creative hearts out there. And that shines a more brilliant light into the future.

DS: House of Leaves is a work that surprises many people from their first encounter. Has there been an event or personal happening that caused you a great impact, that marked your life as a storyteller? Which?

MZD: I think you already know the answer to your question. The interesting part about this type of questioning is that there is some type of safety in the idea that there is this singular moment that offers inspiration for a big book like this one. I think we all feel comfortable with that idea. But, in many ways, I can point out the moment that I understood that the house was bigger on the inside.

I remember it happened shortly after my father died and I understood that there was a footnote that would become a poem or a short story. Only later I realized that that was actually the structured answer to everything I was writing in the previous years. There I was able to give form to a voice that is as similar to Johnny as it is to Zampanò, it was something resonant with this big idea I was exploring. Dissertations that I wrote to myself about how the language of films could be used in text

But each book is filled with a universe of inspirations. Frequently I am questioned where my inspiration comes from. For artists, inspiration is everywhere. The big problem is that, as you open the shutter [the camera thing] to this extraordinary world, where we're able to live, it can be oppressive. It's too much. So, in many ways, we're hiding all the time. I can write about a tree, about this little moment outside myself. Or this interesting conversation I heard on the bus between two people. It 's everywhere.

If there's anything wonderful about being a novelist it's that constantly there are moments that you can enjoy and remodel in your book [I don't get what he's saying here. Did my best]. One piece of advice that I give to new artists is to not block yourself too much from your tiny idea. You had just a little spark in the face of this vast and celestial wonder where we live. So it's more "be the way through which the universe can speak, so it can speak through you". Writers have the right to rearrange things. The voice that sounds in a bus by a powerful man can become through you a character that is exactly the opposite.

I believe that this is a more valid answer, that when the journey begins, there will be constant inspirations, coming from tiny moments. I'm in debt to all of them, I don't consider myself an author to any of them. I'm just lucky to have had these moments and for them to have given me the energy that I needed to write phrases that became meaningful to other people.

DS: This is the first time that Brazilian readers will have the possibility of reading House of Leaves in portuguese. What note/warning would you like to share with them?

MZD: First things first, I'd like to apologize for it taking almost 25 years for the book to have a version in Portuguese that would arrive in Brazil. I have a great affection for Brazil. Who am I to warn someone? I can only share a story for the people who read the whole book to have their own personal journey. The people that only get to the middle are the ones I worry about the most, because they are still in the darkness. They are still trapped in the house. I sometimes worry about those people that are still stuck in the darkness and are not able to leave.

I remember a beautiful and humble moment, when I was in an art gallery, and an old man came to me and asked me if I was "Mark Danielewski" and if I had written "House of Leaves". I confirmed, and he told me that he did not read the book, but that he wanted to thank me because his daughter tried to take her own life and, when he was beside her as she woke up, the man asked if he could do anything for her. And the daughter said "could you get House of Leaves for me?". And that is one of the things I've heard that makes me feel each time more a mere instrument of this book. Because to them it allowed a journey in trying times. I believe this should be available to any reader, no matter the language you speak.

[End]

[kalpasio]

Two Times You Abused Kalpas' Bodyheat

An actual Kalpas x Reader one shot I think

Working as a comms officer in Fire Moth was hardly your dream job. It was originally temp work. Your previous office had been blown up during a Fire Moth mission, so as compensation (and to keep your boss from blabbing) they had offered you all positions. When you took the job, it had only been because you needed a job for money, and this was all you could get. Now, it was one of the only jobs anyone could get, and it paid nicer than anything else on the market, so you put up with the weirdos you had to deal with on the daily in exchange for a nice paycheck.

One of these weirdos was your boyfriend, Kalpas. How you started dating was a mystery to nearly everyone, yourself included. You had been assigned as his comms for a mission, and from the safety of your desk, you had maybe gotten a little heated in telling him off. Other agents had stared at you in fear, but you were convinced it was fine. There was no way some random MANTIS would know who you were, or even care by the time he came back to base; and the fact that your yelling had saved the mission only made your more confident.

Oh you were so very mistaken.

Not only did Kalpas find out who you were, he marched straight into the comms office and right to your desk. The normally very loud room fell silent as everyone watched with morbid curiosity. You were dragged from the room, still shouting—you refused to go peacefully—much to the horror of all your new coworkers. None of them expected you to return, but the next day, there you were, sitting in your chair like nothing had happened with an especially warm cup of coffee. It became standard for the fiery MANTIS to visit you when he was bored, and everyone quickly learned not to stare to hard, lest they be on the receiving end of his glare.

All in all, working at Fire Moth wasn't that bad. Except for when the base was attacked and something broke. Which happened...once a week?

“You've been in the shower for an hour,” Kalpas called from your room. He had invited himself into your room—something that happened quite frequently—a while ago, and you had told him you'd be out in a minute.

“Hour and a half!” you called back.

“Get the fuck out!” was the response you chose to ignore. Or at least, you tried to ignore. After a minute, Kalpas grew impatient and walked into the bathroom to yell at you better. Unfortunately, telling you to “stop yelling and get out,” only made you throw water in his face and yell louder while holding the shower curtain closed.

“This is the most heat I've had all day!” you complained. The latest attack had knocked out heat to the base, and the backup generators couldn't produce enough energy to keep everyone warm. “Those stupid space heaters don't do any more than blow cold air on my feet.” Suddenly you froze and popped your head back around the curtain. “You're warm.”

“What?” Kalpas stood leaning against the wall beside your shower with his arms crossed so he could brood more efficiently. Without answering his question, you turned off the water and grabbed your towel from the hook nearby. As soon as you were dried off and the towel was secured around you, you stepped out of the shower and grabbed on to your boyfriend.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

Refusing to look up, you said, “It's cold and you're warm.” You said this like it was a fact—and it was—but Kalpas wasn't outwardly pleased by your words. Inwardly, however, he was undeniably happy to have you clinging to him. Of course, you couldn't tell with him growling at you, but you also didn't seem to care, because you didn't let go. In fact, you stepped onto his feet to keep your toes warm. It seemed as though you had no plans of moving any time soon, which was fine by Kalpas.

One of his arms wrapped around your back to hold you closer to him, but before you could appreciate the warmth, he was stepping forward. Then he was stepping out of the warm steam in your bathroom, and bringing you into the chilly air of your room What had once been your personal heater was now a train leading you to a very cold death, and it seemed as though he had no intentions of letting you off. As much as you struggled, Kalpas held on, carrying you all the way to your bed.

For a second, you thought your attempts to get out of his hold had paid off; you were released, only to be pushed backwards onto the bed, and immediately followed by a very heavy blanket. After a lot of grumbling and shifting from both parties, you eventually found a comfortable position laying down half on top of Kalpas, with several blankets—that you made him go get—covering you. For about five hours, you were the happiest person on the base.

Then the heat came back on. And Kalpas refused to budge. And you were boiling for the rest of the night.

One of the biggest issues with having one coffee machine for about thirty people was that said coffee machine was almost always broken. Sometimes you could convince Emile to buy you a drink when he grabbed his own and Kalpas would be kind enough to deliver it with minimal complaining. Sometimes you would actually go to your desk at the time your meant to instead of being called in for an emergency, and you could make the coffee in your little apartment.

Today, however, you were called in early and since Kalpas had just come back from a mission and it was the middle of the night, you couldn't ask him to bring you anything. The poor agent you were working with got some very nasty comments thrown his way, and you were sure his report on your work would be less than kind, but you got the job done. Once he was on his way back to base, you took your headset off, and looked around the office.

It seemed like you were one of the only agents called in, which wasn't very surprising given the early hour. Only a handful of desks were occupied, and half the screens were turned off. The place looked a little eerie when it was so empty, but it was nice to have a little quiet for a minute. Like most of the comms officers, you were scheduled to come in to work in another hour, so you figured you may was well stay up and get some paperwork squared away before your normal duties started. In the meantime, there was no harm in trying the old coffee pot, right?

Everything seemed to go smoothly; you put in the grounds and the water, and the sweet sweet caffeine came out. The smile on your face was evident as you poured yourself a cup, and fixed it to your tastes. The scowl that immediately followed your first sip was evident as well. The coffee was cold. Not cold like iced coffee, but that horrible not-quite-iced, not-quite-hot temperature that made you gag. Before you could fix the issue by going to the microwave down the hall, the screen on your desk flashed, and you were called back over to lead another job. Whoever got assigned to you was about to have a very successful, very miserable mission.

Luckily, Elysia seemed to think your irritation was amusing and let it slide, but that still didn't fix your lack of coffee. Having another call come in right after only made you more frustrated, and poor Su didn't deserve to have you snapping at him. You finally got a break long after everyone else had come into work, and word had spread to leave you alone for the day. Word spread so far as to reach outside the office, and find your boyfriend.

Reaching for a data pad only to find someone sitting on it had you fuming, and looking up to find Kalpas glaring down at you didn't help your anger. Just as you opened your mouth to start shouting, your horrible, terrible, cruel, infuriating boyfriend reached over and grabbed the mug of extremely cold coffee you brewed this morning. Then, your wonderful, perfect, amazing, brilliant boyfriend placed the mug in your hand with the coffee now steaming and ready to be enjoyed.

Instantly, your scowl became a beaming smile sent his way, and Kalpas was chuckling as he stood from your desk. All he said was a gruff 'you're welcome,' and he was on his way. For about two hours, you thought you had the best partner in the world. Then you opened a mission briefing, only to find that it was his mission you were going to be working on, and really he just hadn't wanted to deal with you screaming at him because you were tired.

Oh well. At least you got your coffee.

Uhhhh here. Have something I wrote because I have my first quiz today and am stressed ahahahah throws glitter and runs away These are both scenarios I kinda mentioned in other stories, so it's nothing new, but it's here.

Also as someone who drinks a lot of coffee and tea, let me tell you, lukewarm coffee/tea is the worst possible thing ever. I would rather step on legos than drink a cup of tea that has gone cold. Also have I ever told you how much I love Su? Um. A lot. I should write a story for him (no i should not i need to finish these requests)

[frecklystars]

omg the cookies turned out super cute!! im so glad you were able to celebrate with ken and barbie!! the pics with them each holding their cookie is so adorable 🧡

AWWWWW thank you so much for saying so!!!! My sweet orange heart friend 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I felt genuinely felt so much better when taking those pictures!! Seeing my F/Os physically holding the cookies I baked for them, it just - it felt right. Made me daydream about them both being so excited to see their faces on heart-shaped things. Seeing the little "We love you Keri!" sign on the pink flowers too, it just... it felt really nice. I felt very loved by them. I spent hours baking and decorating and setting things up, that didn't make me feel anything tbh I was totally numb and depressed, until the very end when I actually set up my dolls with those items, and then it "clicked" and I was suddenly beginning to feel better. I thought to myself "oh hey 🥺 that's my Barbie. that's my Ken. they came for me. look at them holding my cookies. I made those for them and they're so so happy. we're celebrating our love, and my road to recovery. it's really been one year and I'm still somewhat hyperfixated on them. that means something. that is really special. I did not think I would be able to enjoy any F/Os one year ago, so it is a huge leap forward that I am enjoying them today" and I've slowly started feeling just a little bit better, trying to get myself into the habit of self shipping like this, the way I used to all the time ;u;

I'm trying to celebrate the rest of my Barbie/Ken anniversary plans on the days where I'm in a good headspace, and it's working out really well! I originally had everything planned on just the one day, July 21st - a movie, a restaurant, baking cake and cookies, wearing my Barbie outfit with my cherry blossom skirt, etc I think I was even planning on going to the beach (but let's be real. it's the hottest summer ever. even Ken would not like the beach right now sdlfjdsfldsf!) I've started breaking it down to just one activity at a time on a day where I feel up for it. I went to a restaurant the other day and ordered heart-shaped waffles like they have in the Barbie movie! At some point, I am going to bring my dolls to the movie theater and have them sit in my lap and hold my candy for me, facing them toward the screen, and we can watch the movie together. It will be nice, a theater date 🥺🥺🥺 Building up that habit of believing you're loved and planning fun things to treat yourself, while tying your F/Os into those activities, really feels so good!!!

My anniversary with Sebastian from La La Land already passed on Sunday, but I still wanna celebrate! So when I feel up for it one of these days, I'm gonna go to a coffee shop and get myself two extra small hot chocolates, and them written one for Keri and one for Seb. And then when I get home I'll just pour them into a regular cup and drink it lol but still! It will feel really good to hear them call out "for Keri and Sebastian" - one part of my self ship w/ Sebby is that we go on coffee shop dates, or I'll surprise him with one when he's busy working and doesn't have time to get one himself. It helps me feel so much better, really nice acts of self care that gets me out of the house, and makes me think of my F/Os at the same time! 10/10 highly recommend!!!

I've already planned on baking more cookies for my anniversary with Officer K on September 1st :D and an apple pie for Driver in that same month-- oh! That's another thing, I'm actually baking! I never used to do that, but now I'm always looking forward to learning how to bake new things. My anniversary with Six is coming up on the 18th of this month, and I have roses being delivered to me soon! It's rly nice to look forward to these things too. I've even marked the orders as a gift, and the seller who crochets the rose bouquets actually includes a note to go with the bouquet! So I picked one that says "I love you" and I'll set them by my Barbie bouquet in front of The Gray Man poster :D

Anyway my silly rambling aside, thank you so much for taking the time to compliment me on the cookies photos!!! Ilu orange heart anon, I hope you have a wonderful week, you deserve it 🥰💕💕💕💕💕💕

[luceonedirectionfan]

Mid-July longfics recap (Klaine edition!)

So I read a lot of fanfiction and I thought it would be fun to review everything I’ve read twice a month! I’m in my glee phase right now (I often am) so this month it’s gonna be a lot of Klaine but obviously as I change hyperfixations it will be different! And I apologize for not having sources for these! They are all downloaded from the Klaine/ChrissColfer fanfic library on Tumblr and I upload them to my EPUB reader. Message me for the links to the files!

Go your own way -10/10

Heard about this through Brooke Averick’s podcast and loved it! Bad boy Blaine is so cute! Pretty famous Klaine fic, and I can see why. Some sad moments, some heartwarming moments. Possibly my favorite Klaine fic I’ve read. I even bought a physical copy from Amazon!

Mirrorball -9/10

Read this in a little under a day. Cute story, felt like the Klaine was a little too ‘Will they, won’t they” and I didn’t love it. The Finn-Kurt brother relationship was adorable, though. I also really liked the Sebastian storyline, even though I usually like it when Sebastian is a nice character (even though that’s OOC for him)

Welcome to dalton Kurt -9/10

Loved this one! I liked all of the Warbler’s being involved. Very heartwarming story, but a few questionable scenes I didn’t like. Otherwise this was cute and I like that they still included ND! Also some grammar slip-ups which isn’t awful but they throw me off.

Scarves and coffee -6/10

Overall not bad, just felt a bit all over the place. Good message though, and Kurt was written so well. I always love a good Kurtana friendship! Jeff + Nick dating is…questionable but I didn’t mind it? I wouldn’t read again but it was cute and I always love season 2 Klaine!

Speak to me -3/10

The writing wasn’t awful but it was extremely OOC and some parts of this made me so angry. Not to get too into it but some scenes were way too romanticized in my opinion. This is one of the first Klaine fics where I wished they didn’t end up together because Blaine was awful. This was a re-write so maybe I’ll read the original fic and see if I like it better.

[carterashofficial]

I need to rant for a hot minute. Also, I would like advice from all the tumblr aunts and uncles and anyone who will give it.

So back in ye olde month of April, my boyfriend’s father moved in with us. For the purpose of this rant we’re calling him FIL.

FIL had gotten a job in our town and wanted to move out to be closer to his son, and move to a state that doesn’t have a real winter.

So mid-April I get the futon couch all made up with sheets and pillows and a blanket and the good quilt. I am under the impression this is going to last 2-3 weeks until FIL finds an apartment. Boyfriend was thinking a month. That’s fine, I can deal.

We get to June and I’m asking about apartments FIL has toured. It’s been 6 weeks. FIL has found some he likes but oof, the prices. So much more expensive out here compared to previous state.

Boyfriend informs me that his dad can’t afford an apartment downpayment until FIL gets the move-out reimbursement from New Job. Which takes 3 months. FIL has been living on my couch for half of that, might as well wait another 6 weeks until he gets the money and can finally move out.

Early July: my mother is asking when FIL is leaving. Boyfriend promises end of July. We do a pinky promise. I am starting to Not Enjoy having FIL live with us. It’s summer. It’s hot as hell. The electric bill is stupid high.

End of July: shit has hit the fan. FIL’s new job loses a lawsuit and to save money they lay off everyone who hasn’t been there a year. Including FIL. He still gets severance for 3 months and move-out reimbursement. I want to scream and put myself in the washing machine b/c again. It’s summer. It’s hot out and I can’t even sit on my couch to watch TV b/c FIL has the couch for his bed and is always playing something on the PS5. He deserves to have his own space even if he’s intruding into mine and his son’s.

August: FIL begins looking for new jobs. Gold star. Still taking up my entire living room. His comic books (that he keeps buying) are stacked up underneath my coffee tables. He has a seemingly endless supply of Diet Coke bottles. FIL is still getting paychecks for severance, but they stop if he gets a new job before severance runs out. I go with him and boyfriend to tour an apartment for him. Very nice. In his budget. Boyfriend decides to tell me after that his dad has filed bankruptcy a couple years ago and his credit is shit so he will probably not get the apartment.

Dead reader, if you’re thinking “why move across the county if you can’t get an apartment, where are you going to live?” Congrats. I had the same thought. I don’t even know what to do anymore.

September: four months now of FIL living on my couch. He is job searching. I have a little breakdown as a treat b/c as I’ve kept telling Boyfriend, this has gone on long enough and I want the apartment to go back to being our apartment, not our-and-his-dad’s apartment. I’ve now been told he will leave by end of September. He is applying for jobs out of state

October: FIL is still on the couch, and gets a job in his home state. Excellent. Yay. We’re happy. I’m told starting date is Nov 4. Scratch that, he got the month wrong. December 4th. But he said he will be gone by early November. Severance ended. He spends his days watching comic book auctions and playing baseball games on the PS5. I honestly have no idea if he’s washed the sheets. I don’t care. I don’t even want the futon anymore. I’m sure there’s crumbs stuck in the coffee table b/c this man eats sitting on the floor while watching his son’s laptop propped up on the coffee table.

November: hi, it’s the 3rd of November, and I was originally told that FIL would be leaving in the first week or two. Last night I asked what day he was leaving. “Oh, I was thinking a day or two after thanksgiving”. Aka after the 4th Thursday of November (nov. 23). Another MONTH. And this is holiday season when I go all out baking and cooking for the holidays. I can’t do it anymore. I want to feel at home in my apartment. I don’t want a 55 year old roommate, eating chips, sitting on my floor, while he watches comic book auctions without headphones (he doesn’t own any. I’ve asked. Multiple times)

He doesn’t cook. He buys 3 cases of sparkling water and puts them all in the fridge, which I then had to remove b/c there was no room for the groceries. The first month I had to remind him to clean up his empty Diet Coke bottles. FIL routinely falls asleep watching something on the laptop and when I get up in the morning, the laptop is still on, the front light is on, and sometimes so is the TV.

I’ve had it. Boyfriend is worried me telling his dad to get the fuck out is going to hurt his dad’s feelings or give him a mental break. FIL is incredibly sensitive and once cried when I implied that my parents didn’t like him. Boyfriend thinks his dad is fragile and that he needs to take care of his dad, because his dad doesn’t have anyone else. His dad has 3 brothers and Boyfriend has a sister. FIL is not alone.

Boyfriend is focusing so much on not hurting his dad’s feelings and taking care of him that I am just. I’m not supported. My needs are eclipsed by FIL’s.

So my plan is to send them both out for a guy’s day tomorrow and pack up my valuables and important stuff, and move in with my parents (who live 3 minutes away) until FIL is gone or Boyfriend has developed the ability to get his shit together.

I just. I’m done. FIL is a very nice person but he needs to get out of the apartment.

So I’m doing what I’m calling the nuclear option b/c talking and being nice isn’t going anywhere. The valuables and sentimental things are coming with me, and because I’m a petty bitch, so is the coffee table, the rug, and all but one of the pillows on the bed. Boyfriend will be left 1 bathroom towel. I’ve half a mind to take all the silverware too b/c it was a birthday present from my mom.

[throwawayformydb]

Falling in love everyday

Note: this post was originally published on /r/DeadBedrooms

Today, I realized I'm falling in love a lot. It might be a waitress, a barista, or someone I see walking by. These women aren't necessarily provocatively dressed, they don't exude sexual energy or some other magical thing.

They just seem nice.

And as I sat here in a coffee shop trying not to follow the nice-seeming barista around the store with my eyes as she went about her duties, it occurred to me just how pathetic this is. I feel like that socially-awkward, hopeless guy that we all knew in high school—the one that you just knew would never get a date, because he'd never have the courage to ask for one.

Only for me it isn't a lack of courage. It's that I'm married to someone whom I love dearly, but from whom I no longer receive any affection.

She'd kill me if she saw me looking at other women. She'd be devastated if she knew how often I find my heart beating a little faster when someone who happens to be female shows me the least big of basic human kindness. A smile, a funny remark. A little cheerful banter.

Why does all of this affect me this way? Because I haven't felt it from or for my wife in... much longer than I care to admit.

Sure—we still exchange "I love yous" every day. I do everything I can to make her life easier. I help around the house. I offer to do school drop-offs and pick-ups. I help with homework. I also work endless hours in the business we've built together and carry far more of the weight than I should, or that's even close to sustainable. For her, we're better off financially than we've been in years. But I'm the one handling all the stress of the money and daily juggling all the pressures to make sure she doesn't have to handle the difficult stuff.

And we have sex once or twice a month. I almost never initiate anymore because it feels to her like I'm pressuring her. We've talked. We've had something similar to "the talk." She's going to work on it, she really is. But things have been hard. Transitions in parenting. Transitions in hormones. Being sick. Being busy. Extra stuff on the plate.

It all adds up. But what it adds up to is, "I don't matter." My feelings don't matter. The fact that I feel unloved doesn't matter. The fact that nothing I've done (including creating more financial stability) makes her want to be affectionate towards me—not to mention have sex with me—tells me that she really is the self-centered person I always told myself she wasn't. I made all the excuses for her. I've listened empathetically as she's told me tales of trauma as a young woman at the hands of guys who were abusive—verbally and emotionally, at least. I've tried to help nurture her and encourage her through body image issues (she's always been beautiful and desirable to me and she has heard this from me for 20 years now), eating disorders, depression, parenting difficulties... you name it.

I've tried desperately to not be selfish. Don't be "that guy." You know—the one that only cares about himself. The one that treats women like shit. The one that doesn't respect the effort and hardships that come with being a woman in today's society, being a Mom, being uniquely female. I respect all of that. I've always treated her right.

Until lately. Oh sure, I still treat her right. But inside I'm dying. I'm looking for love. I'm looking for affection, for attention. I crave basic human contact. Hugs (which I get from her, but not often), kisses, affection, making out. What would it be like to be kissed passionately?

And that's what I wonder when I meet a nice female. Do they know that inside I'm dying? That I want to be with them? Not to use them lustfully or just get off over their physical attributes. But to feel connected. To kiss. To love.

We've got a list of marriage counselors. With no insurance, some of these prices seem staggering. Is it worth it for me to go to sessions with a therapist and pay all the money when I feel like I've lost hope that any of this will ever change?

Should I just accept that we have a business relationship? A domestic arrangement? At least until we're empty nesters and I don't feel the need to keep a stable household like a good father? But by then will I have any desirability left at all for any woman I meet? Old and used up? My best years wasted on someone who just didn't have it in her—not maliciously, but just as a deficiency—to love me, desire me, make me feel loved?

Do the people sitting here in this coffee shop notice me discreetly wiping a tear from my eye? Do I look like I'm dying inside? I hope not. My facade is all I have left.

[alchemicallymoon]

Commentary for my latest fic!

I liked explaining my thoughts the last time I did a commentary, so I did another! As always, feel free to ask if you have any more questions or things you'd like to know!

Link to the fic here https://archiveofourown.org/works/52146427

As mentioned in the tags of the fic, this has no connections at all to my other fics. I try to keep a consistent lore with my Splatoon fics, in terms of timeline and characters. There was no way that this fic would fit into that. I planned on making it separate from the beginning, though, it wasn’t a problem that I wanted to fix.

This fic was probably 90% done when I posted the first chapter. That’s partly because of how in depth my draft was—I knew exactly what I wanted each chapter to look like. But it’s also because I didn’t write it entirely in order. I would write scenes for chapters 2 and 3 before finishing chapter 1. It was mostly a “I need to write this idea immediately because it sounds so perfect in my head” situation, followed by “maybe it wasn’t so perfect, I should edit it.” I would write notes, but they ended up being so long and detailed that it was better to just write the whole scene.

Ch 1 I had a few goals with this chapter, and after thinking about it, it’s more of a prologue than anything. One goal was to make it clear that both Four and Eight use she/her pronouns. People use a variety of pronouns for their Agent OCs, (for my consistent lore, Four uses they/them,) so I thought it would be good to make it clear, even if the tags and category already say that. Side note: It’s such a chore writing two characters with the same pronouns together, because you either have to overuse their names or risk being ambiguous.

Another was showing that Eight is still new to the surface, and inkling culture. One way I did that was by having her really take note of things that inklings might take for granted—like the view from the café. If she were still in the octarian domes or the metro, she wouldn’t be able to see so much of a city from so high up, nor have it be lit by real sunlight. Another thing I did was having her forget inklish, or speak in odd ways. The two most obvious parts are the coffee scene, and the fact that she doesn’t use contractions. I avoid going too far with writing language learners unless it’s a more central part of the plot.

I wanted to make it clear that they were not already dating (again, even though the tags already say that.) I think not mentioning that they are dating is a good solution, considering the intro of the fic. The intro is a short backstory of why they live together, and it makes no mention of them dating. If they were, then it would be an important thing to add. Besides that, I use the terms “friend” and “roommate” to describe their relationship.

Finally, I wanted to include the line “Dear, sweet, precious Eight.”

Ch 2 So, I was going to complain about how many times I used the word “movie�� for this chapter. Then, I had the idea to count exactly how many times I used it. Luckily, the writing program I use can automatically count word repetitions. Unluckily, it searches every single word from every document in a project by default, and I keep every fic plus a few other things in the same project. So, that was a very slow loading bar. But at least now I know I’ve used “four” 920 times in total, making it my most used word right after Marie. (It went up to 980 since writing that last week.) Oh, right, the original point! I only used “movie” ten times.

There was a pretty big tone shift in this chapter—it was the comfort part of hurt/comfort. I tried to ease into it with the beginning paragraph, so that it wasn’t an immediate 180°. The tone shift made it easy to start with the romance part of the fic, as the last chapter didn’t have room for that. It’s relatively subtle and there isn’t much of it, but my goal was to portray it as both of them having a crush on each other, but being too embarrassed/shy to admit it.

So, I had a very strange and minor problem with this chapter. Of course, the Splatoon universe is set ~10,000 years after humanity is extinct. That means that they have their own language. I didn’t want to include the term “Ferris wheel” because it’s named after the person who invented it in real life, and there would be no reason for it to be called that in Inkopolis. But, lucky for me, there is Splatfest stage dialogue in Splatoon 2 where Pearl uses the term (followed by Marina flirting <3) Thank you Inkipedia!

Chapter 2 ended up being longer than expected. I just had a lot of fun writing it, and there were a few key points that were important to include. That also meant writing transitions to and from those key points, though. I could’ve shortened the movie watching part, but I wasn’t really aiming for it to be short—sometimes chapters are just a little bit longer. The chapter was very full of humor compared to my other fics, and I’m happy with how it turned out!

Chapter 3 Eight’s thoughts are very overblown and give too much blame to herself, which I did on purpose—it’s panic. But, chapter 1 explains why she reacted in that way. Inklings don’t like octolings, I mentioned that a few times. I also mentioned that Four is not like that, so why that reaction? Well, that was the part of her reaction that wasn’t overblown. Other people would judge them if they were in a relationship. And even though Eight knows that Four is nothing but loving, there is always that doubt in the back of the mind. The regular embarrassing romantic aspect contributes to her reaction, but it isn’t the main focus.

Four’s reaction is also panicky, but for a totally different reason. Half a fear of rejection, and half because she technically didn’t ask before kissing. Valid concerns, but not really on the same level as Eight’s. Four doesn’t even consider the inkling-octoling part of their relationship. It isn’t something she thinks about, as an inkling.

I guess there isn’t much to say about this chapter that isn’t already in the chapter itself. I did want to say what I said in the first part, though, it’s relevant to the fic as a whole. The chapter turned out to be shorter, but more heavy than I expected. I like the way it turned out, though, and I think the kiss at the end is a good conclusion.

[pxiedustnblades]

*knocks on the door quietly, and then peek inside, bringing cookies and chocolate*

Hi Faye! :D How are you doing? I saw your requests for ask and questions, so, here I am bringing them to you! :D

1,2,3,6,9,13,20,27 and 28! :D I know they are a lot, so feel free to answer only the one you feel the most! No need to answer them all, if they make you feel overwhelmed. :)

--Nemo

Nemo!!

Oh my goodness thank you so much for the chocolate & cookies! Always a treat to hear from you. And always more then happy to oblige with answering those asks. While there are a lot, I am eager to answer them all. I am up to the challenge. Here, have some coffee for while you read.

1) Who was your first ever OC? Do you still "use" them? How have they evolved over time?

Aww this is a treat! My first ever OC was a HC’d lovechild between Kisshu and Ichigo from Tokyo Mew Mew. Her name was Claire Momomiya and I adored her like nothing else. Even so far as to making a silly little comic book with a school friend. The writing was atrocious and very cliche middle schooler wattpad weeb. 🤣 So you know, grossly cringe. Ugh since then Claire is still used be she is completely separate from her original counterpart. She now goes by Clara and has matured a great deal. Although I don’t use her anymore, she is still such a memorable and precious OC that she will never be discarded. I will find something for her one day.

2) Who is your newest OC Why did you make them?

Yvette is my newest oc! I made her shortly after I started playing God of War and saw Tyr’s design. After hearing what a gentle giant he was, and then seeing him in Ragnarok, I couldn’t help but be smitten. That and comparing my own height to his. 😳 He’s such a sweet, wise soul whats not to love though? Even if he is a bit of awkward giraffe lolol. Between that and general simping gutter brain, I wanted to give him someone to love and be loved by. But not by me lmao. No self insert here. But uhh my gutter brain was strong with this one because size difference make brain go brrr. And somehow these became the horniest, most mature, yet sweet canon x oc ship I have to date. Whoops?

3) Biggest self-insert OC?

OOH! That would be my sweet pea, Faline! Closest tie with her would be Florence. Although both are actual self inserts. Faline has been my longest standing Self-insert (going on 2 years soon) and one that holds most of my similarities. Including my height, build, my autism, my not-so-great childhood, trauma, and mental health. Genuinely v little difference between her and I.

6) Do you have any OCs without stories? Will you ever create one for them?

I mentioned it before but Clara is currently the one without a story. Although I’m not quite sure if you’re talking actual physical written & completed story or just a general background. I’m assuming the latter, but please correct me if I’m wrong. I will eventually give Clara a proper story, but for now she is content seeing me bond with my other OCs.

9) Favourite OC?

Oh my Gods, Nemo; how can you ask me such a thing? 🤣Just kidding I can actually answer this. My beloved Claudia is my favorite. She was such a treat to create. To go from a minor character made to push a plot point, to then being one of my biggest muses, she is a gem and a half. She is as complex as she is beautiful, and I look forward to continue creating stories for her and Darius.

13) Which story has the most lore?

Oh Gods “Saints & Sinners” by far. Ash and I have spent almost two years developing that universe. It initially started off as a silly “what-if” thing but now we have a whole world, timeline, rules, deities for every basic thing, A deity hierarchy system, Soul-bondings, rules for said deities, the reset system, etc. it used to only focus on four characters, now its expanded to following 8. 4 couples, all soul-bonded deities. It’s an incredible experience.

20) What story are you the proudest of? Why?

Hmmm probably “burn scars” as of right now. Its still in the works but its pushing me out of my comfort zone to deal with more graphic, emotion-heavy scenes. Trying to capture something like that is not easy, but considering it’s such a crucial part in Darius & Claudia’s timeline I am determined to get it right.

What are your favourite movies?

I’m not much of a movie person in general but the ones that have higher chances of holding my attention are animated films. I’m the worst when it comes to watching films. Its like pulling teeth to get me to do.

Thank you again for asking me everything Nemo! I hope you enjoyed!

- Faye