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sehunniepotwrites · 6 months

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FOREVER SUMMER | teaser

SYNOPSIS. They say that three is the magic number, and with you having two childhood friends by your side every summer, you consider this to be true. Summers were always for no one else but you, Johnny, and Jaehyun. You want that to stay the same but of course, nothing ever does. Not when feelings come into play. You’re in love with Johnny, Jaehyun’s in love with you, and quite frankly, you don’t really know how to move forward. So much for the summer of your life.

PAIRING. Johnny x female!reader x Jaehyun

GENRE. Childhood Friends to Lovers!AU | Summer!AU | Beach!AU | Lifeguard!AU | Surfer!AU

WARNINGS. Based on Jenny Han’s The Summer I Turned Pretty, Johnny and Jaehyun are cousins, profanity, alcohol consumption, food consumption, smoking (vaping and weed), nicknames (for her: Shadow, Munchkin; for Jaehyun: Dopey; for Johnny: Jojo), more warnings to come

DISCLAIMER.This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters and concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work. Crossposted on AO3 by sehunnypot.

“Mom, drive faster!” you yelled from the passenger seat, wondering why you didn’t volunteer to take the wheel instead. With you at the wheel, you would’ve arrived at your destination hours ago. If this was a normal day, your mother would have scolded you for raising your voice at her but this was not any given day. This was the start of your epic summer in Neiho.

Being in the town of Neiho for two and a half months meant living in a gorgeous beach house that was a block away from the shoreline. A large two-story structure with six bedrooms, four bathrooms, a pool to swim in, and a backyard large enough to run around in–what could be more perfect than that?

The answer to that question was found in the other inhabitants of the mansion. Your twin aunties–not your blood relatives but your mother’s best friends from university–were the co-owners of the house, passed onto them by their parents. When your mom had nowhere to go one college summer, the twins picked her right up and invited her into their summer abode, and a yearly tradition had been formed. Fall, winter, and spring breaks were for other things but summer was always reserved for the beach house on Neiho’s Cherry Lane.

Even though the three friends who were as close as sisters started their own respective families, the tradition carried on with the expansion. And that’s where the two most important inhabitants come to play–Johnny Suh and Jaehyun Jeong. The boys, as you called them, were cousins who were like brothers to each other. And to you, they were your best childhood friends.

Being the same age as you, you were closer to Jaehyun–the pretty boy with the dimples and the deepest, dad laugh you could ever hear. Although apart for the majority of the year, Jaehyun never failed to text you at least once a day, whether it be a meme or just a random message that could be deemed as “too much information.” You shared a lot with him and in turn, he did the same with you. To you, that lunkhead basketball man was an open book.

His older cousin, however, was not. Unlike Jaehyun, Johnny kept some pages closed. There were times when he was inaccessible and neither you nor Jae could read him. If something were bothering him, Johnny would keep it to himself rather than burden you or Jaehyun with his problems. As the oldest, his duty was to shoulder it, shove them aside, and make sure whatever happened didn’t affect you or Jaehyun in any way possible. His pouty lips would press into a thin line, his straight brows would furrow, and his eyes would narrow until you couldn’t see the beautiful honey-brown people would die to swim in. Other times, though, he was like sunshine and his wide smile brightened your days as no one else could.

“Sit your butt down, child, we’re almost there,” your mother laughed, playfully shoving your shoulder so your butt fell back into the cushioned seat. Her hands turned the wheel and the tires landed on Cherry Lane. She passed one, two, three houses before pulling into the driveway. Before she could put the car into park, your fingers flew to the seat belt latch, ultimately freeing your body from your chair. Never mind that you were leaving your mom to deal with your bags.

With enthusiasm that was seen nowhere else but here in Neiho, you rushed out of the car and down the nostalgic pathway filled with memories that lingered in your mind. You spotted the garden rocks you painted how many summers before as well as the wind catchers that you created with the boys during an arts class they were so reluctant to take. Holding back a smile at all the familiarity, you shoved the keys already in your hand eagerly into the lock. A twist to the side and your hand on the knob was all it took to open the grand, wooden door. A sigh that came from way deep in your chest let itself out as the cooling air conditioner and the smell of the sea salt vanilla candles blew your way.

With one hand against the clean, white walls, you used the other to slip your shoes off. “Anyone home?”

Home. That was what the beach house on Cherry Lane was. It was home.

Loud, resounding pounds from the staircase alerted you that someone was there and you knew exactly who that person was before they made it down the steps and rounded the corner. Always heavy-handed in the way he handled his body, Jaehyun Jeong stomped his way to you, his gait echoing through the quiet hallways. His smile was wide as soon as you landed in his line of vision. The next thing you knew, his body was hurling your way and you had no time to escape what came next.

“Munch! You’re here!” he yelled into your ear right before lifting and twirling you around. Jaehyun’s voice sounded deeper than the last time you saw him in person. Your surprised squeal drowned out his low-toned laughter and your feet kicked against the hard core he worked on in the last year.

“Put her down, Jae, before you break something,” his mom, Jieun, called from the steps, a fond smile taking over her face. Her features matched the ones on Jaehyun’s goofy face sans the reddened ears and cheeks.

Her sister and Johnny’s mom, Hyesoo, peeked out of the kitchen to add to the scolding. “Jae, if you break something, you’re gonna have to replace it with your own money, honey, so be careful!”

“Listen to them!” you whined as his hands continued to dig at your side. “You’re hurting me!”

He adjusted his grip. “Yo, how’s the weather up there, Munchkin? Better than down here, I hope,” Jaehyun teased with a cheeky smile.

“Shut up, Dopey!” You kicked him in the abdomen harder than the last and his stronghold loosened just enough for you to wiggle away.

As you caught your breath from laughing too hard, you took in your best friend’s appearance. Jaehyun’s wetsuit was half on–the top half folded right at the waist–while his buffer chest was slightly covered by the heathered tank top he probably threw on in a rush. Honey brown hair unstyled and strands thrown every which way, he still looked like the same boy you remembered. Just a tad bit taller and bigger than before. And to top it all off, his dopey smile had you mirroring one too.

You bet that the girls in his major department went crazy over him. You’ve heard some of his stories through your weekly FaceTime calls–from his short-termed girlfriends and situationships and friends with benefits–but none of those ever lasted. Curiosity bit at you, wondering why they never did, but you respected Jaehyun enough not to pry. If he wanted to, he would tell you.

“Hey there,” Jaehyun chuckled again, his large hand coming up to your chin to squish your cheeks in between his fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and blew a raspberry at him, spit landing on the back of his hand. Jaehyun gave you a look of disgust, wiping the wet spots against your shirt. You’d think at twenty-one, the pair of you would outgrow childish habits but that wasn’t necessarily the case.

“Just say you’re happy to see me, damn.”

“Never going to willingly admit that,” you retaliated with a shit-eating grin.

Jaehyun’s hands zoomed back to your face to pull at your cheeks. His tough grip tugged them so hard that it stung a lot more than it should have. Your consecutive slaps against his chest finally got him to stop and while you rubbed your cheeks better, he stifled his laughter behind his palm.

“You might not be happy to see me but I am always happy to see you, Munch,” Jaehyun pressed a wet kiss on your throbbing cheek in return. You were too busy tending to your pain to realize the redness that took over the tips of his ears. His mother and aunt were not. Giggling at each other, they enjoyed the boy’s embarrassed state, loving the fact that you were the only one to get him that pink.

“You’re something else, Jae,” you shook your head at him before rushing over to your aunties to hug them. You missed them both.

“Baby, don’t just stand there,” Aunt Jieun scolded her son, coming over to slap him against his bicep, “go use those muscles that you keep bragging about and help your auntie carry their stuff into the house.” The boy, dorky as ever, saluted his mother and ran out the door in his broken-in Rainbow sandals.

“Where’s Johnny?” you questioned. A glance around the house and you couldn’t see him anywhere. It was unlike him to not greet you as soon as you entered the property. Your heart dropped a little at his lack of presence.

“Oh honey, your one-track mind never changes, does it?” Aunt Hyesoo grinned at you with a knowing twinkle in her eye. You pouted at her and she simply poked you in between your curled-up brows. “John’s out surfing. We told him to wait until after you arrived but he promised he would be back before your pretty little face showed up. Knowing him, that boy probably lost track of time.”

The front door swung open and slammed against the wall only to reveal a sheepish Jaehyun. Once again, the boy underestimated his strength. If one were to look at the wall behind the door, they’d spot a dent in the wall from all the rough handling but that’s a thing everyone in the house let go of. Holding the door open, Jaehyun allowed your mom to roll her luggage in first before hauling your load in. As the three mothers reunited, Jae nudged his sharp elbow to your side. “I was about to go join Johnny for a bit, wanna come wi–”

“Yes, let’s go, let’s goooooo!” Not even letting your best friend finish his sentence, you snatched the keys to his mother’s Rav4 and headed out the door. “We’re heading out!” You called behind you before barreling out the door with your tote bag in hand.

Jaehyun trailed right behind you with his deep laughter ringing through your ears. When you didn’t toss him the keys and remained at your spot on the driver’s side, he hesitated to get in the unlocked vehicle. His lack of movement made you roll your eyes. You had gotten your license last fall at the age of twenty so driving was no problem for you. At least, it wasn’t anymore. If you went back to the previous summer with you at the wheel, Johnny at your side, and Jaehyun behind you, you would probably say otherwise. But that was then. You were twenty-one now and had almost a year of driving experience under your belt.

“Get in the car, my driving’s better now, I promise.” The engine started at the twist of your hand and Jaehyun remained outside with a hardened look on his face.

“Sure it is, Munch,” he replied with a brow raised.

“It really is, how else would I be able to get my license?” A few bats of your lashes and a pretty pout were all it took for Jaehyun to cave in and buckle himself in the car. He could never say no to you. Johnny was a little harder to break–he was a tough cookie to crack–but in the end, little old you were always his weakness.

A defeated sigh escaped Jaehyun’s pink lips. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Jaehyun’s little profession of love made you warm inside, just like your never ending friendship. “The luckiest girl in the world.”

“And the prettiest,” Jaehyun joked, swiping at your cheek.

“Ew, is that how you flirt with all the girls back home?”

“Why? Is it working?” From the corner of your eye, you could see his brows dance. “Are you finally falling for me? It’s about damn time.”

“Absolutely not. Disgusting.”

“Damn, and to think, I could have finally had a chance with the prettiest girl in Neiho.”

“Oh shut up.”

The beach was a two-minute drive away. If it weren’t for Jaehyun’s surfboard mounted on top of the car, you would have been fine with the seven-minute walk or the short bike ride to your perfect little paradise. The midday crowd had made its way into the beach’s car lot, leaving a tiny compact space for you to wiggle into. Your first few tries weren’t successful, even with Jaehyun’s guidance, leaving him to laugh at your attempts before you switched places. Johnny would have never teased you like that.

Jaehyun parked the car slowly yet successfully as you waited outside with crossed arms. He shot you a smug look, complete with his sunglasses sitting on top of his nose bridge and a smirk that lifted one plump cheek.

“Don’t say anything,” you pointed a finger at him. “I have trouble in compact spaces.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Jaehyun cheekily answered as he started to take his baby blue board down the rack.

Huffing, you turned your body away from your best friend and faced the shoreline. One breath was all it took to inhale the calming scents of the ocean. The sun beamed down on you; while others hated the direct light, you didn’t mind it. Accompanied by the soft breeze making its way through your loose hair, it was a perfect beach day. Your past self was right to wear your two-piece under your clothes instead of your undergarments.

Leaving Jaehyun behind, you stripped your loose top off, slipped off your Birkenstocks, and sunk your toes in the sand. The gritty, warm feeling surrounding your skin was something you missed dearly. Others hated the texture of sand–how it was coarse and hot, and how it got absolutely everywhere for no apparent reason–but it excited you. Feet running on autopilot, they led you straight to where the ocean met the shore. Dry sand turned wet, causing you to sink, sink, sink deep into the ground and you loved it all. When the cool rush of water hit your skin, you loved it even more. You closed your eyes and sighed, taking in the sounds of the waves hitting the rocks.

You opened them just in time to see a tall, built surfer riding a clean wave with no breaks. He made the sport look effortless when you know that in fact, it was not. At all. When the figure reached the shore not too far from you, the man planted his surfboard right in the sand. His height was not too far off from the item itself, which was a feature many onlookers admired.

After reaching down to catch some water in between his fingers, he ran that same hand through his thick dark brown hair, pushing his wet bangs out of his way. Your mouth began to split into two at the sight of him. Even without seeing his entire face, you knew that sharp jawline and stature anywhere. You saw it every summer, towering over you in a protective stance. The hands running through his hair used to hold yours whenever you had your scary movie marathons and the sculpted arms attached to them used to press you tightly against his chest whenever you needed comfort.

There were so many times your thoughts drifted from the topic at hand to that face and build. Dreams. Daydreams. Little scenarios in your head that fed the monster called delusion.

With tunnel vision for that man alone, your feet took you straight to him and your voice called out his name. “Johnny Suh!”

Johnny’s hands immediately reached behind him as you catapulted yourself onto the broadest back you had ever seen in your life. Your arms circled his neck and your bare legs coiled around his waist as he held you in place with no complaints. Your dry body pressed against the cold, damp wetsuit but you didn’t care. You were with Johnny now.

To you, the older of the boys wore many hats. He was your long-time friend. Your protector. Your crush. Your mom, as teasing as she gets, also referred to him as your first love. Your aunties rallied behind her with that and you always found it embarrassing. But loyal as they were, your secret never slipped past their lips. It was one for the girls, they would always say. You weren’t sure if Jaehyun caught on at some point–if he did, he never uttered a word.

Johnny turns his neck to glance at you. His eyes took notice of the sparkle in your eye and the bright light of your smile and it brought that charming grin out to play. “Aren’t your clothes going to get wet?” he chafed, tugging on the thin fabric of your loose linen shorts.

“Don’t care,” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His smile widened as you did so, the whiskers by his nose appearing out of nowhere. “Saying hi to you is more important than my clothes, Jojo.”

“Well then, hi.” The way Johnny said that two-letter word had your heart racing. It was soft and sweet and endearing. It was everything Johnny was. And it was beautiful.

“Hi.”

He tapped two fingers on your thigh. “You ready to get down yet?”

“Nope.”

Johnny chuckled again and with your chest pressed tightly against his back, you felt the vibrations it caused. “Looks like my little Shadow finally came back to me.”

Shadow–that was what he called you.

It all started when your moms noticed that you were so infatuated with the older boy that you stuck so close to him, following his every movement. When he would stand, so would you. And in turn, Jaehyun did too. When Johnny would want ice cream, you would copy him and state that you craved some too. And when he joined a volleyball camp at the country club, you tried to join too, only to be turned down because you were a girl. It upset you to no end at the young age of nine, that Jaehyun could follow the twelve-year-old Johnny but you couldn’t. To get rid of your sorrow, Johnny–although tired–played with you at home and taught you every little skill he learned that day. Your hobby only developed from there.

“Looks like it,” you giggled.

No matter how far you were or how much time had passed, you would forever remain as Johnny’s shadow. Just like Peter Pan’s shadow always found its way back to the leader of the Lost Boys, you would always find your way back to Johnny.

Your little moment was interrupted by the one and only Jaehyun, who has his surfboard lifted above his head. So into being within proximity to Johnny, you failed to notice the tiny drop of Jaehyun’s happy demeanor. “Dude, you done for the day or?” Jaehyun asked his older cousin, gesturing to the waves.

Johnny turned to him with you still hanging like a koala on his back, happy that you are reunited with your two boys. “Nah, I was thinking about catching a few more before heading back. Tide’s pretty good today.”

“Sweet,” Jaehyun grinned, his tiny little fangs peeking out as his mouth widened. He pointed his chin to the clear, blue water. “Let’s go?”

Johnny tapped your thigh again and released your legs from his hold. “You okay with that, Shadow?”

You nodded, patting your purse. “I got my audiobook, I’ll be fine.”

“You didn’t want to surf today?”

You tried your best to fight the warm flush taking over your body. “No, I was…too excited to see you, I guess. Didn’t want to change or grab my board.”

Johnny shot you a soft and tender smile. “You sure it wasn’t the beach calling your name? You always couldn’t wait to get down here.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking up at him.

“Next time then,” Johnny reassured you. “Missed having you out there with me.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. How was he so good at that? Johnny was too good at making you feel like mush and he didn’t even know it. It was no surprise so many of the people you hung out with growing up had a crush on him.

“Alright then, what are we waiting for?” Jaehyun shouted, raising his board high and running straight for the water. “First surf of the summer, let’s fucking goooooooo!” His loud voice faded out as he got deeper and deeper into the water.

Johnny’s large hand quickly ruffled your hair and you swatted his grip away, grumbling as you did so. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know either.” His overprotectiveness came into play. The warning was unnecessary, seeing how all the summer kids knew each other. It was like a big reunion every season, with parties and bonfires all around. Running into someone at the beach was far from surprising, in fact, it was expected.

You waved him away, already busying yourself by setting up your spot a bit further from where the sand met the sea. Your AirPods were out and your phone’s camera app opened up, ready to take pictures of the beautiful scenery and your boys. “Stop worrying, I’ll be right here. Go.”

Johnny left, but not before giving you a little shove to the side of your head. You snapped multiple pictures of his back as he ran to his board with Jaehyun already riding a wave in the background. The sun was beginning to set, making the skyline the perfect backdrop for your pictures. Waiting for the next wave to hit, they sat on their boards. At one point, they shifted to wave at you, and being the person you were, you took more candids of them and sent it to the group chat with your parents.

You slipped on your AirPods and continued onto a new chapter of the audiobook you started on your road trip here. The waves were loud enough to hear through your headset and the orange sun didn't blind you as much with Jaehyun’s sunglasses resting on your nose. This was the perfect way to spend your first day back at Neiho.

With the amazing weather, the two best boys in the entire world, and the prettiest beach you have ever laid eyes on, this was going to be the best summer ever. It had to be. It was the summer before your last year of university. After graduation, your whole life could and would change. And you, as headstrong as you were, wanted this to be the perfect summer.

The summer of all summers.

The summer you would remember forever.

LIFEGUARD'S NOTICE BOARD. Hi y'all. This fic has been on the backburner for a while and I've slowly started to pick it back up again. This is only the first scene in the grande scheme of things that idk will ever be completed BUT it was too good to keep in the drafts! Tell me what you think: are you Team Johnny or Team Jaehyun?

TAGLIST. (tagging anyone who is on my gen taglist and people i talked to about this fic!) @johtenrecs @justalildumpling @bat-shark-repellant @bebsky @smileysuh @smileyerim @taelme @moonctzeny @lebrookestore @baekhyuns-lipchain @donutswithjaminthemiddle @ahcaratzen @espresseo-cafe @turtash @ravenjoongie @omlhyuck @cryingforjae

#johnny fic #johnny imagines #johnny x reader #johnny scenarios #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun fic #jaehyun x reader

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littlemoondarlingarts · 1 month

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Did an artstyle study of the gorgeous art of @iliothermia and I genuinely learned alot so I'm very thankful that he gave me permission to do this 🙏🏻🙏🏻

As usual, rambles and process pics under the cut, be warned that I talk alot because this drawing was a true labor of love both for his art and Rouge

I wanted to use elements from his art but at the same time i know how deeply personal his art is to his own life and struggles and culture so i tried to be as respectful as possible (and if I failed at that please tell me I have no problem in deleting this) and tried to minimize my use of direct elements from his art to keep it to the skull which was heavily inspired by a drawing he has done, the waves which are such a beautiful staple of his art that I just couldn't not put it and the use of candles and small floral patterns and the style of the mold, but I tried to keep the rest to things that are symbolic to the character.

While he may have restraint to not explain everything, I'm not famous for that lol, so I will be explaining the symbolism behind my choices.

Part 1: the symbolism:

The red rose is Rouge's flower and it is heavily associated with him. The meaning of it being romantic desire and passion mixed with the thorns of it perfectly sum up his position as a beautiful black widow.

Voyeurism is a big part of this drawing and it is first noticed with the eyes motif on the roses' leaves, this symbolises his response to his trauma which left him feeling like an unwanted pervert on his own self. I can talk about this aspect of his story for hours but I'll spare you lol.

The X-ray cutouts are his complicated relationship with his own body and death, it is a thing that is constantly on his mind as he suffers from suicidal thoughts but at the same time he is always running away from it in fear, but he knows that eventually, he will have to stop running.

The candles melting represent him being only wanted when he is useful, when he is giving parts of himself up for others to use and abuse, when he is lighting their lives by slowly draining his own.

The piano is one of the rare things that bring him happiness and peace, but he needs to be heavily dissociated to be able to enjoy it which is represented by the hands being disconnected from the rest of the drawing and just floating in their own reality.

The snake represents two things, one is him being venomous to those around him, the mistakes he's made, the promises he's broken, the pain he's caused etc. But it also represents those who slowly wrap themselves around him in a warm embrace, presenting themselves as a saviour in his most dire times only to end up being the ones who will hurt him the most.

The book is about his obsession with keeping track of everything and of studying people, accidentally turning himself into an unwanted voyeur on their lives to the point where he has written the life stories of many people who would never want to be remembered through his eyes in his little books.

The butterflies are him, both in the way they are seen as "the good insects" and the beautiful delicate ones despite the fact that they eat flesh sometimes, it is also related to the way his simple presence for a few minutes in someone's life can create a whirlwind of change that will leave it unrecognizable, or he can simply be another body in their bed.

The hair turning into waves is meant to reflect the way he is always drowning in his own thoughts, a hand crafted constant state of misery.

The beta fish are some of the most beautiful and colourful fish out there, yet they are seen as cheap and easy first pets, leading to them being neglected and given environments that are too small and crammed, making their beautifully slow death the only thing they can offer to their owner. I don't think I need to explain more..

The skull is probably someone he's loved, or someone he's killed, or both.

The heart is his, it is rotten and covered in mold, any love he offers is tainted by his inability to heal and it is spreading to infect every aspect of his life.

Part 2: the inspirations:

The roses are a homage to the way Rachamim always places flowers in his art, either in the background or as a focal point of the illustration, most of the flowers he uses are cultural in nature, so I opted to not reuse any of them and changed it to a flower related to my oc.

Eyes are a repeated theme in his art, whether it be angel eyes, the evil eye or anything else, and as you can tell both of these are cultural and religious and while the evil eye exists in my culture, it does not in my oc's so I didn't use it. Instead I opted to pay homage to one of his beautiful merman drawings in which he used the plants to make an eye-like shape that stares at the viewer.

I thought I was being real smart in turning the hair into waves but yesterday I saw an illustration where he did the same so rip to me thinking i was being original lol.

The snake and butterflies are my way of replicating his use of animals while trying to not directly copy any animals that have a connection to himself or his culture/religion.

The beta fish is just to reference the ever present fishies in his art. I know he uses them because they represent friendship for him and they are the only animals safe from the evil eye (thanks for the fun fact) so I uh... I don't really know if this was disrespectful or not to be honest but I tried to use a different type of fish, idk this might still be slightly problematic and again I'm always ready to delete this if it makes anyone uncomfortable.

The waves are a direct copy of how he draws the gorgeous waves in his art, another case of something I fear may be crossing the line because the waves are drawn in the style of cultural jewelry 😭

The tiny flowers are an obvious reference to his own tiny flowers that decorate his art and characters.

The skull with the candles is heavily inspired by a specific drawing of his.

The cutouts are my way of paying my respects to my absolute favourite piece of art he's done without directly copying its concept because as far as I can tell, it is a very personal and emotional piece.

The mold style is a reference to his mold man (I forgot his name I'm sorry).

And the candles are another repeated motif in his art as well as the pillars and the pant style.

And ouf I sure do talk alot don't I? I just really love the amount of things I was able to cram into this piece and I haven't even mentioned everything😭😭 I will NOT be doing this again because I'm simply not as patient as he is and as proud as I am of the result, this was torture. I hope I didn't disrespect him, his art or his culture and I genuinely tried my best to be as respectful as possible but I might have some blind spots due to our experiences being so vastly different so again, please don't hesitate to inform me if you want this deleted!

#my art #art #artists on tumblr #oc #my oc #rouge #original characters #oc artist #oc artwork #oc art #lineart illustration #artsyle study #art style study #art study #idk how to tag this #anyway #hii #ty for reading #i hope you like it

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zhongrin · 1 year

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floaty companion

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, childe, cyno, kaveh

◇ tags ◇ character!seelie, cuteness overload, no romantic pairing but your seelie loves you very much!!

◇ a/n ◇ this is largely inspired by @hiraya-rawr and @genshinarchives seelie!companion and seelie!reader concepts respectively. important: please don’t send in requests for seelie!reader on genshinarchives, she’s not writing for that concept anymore!

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

seelie!zhongli's antennae are abnormally longer than normal seelies and remind you of a dragon’s. his tail is a tad thicker than normal seelies too, and he has tiny claws on his stubby little arm. it’s just as unique as it is adorable.

pee-colored shining golden color. people have mistaken him for a huge mora coin whenever he curls into a ball and has most definitely tried to grab him.

because of this, whenever you’re traveling inside the city, he prefers to bury himself within your hair - or, if your hair is long enough and you wear them down, he would gladly use them as a curtain as he sits on your shoulder. otherwise, he’ll peek out from your coat or pocket. he’s still a curious one, after all!

when you’re out and about is when he will float alongside you, enjoying the scenery and fresh air. careful though, you might want to check on him every now and then, because sometimes he just stops to admire the view. grandpa behavior. oh and sometimes he’ll disappear and return with a pouch of mora… how did he get those? he’s just extremely lucky when it comes to mora, it seems. or maybe he has some seelie mora-seeking intuition. who knows?

always tries to sip on your cup of tea. always ends up 1) falling into the teacup or 2) poured tea all over himself. the day you got him a mini teacup he literally bounces in excitement on your palm.

seelie!al haitham is a silver colored ball (which will magically shimmer green under certain lighting) that trails after you quietly…. until he sees a bookstore that is. in which case he’ll pull on your clothes or ear so you take a detour.

people laugh at you when you tell them your seelie is literate, and they think you’re crazy when you say he’s fluent in at least twenty languages and counting. well, jokes on them, he’s helped you decipher runes and guide you to secret passages in all the ruins you’ve gone to explore.

basically, those trips almost always end up with you finding lost treasures or new valuable information, which meant more mora. which means, you’re kind of rich because of him, and so he demands payments in the form of books and cuddles.

he’s normally very docile but you had witnessed him headbutting a yellow-colored seelie with a brownish tint on its antennae that seemed to be curious of your presence and hovered a little too close for his liking. you think the poor thing is now probably stranded all the way to the sumeru desert. yeah… best not to anger him.

he’ll sometimes disappear off to archons-know-where by himself, but he always comes back within the day. and he always has a souvenir when he returns; from a torn page of a book (you think it’s poetry but you have no idea what it says because they’re written in a language you don’t know) to a freshly bloomed padisarah, it always ends up with you cradling him in your arms and him silently enjoying the extra attention.

poor seelie!kaveh fell onto your bag while you were resting up in your adventure of traveling around the sumeru desert. you take pity on his unconscious form and decide to carry him until he wakes, intending to look for his owner the soonest you return to caravan ribat….

only, what happened after that was him waking up, taking one good look at your face, and now he’s stuck onto you like glue. quite literally. you sleep that night and when you wake up the next day he has somehow sewn a little pocket on your coat for him to ride in.

he brings you flowers or shiny-looking stones at least five times every day. sulks (by burrowing into his ‘home’ on your coat and refusing to acknowledge you until you apologize) when you don’t take good care of said presents.

he seems to become very hostile whenever he sees any silver-colored seelies. they’re a rare variety, but the two times you’ve encountered them throughout your adventures, your little yellow-brown seelie had screeched so loud you think he gave you tinnitus.

whenever you stumble into buildings you haven’t seen before, he’ll dazedly float out from his pocket home and squeak happily. he’ll drag you on a little tour around the building and inside said building if you’re allowed to enter.

seelie!childe is a strange ocean-blue colored ball that seems to be able to produce water out of nowhere???

you playfully knitted him a silly little red scarf to differentiate him from the other blue-colored seelies and he’s taken a liking to it. he always gets pouty whenever you take the cloth off him so you can wash the grime off. how can you know that he’s pouting when seelies don’t have mouths? umm. let’s just say you have a special emotional connection.

super noisy, squeaks and bumps and nuzzles onto you 24/7. will not sleep if he’s not nestled onto your neck. likes to perch on your person, be it your head, your shoulder, or your pocket.

when he’s angry he turns into a purplish color and zaps anything he’s in contact with. sometimes he does this to you when you’re being neglectful of your safety. suffice to say that his shocking (pun intended) warnings have saved your life more than once.

doesn’t do too well in hot weather. he literally melts onto your shoulder and refuses to detach himself. thrives on cold weather; he seems to really love snow.

soft pastel purple color is the hue of seelie!cyno. his antennae is darker colored and shaped like jackal ears.

can summon tiny lighting strikes. you have no idea how that works. just know that your little companion will not hesitate to do it to people who make you uncomfortable.

protective. will float in front of you and survey the area first. you two probably have determined a set of signals to ‘communicate’ with each other. always waits for you to catch up when you fall behind. very rarely he hides in your pocket; even when you fight he’s there as moral support and would act as a distraction to your opponents.

has a very good sense of direction somehow. you’ll never get lost with him around. if you’re going the wrong way, he’ll smoosh your cheek to get your attention and point in the right direction.

seems to be very obsessed with this card game called tcg. whenever he sees someone selling cards on the side street stalls, he’ll bump you in a warning and lead you towards the said shop. seelies don’t have eyes but when he faces you with a rare card in hand you swear you can see him making puppy eyes at you. and he might be a seelie, but you figured with the winning streak you have with him controlling your plays, he might be well on his way to becoming the most legendary tcg player in the whole teyvat.

#astronetwrk #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #rin writes #zhongli #zhongli x reader #childe #tartaglia #ajax #childe x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #cyno #cyno x reader #kaveh #kaveh x reader

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leportraitducadavre · 4 months

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For the love of god, here we go again:

Kishimoto is an excellent writer. He owes nothing to the fandom, he’s the creator and owner of his work, and whatever he decides to do is what you get. No, Sakura didn’t fail because she was “badly written” it was a clear decision on his part to make her that way, it’s not his problem you confuse “good writing” with likability and I’m sorry woke feminism ruined complex, sometimes straight up evil, female characters for you to the point where you believe them taking shitty decisions is an explicit reflection of the author’s misogyny instead of them exploring different types of personalities. If you believe InoSaku is a relationship with “wasted potential” that’s presented in a toxic manner because Kishimoto can’t write female relationships, take a closer look at every other rivalry inside the manga and tell me how many of them develop in a healthy manner, just because they have almost no focus doesn’t mean they don’t follow the exact same rules every other relationship of the same nature does. I’m sorry Sakura is so obsessed with Sasuke she diminishes every other relationship she possess in order to elevate her status inside Sasuke’s life, but Ino, who also considers Sakura her rival and who also likes Sasuke, behaves completely opposite to her, being able to move on and respect his rejection, how come is misogynistic if Sakura is the only one doing so? Have you read Naruto’s obsession with Sasuke? The manga is pretty much dedicated to it, how is Sakura’s fixation worse than his?

#anti sasusaku #anti sakura fandom #naruto #anti naruto #anti sakura #anti sakura uchiha #ino yamanaka

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asheepinthenight · 10 months

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Talon’s End - Demo

DEMO | DEMO ALT (github) | EXTRAS

Latest update: 12/30/23

Talon's End is a fantasy interactive fiction game about transformation, growth, duty, and love in its many forms. It is written with an adult audience in mind and contains some darker themes, but the demo does not contain any explicit content and should be appropriate for ages 16+. The age rating may change for the full version. Please check CWs when starting the game!

You were never destined to marry for love.

As the third child of the Earl of Eastthorn, your purpose is to marry to your family's advantage, but after one failed engagement already, your prospects are less than promising. So when the Crown calls upon you to infiltrate the lair of an Elven sorcerer in search of a powerful magical weapon, the offer is too good for your family to refuse.

But leaving your respectable home to marry an immortal being of immense power quickly puts you in uncharted territory. Between your secretive, disagreeable spouse and their labyrinthine spire infested with strange creatures, your mission to uncover their secrets is risky from the start. But as you come to know both your partner and your new home at Talon's End, you discover terrors and wonders unlike anything you've known–and the true price of your mission.

Characters and features below the cut:

Hawk (gender-selectable m/f/nb)

Ancient, inscrutable, and ornery, Hawk is your immortal Elven spouse. They are a being of few words, and those words are often less than friendly. You're taking your life into your hands coming to live in their tower and spy on them. But are they perhaps kinder than they let on? Or are they just as dangerous as they first appear?

Shea (gender-selectable m/f/nb)

Shea is the outgoing and kindhearted owner of the general store in town. Through their regular deliveries to Hawk's tower, they've gotten to know Hawk- -and now, you. They seem eager to make you feel welcome in your new home. But do they have other motives? Or is their compassion genuine?

Current demo features:

Player character with customizable gender, pronouns, romantic/physical attraction, etc.

Relationships with Hawk and Shea can be romantic, platonic, physical, or a combination; plus, a poly triad option!

Options to explore the player character's gender and attraction beyond initial choices

Choice-heavy (not stat-heavy) story with narration that adapts to your MC's personality

Achievements for doing silly (and cool) things

Upcoming features:

Option to bypass mentions of societal bigotry

Additional codex and story journal entries

More detailed character profiles

#talon's end #interactive fiction #if demo

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banjjakz · 5 months

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serial bereavement ; yuuta x gn/f!reader

Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.

Or: As a rookie hire, you are partnered with Investigations Section 1 Officer Okkotsu Yuuta to investigate a law-defying, bone-chilling, uniquely disturbing case of obsessive love that threatens to shut down the entirety of Shinjuku.

part i. word count: 5.2k

warnings: rating & warnings WILL change; part i of iii; reader is referred to with she/her pronouns & has a vagina & breasts, but is never addressed with gendered titles [e.g.: "ms.," "lady," etc.]; eventual smut that is dubcon at best; horror-romance, in that order; themes of psychosexual horror; side satosugu [non-essential to plot]; i cannot overstate how abnormal this one is, even for me

the content of this fictional work is inspired by the video game "collar x malice" which belongs to the original rightful owners. i do not own or claim to own the rights to the collar x malice franchise. this written work does not represent the intentions, actions, or thoughts of any of the creators/owners of the "collar x malice" franchise.

‪♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

likes♡ / reblogs ↻ appreciated!

Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.

The first incident was thought to be a freak accident, one of those strange, wild card crimes that confound local police and commandeer national attention. Pictures of the desecrated grave ravaged internet forums for weeks thereafter, sending chills down the backs of even the most stoutly atheist Japanese youth. An already horrific occurrence worsened all the more with the repeated presence of a seemingly random signature: there, at the bottom of the grave, in the very deepest point of the aged, black soil, laid a folded handwritten note. Upon unfurling the crisp creases, the Shinjuku Police Force Special Crimes Unit discovered that these were actually letters.

Love letters, to be exact.

Presumably penned by the perp, the characters were neat and clean – almost feminine in nature. So strong was the desire imbued into these letters that it seemed as though each individual brush stroke contained one thousand sonnets of unceasing, burning ardor. Clearly, the perpetrator yearned for the attention of their beloved.

That they would go to great lengths – immoral lengths, even – for just a three-minute story on the evening news, all so that their beloved might idly overhear the report as they prepare their dinner, idly chopping radishes to the soundtrack of a violent confession woefully fallen upon their deaf ears…

Well. It makes you squirm. You suppose that’s the point.

As a fresh-faced rookie of the Special Regions Crime Prevention Office, this is your first time on the job in the midst of such a sensational case. At first, your department was unsure how to label these crimes: neither killings nor injuries were incurred, and yet, the spiritual damage effected by the robbing of a Buddhist shrine’s graveyard was somehow worse than any brutal homicide. Eventually, the commissioner labeled these incidents as “Serial Bereavements” out of respect to the families whose deceased loved ones had been wrongfully removed from their final resting place.

After the first offense, local news stations reported the anomalous crime with a sick sort of fascination. Lovesickness was no foreigner in Japan, and although many screwed their faces up at the morbid displays of affection, so too did just as many turn up the volume on their televisions and lean just a few centimeters closer, eyes glazed with blue light, horror, mortification, and arousal.

After the second and third offenses, it was obvious that a pattern was beginning to emerge. Both incidents occurred on the first Thursday of the month, and both incidents were signed with the same achingly forlorn pages of desperation. In fear of exacerbating the perpetrator, or inspiring copycats, news stations and publications were not permitted to release the contents of the letters.

After the fourth offense, protests began to congregate outside of the Shinjuku Police Station, demanding an immediate and swift correction of the police’s incompetency in addressing the issue. When the first set of ashes had been disturbed, cherry blossoms still clung to the trees. By this time it was July, and the harsh glare of the summer sun beat unrelentingly upon the earth, as though reprimanding its inhabitants.

After the fifth offense, a special curfew was instated for all residents of the Shinjuku ward. No persons for any reason were to be out past eleven o’clock at night. This was punishable by immediate apprehension for questioning. The law was martial, but the law was necessary. Or so the commissioner claimed.

After the sixth offense, the police began looking inwardly, suspecting members of its own ranks. There was no possible way that a civilian could have been able to penetrate the immense security measures installed to secure the Joenji cemetery. Ropes and ropes of caution tape, nearly 24/7 surveillance, and daily K-9 rounds were still not enough to halt the perpetrator in their tracks. This could only mean one thing:

An inside job.

“Scary,” shivers Ieiri, mockingly, lips curled in a sardonic smirk around the length of her unlit cigarette. “You hear they think it’s one of us?”

You regularly have lunch with Ieiri Shoko, director of the Forensics department. She is as caustic as she is jaded, having served in an underrecognized role for far too long, wasting her prolific talents in an obscure government position with little excitement – save for, of course, highly-charged periods of reoccurring atrocities, such as the current case of the Serial Bereavements.

“Don’t even joke. We should be taking this seriously…”

The cooling September breeze has you huddling into your knees a little further. Enjoying lunch on the rooftop was a treat while it was still summer. But now, September has just torn a new page in your calendar and has brought with it an uncharacteristically crisp cold snap. It is Tuesday, the second.

“I’m sooooo serious,” Ieiri says after taking a rather dramatically prolonged drag from the now-lit cig. “Couldn’t be any more serious. Brr.”

Usually, Ieiri’s dry humor is an effective, if transient, salve to your ever-festering anxiety. But today is an exception.

“Please, just think about it for a second... To think that any one of the people we work with every day could be committing such heinous crimes…and for a romantic obsession, no less…it doesn’t frighten you?”

Ieiri exhales smoke, puffing lazily like a sated dragon draped over its hoard. “Nah. I seriously doubt anyone in our ward has the balls.”

Her vulgarity makes you blush. You’ve always been easy to fluster. “Ieiri-san!”

“How many times have I told you to just call me by my first name… jeez.” She ruffles your hair without even an ounce of care for how it makes you groan in consternation. “Too polite for your own good. Someone is going to take advantage of that, one day. And then where will you be? Calling for Ieiri-san to come save you?”

Somewhere, she’s strayed from the path of lighthearted teasing. You still under the weight of her calloused palm, peering curiously up at her through your lashes. “Um…well…”

And as soon as her touch had manifested upon you, just as quickly is it yanked away. “Anyways, call me whatever you like. Not like it matters, anyway.”

“I guess not…”

The rest of your lunch is finished in an unstable silence. Her final, rhetorical question rolls around in your mind, impressing itself upon your malleable brain tissue: Calling for Ieiri-san to save you?

But when would you need saving?

You’re a police officer, after all. You can take care of yourself.

If you couldn’t, why would you serve as an officer in the first place?

;

On the following Monday – the third of September – the director of the Investigations Unit summons you to the fifth floor.

After a polite (terrified) bow, you enter Investigations HQ. “Hello.” Please do not fire me. Please do not transfer me. Please do not publicly reprimand me. Please do not—

“Ah, thank you for coming. Wow, what a deep bow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a perfectly geometrical ninety degrees.”

Face burning, you avert your gaze to the marble floor. “Ummm…”

You’ve heard that the chief of Investigations, Gojo Satoru was an eccentric fellow, passing in and out as he pleased through the station, hanging off of the director like a second skin. It should come as no surprise that he is here to greet you, today. And yet, still does your thin skin prickle with humiliation, with shame.

Geto Suguru, director of Investigations, cuts in before his partner can continue. “Leave her alone, Satoru. She’s shaking. Are you doing alright today, officer?”

Embarrassed, you nod. Great. It hasn’t even been a full sixty seconds and you’re already embarrassing yourself in front of your superiors.

“Alright, alright. I’ll lay off. Only ‘cuz you asked, though! Hehe.”

“I’ve summoned you today to invite you to join a special taskforce,” Geto continues, unperturbed by Gojo’s wily eyebrow wiggles. “This taskforce will use unique means to investigate the Joenji Serial Bereavements.”

Your blood is paralyzed in your veins, cowed by the enormity of this proposal. “Sir…?”

“In the short amount of time since you’ve joined the Shinjuku Police Department, your conduct has been nothing but outstanding. You’re capable and damn impressive. And frankly speaking, officer, we need a fresh set of eyes on this case.”

There’s nothing else you could possibly say other than: “I would be humbled to join. Thank you.”

“Great, knew we could count on you. We’re keeping the taskforce small for confidentiality’s sake. You’ll be working with one other partner: Officer Okkotsu Yuuta from Investigations Section 1.”

That name… why do you know that name?

Then it hits you: Okkotsu Yuuta is the name whispered through the halls of the police department with awe, envy, admiration, and – occasionally – fear. He is a legendary detective with prowess in both tactical as well as strategical measures. His presence is felt rather than seen, as he is scarcely spotted within the physical walls of the department. However, what does not tangibly appear is nonetheless ever-present in whispered rumors and glamorized notoriety.

“O-Okkotsu-san…” you stammer, taken aback. “But…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”

“Oh! He specifically requested—”

Gojo’s cheerful sentence is curtailed by a swift elbow to the ribs. While he recovers, Geto finishes the thought, “Okkotsu has requested to be paired with a rookie for this assignment to personally train them. Something about ‘personally ensuring the longevity of the Shinjuku police force,’ or the like. What a do-gooder, am I right?”

“Okay,” you respond, uncertain.

“Your first matter of business will be a visitation to the Joenji graveyard to look for any new leads. You leave in one hour. Okkotsu will meet you downstairs, in front of the building. Good luck!”

In a daze, you bow deeply once more. “Thank you. I will be sure to work hard.”

;

Unsure of what to expect, you linger in front of the armed entrance to the building, trying your best not to shift your weight from foot to foot in an obviously apparent display of anxiety.

It’s not that you’re the type to be starstruck! You are a sensible, no-nonsense, down-to-earth person. Celebrities have never appealed to you much, and idol culture continues to confound you.

In light of this, it’s quite difficult to explain the visceral, full-body reaction you have when you meet Officer Okkotsu Yuuta for the first time.

He is not superbly handsome. Good-looking enough to get street-casted? Sure. With some minor work, he might even be the jewel visual for an up-and-coming boy group. Young and fit, he is the picture of an officer steadily approaching the peak of their hotshot years. Plain, dark hair falls on either side of his forehead in a lopsided part, and his uniform is buttoned and put together, if only a little wrinkled. All in all, he is an average, considerably attractive young man in the Shinjuku police force.

And yet.

Eyes like pools of obsidian tether you to the spot like a spell has been cast upon your bones. Enchanted, your lips part, but no sounds slips through. The intrusive, overstimulating soundtrack of Shinjuku rush hour traffic fades to little more than background noise as your senses are held hostage by the void of quiet, negative space in the shape of a young man that stands in front of you.

His bow is deep and overly formal. He’s technically your superior… and definitely a senior-ranking officer. “A pleasure to meet you,” he announces to the concrete ground “I’m Okkotsu Yuuta, Investigations Section 1.”

“N-nice to meet you, Okkotsu-senpai. My name is—”

The cringe marring his otherwise untroubled face stops your words before his interjection is even voiced. “Ah, um. Just ‘Okkotsu’ is fine. We look to be around the same age, too, so I don’t mind. May I address you casually as well?”

Face burning, brain scrambled, you somehow remember how to speak. You give him an affirmative before pausing, perplexed. How did he know your name already?

Okkotsu specifically requested to be paired with a rookie…

Geto’s words float to the forefront of your mind, soothing your hummingbird heart. Surely, the director and chief of Investigations must have briefed Okkotsu on your file before you were cleared to accompany him on this special taskforce.

Normally, you are woefully naïve, a bumbling but well-intentioned junior officer. The unsettling nature of the Serial Bereavements have pushed you towards an edge you didn’t even know you could reach.

The thought of the assignment weighs down your fresh-faced bashfulness. Suddenly, the afternoon sun is less bright, the heat on your face concentrating into the precursor to a migraine just behind your eyes.

Okkotsu blinks once, twice. “Thank you for working with me on this case. Would you believe me if I told you that I’m a bit of a scaredy cat?”

Your eyes bug out of your head in disbelief. “Um? But you…” His reputation specifically includes the highest number of skillful takedowns, arrest totals, and successful confessions across the entire prefecture. A scaredy cat?

“I know how it looks. It would be quite embarrassing if anyone else knew… but I’m a pretty anxious person.”

With a refocused perspective, your gaze hones in on the smattering of purple bruises underneath his tired eyes which birth a cool webbing of veins sprawling down and out across his pale, gaunt face. You realize that his uniform isn’t actually wrinkled – it just hangs off of his thin frame, tucked intentionally to give off the illusion of a much bigger silhouette.

In him, you see a reflection all too similar: young, ragged, hungry, scared.

It’s not enough to set you completely at ease, but your lungs relax their hold on your bated breath, letting it go as slowly and reluctantly as a child forced to part with their favorite plush toy. “Me too,” you hum. “Um, nonetheless, I will definitely try my best to be helpful. I hope I will not slow you down Okkotsu-se—er, Okkotsu.”

“It’s not about fast or slow.” The service car pulls up and loiters at the curb where the two of you are still lingering. He opens the back door for you. This is the first time a polite young man your age has done that. You try your best to remember that you are literally at work, on the clock, about to investigate an especially morbid case.

Once ensuring you’re comfortably inside, he shuts the door and rounds the rear of the vehicle to slide into the leather seat next to you.

“What matters is that we can rely on each other. Fast or slow, we’re partners now… as long as we finish together, it doesn’t matter the pace.”

He rattles off the address to the department driver after dropping what is possibly the most insightful reassurance you have ever received in your life.

Okay. You can kind of understand why the entire department is obsessed with him.

“R-right. Thank you.”

The rest of the ride is spent in a silence two shades off from comfortable. Nothing is wrong, per se – but the both of your negative energies linger and interact with each other like animals of the same species encountering for the first time.

How odd, you think, to find someone like you, and who is unashamed – eager, even – to admit it. To embrace it.

;

The cemetery is small and would otherwise go unnoticed if not for the dramatic influx in attention following the past few months. Plain and unadorned, neatly kept, with no ostentatious monuments or memorials, as is befitting for the burial grounds behind a Buddhist temple. All in all, the scenery would be somewhat peaceful if not for the six disturbed plots of land where remains were once laid to rest.

This is your first time at the scene of the crime. Your rank is too low to justify visiting this high-profile area without clearance from a supervisor. Now that you’ve been assigned to a taskforce specifically investigating this case, it was necessary that Yuuta took you to observe the scene yourself.

Although there is a total lack of gore or rot, still does the sight of six empty graves provoke within you an acute revulsion. Perhaps it is the absence of any overt suffering, and the oppressing knowledge of the extended waves of unearthed grief spanning across multiple kin networks who must now lose their loved one a second time – this is what inspires the damp, fragile sheen pooling at your waterline.

“Hey,” calls a soft, gentle voice. Yuuta’s timid wave brings you back from your wallowing. “Before we left, I grabbed the letters from forensics. Thought it might be helpful to have while we re-assess the scene.”

Something he’d done entirely for your benefit. Conscious of your lack of experience with the case, you incline your head, grateful. It’s almost as though your gratitude makes him uncomfortable. He averts his gaze and hands over a collection of six plastic-encased papers. Despite their origins within deep, aged earth, each one is pristine.

Steeling yourself, you read February’s letter, the origin of chaos:

My Dearly Beloved,

Did you know that not even the moon and all her stars, nor the sun and all his days, burn as brightly as my heart does for you? There is a certain privilege that I have been blessed with in this lifetime: the privilege to admire you from afar while passing through your stratosphere when it is convenient.

But, unlike you, I am a flawed and impure creature. I am greedy. Each morning, I wake up with a hunger to do more than watch. I want to draw you near to my side. I want to feel your flesh. I want to know what your innards taste like. I want to bathe in your desire. I want to carve myself into your being, forever and ever and ever, so that in the next life, you will be born missing me.

Please look at me. I love you so terribly it defies the laws of life and death. You’ve awoken something within me. I hope you’ll take responsibility.

Nauseous, you shift the letter to the bottom of the pile, hands shaking, head spinning.

“How disturbing…” you can’t stop the words from leaving you, unbidden. “How can someone desire another person in such a way that it permits violence?”

Okkotsu studies you closely. “Do you really feel that way?”

Alarm coils like a snake cornered in the pit of your gut. Sharply, you snap your gaze to his still, calm face. As pallid and pockmarked with depression as the moon herself. “Excuse me?”

“Are you truly disgusted by this kind of love?”

Fighting to ignore your fight-or-flight response, you answer: “I don’t consider this to be love.”

Peculiarly, his face breaks out into a smile, clearing away the lingering cloudy expression. “And that’s why I’m glad we’re partners. I knew you’d have the right idea about this.”

“Most people condemn this crime…”

“But too many sympathize with a false motive,” he volleys back, dark eyes glinting with a strange intensity. “This isn’t a crime of ‘love.’ The perp doesn’t act out of affection. They want to own, subdue, and take what is not theirs. How is that love?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “To be honest, those connections have always kind of unsettled me…even in shows, or books, or games, I could never look at the obsessive type.”

“Scary, aren’t they?”

This isn’t just a work case for him, you belatedly realize. His tense posture, his imploring eyes, his specification of partner – this is personal. Something about these occurrences strikes a chord deep inside of him, resonating so profoundly that it would not be enough to watch another resolve these crimes; no, Okkotsu is compelled to eradicate the danger completely, uprooting it from the source, destroying the danger with his bare hands, watching it dissipate with his own eyes.

“Mm. I’m glad we’re working on this case together, Okkotsu.”

He offers a small, benign quirk of the lips. “Me too.”

Your partnership progresses steadily from this first encounter.

Most of your daily duties are now fulfilled off-site, accompanying Okkotsu to various locations of interest, following potential leads, and occasionally conducting interviews. It’s been merely two days since the taskforce has been formed, and yet, you’ve been so preoccupied with your new assignment that it completely slips your mind to alert Shoko as to why you’ve been absent from your regular rooftop lunch dates.

You are mortified to open an aggrieved SMS from her on Wednesday morning:

Ieiri-san 08:15Oi. Are you dead

Me 08:16 Ahhhh!! I’m so sorry!!!! A new assignment is taking up a lot of my time. I apologize for not communicating. And for missing lunch. We can eat together today? I can bring you something? Whatever you like! I can make it!

Ieiri-san 08:20 Nah, none of that You’re probably overworking yourself already. No need for extra labor Just meet me on rooftop @ usual time

Me 08:21 Absolutely!!

It is surprisingly difficult to tear yourself from Yuuta’s side, as the two of you have been practically glued together from sunrise to sundown ever since embarking on the special assignment. He is reluctant to let you slip away for lunch, and as a result, you linger past a reasonable time to reassure him that you will be back on time.

When you are finally able to break away from Investigations HQ, you check the time on your phone only to realize that noon has rounded the corner with unanticipated haste. Hurriedly, you make your way to the seventh level of the police station building, embarrassingly conscious of your damp forehead and rapid breath.

“Sorry I’m late!!” Bursting through the metal door, you explode onto the rooftop, cloth-wrapped bento in one hand, and your furiously beating heart in the other.

It’s almost comical, how serene Ieiri looks, unbothered as ever as she leans against the railing with her trademark cigarette weaving in between her restless fingers. “Took you long enough. Been waiting for two days, now.”

“Ahhhh…”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You look like you’re about to piss your pants. C’mere.”

Face in flames, you stride over to pop a squat next to her. “I really do apologize, Ieiri-san. These last couple of days have been really hectic…”

“How so? You mentioned a new assignment. When did that happen?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I can talk about it…Investigations personally assigned me…um, not to be impolite or brag or anything! Just, I think it’s a little sensitive in nature, so—”

“Investigations?” She cuts you off, her dull timbre unusually sharp. “You mean those two idiots asked you to handle a highly classified criminal case? During your first quarter? By yourself?”

“Ah!! Geto-senpai and Gojo-senpai are quite eccentric, but they are very nice--!”

“No, they are not—”

“—and I’m not by myself! I’m partnered with Okkotsu Yuuta!”

If you weren’t such an anxious person who is well-practiced in the art of overanalyzing the countenance of others, you would surely have missed the way Ieiri’s eyes widen imperceptibly, the way her breath stutters on the next exhalation. She does not look at you for a beat. Two beats. She stares straight ahead at the exterior of the building when asks,

“You’re investigating the Serial Bereavement cases.”

“Ieiri-san…” you whine, head in your hands. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure no one else is supposed to know…”

“What, don’t trust me? Not like I have any friends around here to tell.”

“That’s, well. That’s not the point. Okkotsu mentioned that this was a sensitive matter, so…”

“Just ‘Okkotsu,’ huh?” She peers sideways at you. “No ‘senpai’? Wow, you two sure got comfortable fast.”

“No, please don’t misunderstand! Because honorifics make him uncomfortable, he asked that we speak casually!”

“I asked you the same.”

Her blunt response stuns you silent. It takes you several seconds to produce a response. “Well, yes. But that’s different…Ieiri-san is older…”

“Not by much.” Finally, she lights the cig in her hand. “Hey, let me ask you something.”

“Okay, please go ahead.”

“It was Investigations who put you on the case? Nobody else was involved?”

Hesitation halts your tongue. Mentally, you are transported back to that fateful day, just a little less than forty-eight hours ago, when your new assignment had been unloaded upon you.

“…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”

“Oh! He specifically requested—”

Gojo was never able to finish his sentence, cut off by Geto’s strategically timed blow. Almost as though the chief was about to reveal something better left unsaid.

You may be a rookie, but you aren’t stupid. There’s a reason why you got this job, after all.

And if you can deduce this much, surely the next conclusion you land on isn’t so far-fetched:

Okkotsu must have personally requested you as a partner.

But the question is…why? You hadn’t been personally acquainted before you’d met outside of the station before heading to your first investigation together. He’s been nothing but kind and respectful – if a little unsettlingly intense, at times, but you think that’s just kind of how he is.

There must be an element that you’re missing from the equation, a piece of the puzzle of which you are not yet aware. It is for this uncertainty that you choose to disclose the truth to Ieiri.

“Okkotsu requested me as his partner.”

Obviously, she asked you for this information because something was dependent upon how you answered. Studying Ieiri’s reaction might be the first step towards unraveling this strange situation.

And react, indeed she does; again, it is quite muted, eroded by years of police work and other unspoken traumas you’re sure lie dormant inside of her mysterious, impenetrable depths. But perhaps it is because of your friendship that Ieiri’s micro-expressions appear to you more as the dramatic admission of feeling that they truly are.

A twitch of the brow, a purse of the lips. Her next exhalation of smoke comes fast and hard, expelled from her mouth in one decisive whoosh of toxic air. Usually, she pays special attention to the wind pattern so that she does not blow smoke in your face. It seems she’s thoroughly perturbed today; the fumes whip you across the cheek and you hack violently in surprise.

Your adverse response snaps her out of the momentary brooding. “Shit, sorry,” she mumbles, quickly removing the cig from her lips and smothering it on the ground. “You alright?”

“J-just fine,” you murmur after one final bout of ear-splitting dry heaves. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

“Shoot.”

“Is it a bad thing that Okkotsu and I are partners?”

Visibly, Ieiri must chew and swallow her initial retort. This is quite unprecedented behavior from the woman with little to no filter on any given occasion. “How are you finding it so far?”

“Well…he’s really considerate. And accommodating. Um, he even revisited the crime scene with me since I’d never been, and he let me read all the letters, too.”

“That’s funny,” says Ieiri, stone-faced. “How did he show you the letters?”

“He said he picked them up from the station before we left. I was quite surprised that he went through all the trouble of doing that, since those kinds of sensitive evidence usually aren’t allowed to leave Forensics…”

“You’re absolutely right. They aren’t.”

“Ah…Okkotsu must have special clearance…?”

“He doesn’t,” Ieiri deadpans.

“…I see…”

Her hands twitch at her sides like she’s itching for another smoke, even though the carcass of her most recent stick still smolders underneath the dagger of her high heel. “Well. You can do whatever you want with Okkotsu. Sounds like you’re in capable, dedicated hands.”

“Huh? Ieiri-san, wh—wait, where are you going--?!”

But before you can finish your panicked inquiry, Ieiri has already blown through the metal door, stomping her way back downstairs to the sixth floor where the Forensics Department awaits her gloomy presence. It’s unlike her to storm off mid-conversation. You’ve never seen her emotions rise above slight annoyance – and that level of frustration is reserved exclusively for the Investigations chief and director. What had you done to provoke even worse of an ire?

Riddled with guilt and anxiety, you wade through the rest of the workday in a foggy, unfocused haze. Okkotsu gives up trying to ask you what is wrong after his third attempt. When you eventually, mercifully fall into bed that night, unshed tears overflow past your clenched, trembling lashes, staining your pillow with sorrows you cannot speak aloud.

Upon waking up, you are granted no reprieve. It is Thursday, the sixth of September. The first Thursday of the month.

You don’t bother with something as trivial as breakfast this morning – not when the thought of what awaits you in the day ahead fills you to the brim with unbearable dread.

Arriving at the police station and getting briefed on the day’s events only confirms your worst fears: there has been another Bereavement at the Joenji graveyard.

This month’s occurrence is twistedly unique.

Accompanying the usual handwritten letter is a fresh, human heart, so red and wet, glistening with fresh gore, that it almost appears to be beating through the still stock photos taken by Field Operations upon first discovery.

Due to your increased status, you are granted clearance to read this month’s note before any other department can get to it. Ieiri is absent from the Forensics office when you rush off the elevator to the sixth floor. One of the interns retrieves the file for you, and you are equal parts eager and terrified to scan its plastic-encased contents.

My Dearly Beloved,

Aimless admiration has thus far sated my yearning soul. Seeing you eat well every day fills my spirit with a sense of completion. I am at ease to watch over you and ensure your wellbeing. But there has been a disturbance. I can feel your increased awareness, like a child opening its eyes to the world for the first time. Coupled with this awareness is a newfound distance between us. Things were going so well. Why now? Why pull away? This can’t be because of me. It must be someone else.

I think I know who.

What must I do to regain your undivided attention? How can I reclaim your primary affections? To experience even an inch of separation, a millimeter of remove, is for my body to undergo countless agonizing deaths.

Will you pay attention to me?

Will you notice me?

Will you choose me?

Look at me.

I serve my beating heart up on a platter just so that your gaze might befall it for the barest of breaths.

Recent events have shown me that I cannot stand idly by any longer while others sneakily and deliberately encroach on our relationship. I’m getting restless. I’ve been waiting quite patiently. Are you as antsy as I am? Soon, you’ll know me as all that I am.

I miss you. I see you every day and I miss you. Come back to me.

Before it’s too late.

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leikeliscomet · 6 months

Text

“But We Love Martha Jones!” - The Doctor Who Fandom’s Selective Memory of Racism

Be aware that this article contains explicit examples of anti-black racism and misogynoir.

Chapter 2 - Utopia-ish

The constant nitpicking of Martha Jones for reasons white female companions could get away with was blatant anti-black racism. Let’s get that bit clear first and foremost. As a Black person in fandom, watching Black characters get torn apart while never being given the grace of their non-Black castmates is an experience that’s too common. Microaggressions are more subtle so the easiest way to shut down any mentions of racism is to accuse Black fans of making things up or telling us “Well it’s not like REAL racism”. Luckily Doctor Who Tumblr birthed the Martha Jones affirmative action and Aunt Jemima “memes” so I can cross both covert and overt racism off the list. As mentioned in extensive detail in the previous chapter, plus the various Martha Jones articles written before me, the treatment Martha experienced was racist. I don’t care if you personally didn’t like her. I don’t care that you missed Rose. I don’t care that Ten is your smol bean. Martha’s treatment was racist. Freema Agyeman’s treatment was racist. It might not have been everyone. It might not have been you personally. But it was there. The fandom can never be a safe space for POC, specifically Black people if this elephant in the room can’t be addressed over a decade after it arrived.

On paper, you’d assume Martha’s rep was good because “at least she wasn’t a Black stereotype”. Some fans praised her for having a present father, not speaking MLE and not being from the ends. This goes into respectability politics but the fandom’s weirdness about Black Brits and class is not the point of this article. The point is the revisionist history of how Martha was really treated and to do that it helps to know what Black tropes are. The Mammy trope is a Black woman whose main purpose is to serve her white counterparts and during slavery, she mainly cared for the slave owners' children. She is usually fat, dark skin and asexual, not as a representation of those things but as a statement of how if she isn’t used for sexual exploitation like the Jezebel (the promiscuous, reckless, sexualised Black woman), she has no sexual value at all. Her value is serving the needs of others only. Martha doesn’t fit this trope in theory but in practice, she fulfils the sub-categories of this trope both in show and fandom: the disposable Black (girl)friend trope. She is used as Ten’s emotional punching bag before he’s ready for Donna and then Rose again. She had to endure edgy moody S3 Ten so no one else had to. She’s the excuse people use to deflect any critical analysis of how race was handled in RTD1. She’s the fandom’s excuse to deflect from their own racial biases. Racism? No way! Everybody loves Martha Jones! What do you mean?

Some parts of the fandom have tried to mend things by suggesting Martha be paired with other doctors or romantically shipping her with other characters a bit better than Mickey Smith. But does this hold up? As much as I’m a big fan NineMartha as a concept and as someone who honestly saw one-off characters like Riley Vashtee from 42 or Tallulah from Daleks in Manhattan having way more romantic chemistry with Martha than Mickey ever did, simply re-shipping Martha isn’t enough. Doctor Who’s racism isn't exclusive to one doctor, one series or one era and new Martha pairings suggest the issue was “right person, wrong doctor” instead of what the issue actually was: racism. Moffat and Chibnall’s eras weren’t full of golden Black representation either so I doubt the Martha issue would’ve magically disappeared under those two. From Nine’s hostility to Mickey, to Twelve’s hostility to Danny Pink to Thirteen handing a South Asian Spymaster to the Nazis and Eleven only travelling with POC in comics most fans haven’t heard of and being besties with Churchill, simply putting Martha with another Doctor isn’t the serve fans think it is. Even RoseMartha seems like putting a bandaid on a bullet hole. If it's not enough for Martha to be compared to Rose, put down in favour of Rose, told she isn’t Rose and told she's worse than Rose in fandom and in show over and over and over, she has to be shipped with Rose too. Martha’s a great character… as long as you can tie her to Rose… again. Even in my own article I have to talk about Rose because Rose is centred in what was supposed to be Martha’s story. A doctor-to-be Black girl from London with a hectic family meets a Time Lord and gets abducted by space rhino police at work in one day. Her main conflict isn’t balancing work and time traveller life, or fighting to get her family back together, or seeing what’s out there in the universe - it's that she isn’t “Rose” enough. The Mammy and her sons’ main thing in common is simple; how well they serve and centre the white characters. In attempts to mend Martha’s treatment she is still only valued in relation to white characters. She should’ve been with Eleven because he would’ve fucked a Black woman. Or maybe Dilfy Twelve. Or a sapphic romance with another female companion who she saw twice or doesn’t actually know. Or maybe Ten in an alternate universe where he supports #nubianqueens. None of this is done to explore sexuality or romance with Black women and is definitely not to centre Black lesbianism and bisexuality. It’s Mammy with a dash of Jezebel. It's adding romantic and sexual value on top of physical and emotional value like a crappy meal deal.

I’m tired of Black women being treated as extensions of white women both in media and in real life. I’m tired of our value being determined by how well we serve white people emotionally, physically, platonically and sexually. And I'm even more tired of white feminism especially in this fandom. It would be so easy to label this article as anti-Rose, anti-Ten or anti-Tenrose to invalidate my whole racial analysis because it's the easy way out. I’ll admit I like both characters individually but not the ship but this isn’t something I decided on since birth - it's my conclusion as a Black fan in a predominantly white fandom, watching a predominantly white show, watching the first companion of my race be told she isn’t good enough compared to the white characters, and that the hatred of her is justified for the greater good of its popular white ship. Black fans can never have this conversation without being told we’re “pitting women against each other” and that Martha and Rose hugged once in S4 so everything's hunky dory. Martha’s happy that Ten found Rose again so what’s the problem? It sends a clear message that Black women’s pain will never matter a much as white women’s feelings. “Rose is amazing! Martha’s amazing! Stop pitting women against women!” but who was pit against who in the first place? These faux girl power posts fail to acknowledge the overlap of race and gender which separates the treatment of Black and white women. It fails to acknowledge Martha’s hate was rooted in anti-black racism. It fails to acknowledge the anti-Rose pushback was in response to how the show and fandom convinced us Rose was the untouchable bar this Black woman failed to meet. It fails to acknowledge Freema Agyeman the actress was targeted not just her character. It fails because the female empowerment rhetoric that leaves the Black ones at the bottom of the pile only “empowers” women of a certain demographic.

The harassment Martha experienced was swept under the rug of “stan wars” but it was so much deeper than that. I’m not saying Martha stans are angels but there was no “Great Stan War” because the sides were never even. At the end of the day no amount of “Martha’s better than Rose” tweets will ever compare to the fact that Martha hate was rooted in misogynoir. Rose was and still is considered the greatest companion of nuwho, whilst Martha is constantly erased and undervalued. Rose’s video views and hashtags have always been bigger than Martha’s. Amy and Clara came after Martha but still surpassed her in popularity and got plenty of fan edits of “The Girl Who Waited” and “The Impossible Girl” whilst Martha was conveniently skipped in the companion lineup. The fandom’s bias still shines clearly in favour of Rose over Martha. Rose’s jealousy towards other women is justifiable and just the ups and downs of a 19-year-old whilst Martha’s is entitled bitterness. Rose’s flaws are compelling character moments and depth, Martha’s are “holding her back from being a good companion”. Hell, even Donna calling out Ten’s BS was entertaining accountability whilst Martha was just the angry Black woman. Fans will weaponise Rose’s working-class roots to imply a pro-Martha bias, failing to acknowledge the working-class to poor background of the average Black Brit, the anti-blackness middle-class Black people are not spared from, the many working-class Black characters of the show like Mickey, Bill, Rigsy and Ryan or how most fans don’t consider Martha middle class because she doesn’t fit the white British cultural stereotypes. You can't be the most loved and hated at the same time. The hard truth is Billie Piper wasn’t racially abused by Martha stans but Freema was absolutely racially abused by Rose’s and the effects of this are still around. Go into Martha Jones tags today and you’ll see snarky posts of how Ten could never love another companion like Rose. Even when Freema bravely shared her experiences of literal racism, fans were quick to yell “But I wanted Ten and Rose though” as a justification for years of misogynoir. Again, we need to address the elephant in the room instead of covering our eyes and ears to act like it’s not there. A Black character and actress was collateral damage in order for a popular white ship to rise and whilst I’m not an anti, I as a Black Doctor Who fan, I’ll never be a supporter. At the end of the day, only one of these actresses is still carrying the burden of misogynoir over 10 years since RTD1 ended. A lonely walk across the Earth yet again.

<- Chapter 1 Chapter 3 ->

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mitsua · 24 days

Text

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff

Series: 𝐁𝐨��𝐮 𝐍𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚

Y/n's: . . . GN!

Words count: 494

We're both sleeping on the couch

It's been a tough day at Izuku's work as the #1 hero of Japan, just as each day was. With a slight difference that almost costs your relationship.

It was as if every bad thought he might have had for the past years just became truth in one day.

So to say he was far beyond exhausted was an understatement. He kindly let you know he'd be coming home later than usual (said usual normally being 12a.m.), so you could sleep without worrying.

How could you not worry about him if his voice over phone sounded so rough, raspy and tired with everything he might be living in those offices right now?

This made you remember every time Midoriya got his way out of reunions or late nights to be with you for at least some hours when you called him and expressed your fatigue.

You would not leave him at his own now. Not ever.

So you quickly glanced at the clock as you said your goodbyes and ended the call. 9:48 p.m.

Yeah you could do something about it.

You arrived at his agency half an hour later, with a bigger than usual bag and a blanket perfectly folded under your free arm which helped you open the gigantic glass doors which welcomed any citizen that might be in trouble along the best heroes of the country.

This entrance always gave you chills as you recalled when Izuku spent days and days deciding how to decorate his agency in a way it felt comfortable with everyone, yet it got some of his unique traits like some walls were green-coloured.

You had to take the elevator once the secretary recognized you as his boss's partner.

Finally, opening the last door was a relief for you, but a surprise for your freckled-fiancé. His face changing from confusion to happiness to confusion again since he told you not to worry about him.

"Wha-Why?" he asked, his finger pointing at the things you were carrying, his other hand still with yesterday's and today's patrol reports he had to review.

"Let me tell you a little story about a boy who used to listen to a certain person whining about their day when they were younger, I really admire that boy 'cause he did everything he could no matter what the time or weather was, he'd go with them and accompany them by himself". You said smiling all the way to the wood table his grand officine had, starting to pull out some plastic cutlery and tuppers with fresh food, then, extending the blanket at the couch infront of it all.

Izuku had left all his work by now to stare at your gentle gestures, the care that you held while putting perfectly everything in place for a little time off for yourselves. He had never felt fuller than now, finding comfort in your acts, he let himself drown in this love of yours.

Written by: Mitsua (Credit to their respective owners of the pictures and tagged series' character)

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kun3ho141 · 24 days

Text

This image does not belong to me. All credit is due to its respective owner.

Inspiration: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: After accepting the fact that he'd never intertwine his life with another's, he crosses paths with you. Now, all he desires is to take your hand in marriage.

Word-Count: 1.1K

Warnings: None

☆ Reblog, Comment, and Like ☆

I do not permit others to translate or republish my works on this platform or any other A.I. program.

A/N: Have you seen the TikTok trend where military personnel highlight their partners or loved ones using one of Hoizer's songs? This trend actually inspired me, and I created a scenario based on it.

Thank you for reading!! ♡

Simon 'Ghost' Riley, the notorious special forces operative, is a figure known and dreaded by various specialized groups. Wearing a skull mask, it represents a wounded and solitary side of his character, a fragment that still bears the scars and fractures from the trials he’s encountered. After enduring brutal torture, losing his loved ones, and immersing himself in a military career, he had accepted a life of solitude, convinced that he could never intertwine his life with another’s.

Yet, as he stands at the altar, surrounded by his teammates, they watch as you make your way down the aisle.

At that moment, time seems to stand still for Simon. His hardened exterior, built over years of pain and loss, collapses as he admires you, revealing a vulnerability he never thought he’d experience again. Nevertheless, as his gaze meets yours, he feels a glimmer of hope, a sentiment he links solely to you.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Simon spent years reaching this point, with you gradually breaking down Ghost. Progress wasn't consistent, with some days being more successful than others. While his defenses only crumbled for you, you played a significant role in shaping his current character. You healed someone who believed he would only break further, someone who considered himself irreparable. You provided him with hope, love, a confidant, and a secure place to call home. After years of knowing Ghost, you crossed paths with Simon. Your Simon…

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Facing each other, the world around him begins to blur. The instrumental music and officiant's words fade into the background as he studies you, captivated by your radiance. His focus narrows, fixated solely on your silhouette. He’s always found you beautiful, whether you're dressed in tactical gear, casual clothing, or simply bare. However, seeing you in a wedding dress, with your veil gracefully cascading over your hair, he believes that you’ve never looked more gorgeous.

Following the officiant's opening remarks and readings, the exchange of vows takes place. Simon, appreciative of you and all that you’ve done for him, healing him in ways no one else could, ensured his vows were perfect. Without your knowledge, he had rehearsed his vows prior to the wedding day, dedicating time to writing, revising, and practicing them repeatedly. Instead of relying on a written script, he chose to look directly into your eyes during that moment.

“My love, when I was cast aside by others, left fractured and isolated, you didn't turn away. Although I’ll never understand why, you offered me your love. With that love came a sense of belonging, a life I never thought I’d experience. You never once considered giving up on me when I seemed beyond hope,” he expresses, his voice faltering as tears stream down his face. In your peripheral vision, you noticed his teammates smiling, witnessing Simon's presence after years of working alongside Ghost.

“You cherished every aspect of me, even the sharp edges that wounded you. You polished them down with your love, shaping me into the man I am today. In this moment, all I desire is to spend eternity with you," Simon declared, his eyes glistening with tears as he gazed at you. His voice remained strong, despite the tears cascading down his cheeks. He knew he had to be strong, just as you had been for him throughout the years.

"I, Simon Riley, take you to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. And if there exists an afterlife, may our marriage endure beyond the grave,” he concludes, a gentle smile gracing his face. Tears stream down his cheeks, and he exchanges nods with his groomsmen, acknowledging their silent support.

Tears fill your eyes as his words sink in. Despite your efforts to stay calm, your emotions flood over you. Reflecting on how much you’ve both grown, memories flash through your mind like scenes from a film.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Reciting your vows becomes a challenge, as you have to stop several times to compose yourself. Your voice trembles, but you compensate with a tearful smile. Simon gazes at you with admiration, witnessing as you profess your love for him just as he did for you. Your tears and faltering voice do not deter him, but rather intensify his love for you.

“...take you to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. And should an afterlife exist, I will happily hold your hand as we walk the expanses of our universe." You conclude your vows by promising to take his hand in marriage; during your lifetime and long after. Your eyes meet, unwavering, reveling in the romantic hues reflected in each other's gaze.

Upon finishing your vows, Johnny emerges from the line of groomsmen, presenting you and Simon with each other's rings, signaling his approval with a nod before returning to his place. Drawing closer, you and Simon intertwine hands, his touch tenderly guiding yours. Never did he imagine that his hands, typically calloused and stained with blood, would be adorning your finger with such a delicate stone. A symbol of his affection for you.

The ring is delicately placed on your finger, causing the beautifully cut diamond to sparkle in the glow of the cathedral lights. You gaze at the stone, admiring its beauty before sliding your husband’s band onto his finger. The wedding band bears both of your initials on the exterior and the date of your wedding inscribed within. Raising your eyes, you meet Simon's loving gaze, reciprocating the smile.

With the approval of your officiant, his hands glide to your waist while your arms elegantly drape over his broad shoulders. Drawing you closer, your lips meet simultaneously, holding onto you as if he’d never see you again. The applause from the intimate gathering fades into the background as he gently dips you, his hands tenderly supporting your back. Your lips linger against each other for a few moments before you both reluctantly part, resting your foreheads against each other in a moment of pure affection.

“I love you,” he confesses In a hushed whisper, a declaration meant only for your ears. A gentle smile graces your lips as you separate from him, your hand tenderly caressing his cheek, tracing the scars that have become so dear to you.

"I love you more, Simon."

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hooter-n-company · 2 months

Text

Based on the results of the last poll, it's time to introduce this fella (as well as his family) to Hooter's line-up! Special thanks to @amanofhamm, the co-owner of these characters. He's the one who pitched the idea in the first place, and came up with most of the written info about them and the world they live in.

Bulzar is part of a race of desert dwelling reptilian giant, known as the Meradon. Voracious, gluttonous, gruff, crude, and harboring an intense distrust of humans, he's a terror to the unfortunate (and delicious) travelers who accidentally cross his path. He takes immense pride in his size, strength, and appetite, although he's certainly not the sharpest tool in the shed. Despite his ferocity, he is an incredibly loving and protective father of one, named Miko. He may be stern at times, but he will sacrifice anything for his son, even if it means giving up a few live meals to avoid upsetting his strictly vegetarian child.

More info under the cut:

Name: Bulzar

Pronouns: He/him

Age: Late 30s to early 40s (in Giant years)

Species: Meradon

Role: Pred

Height: 50 ft tall

Abilities: Immense size and strength, resistance to extreme heat, can survive long periods without food or water

Likes: Meat (especially the squirmy variety), melons, pumpkins, hot weather, sunbathing, isolation, long naps, defending his territory, oases with plenty of water, scaring humans, showing off his scars, making Miko smile, happy memories of his mate

Dislikes: Humans (with a few rare exceptions), poachers, other desert monsters, dark magic, cold weather, dry spells, hard to digest plants, giving up live meals, Miko in distress/danger, showing vulnerability or weakness, grieving his mate

Other Info:

- When he was younger, Bulzar was captured and brutalized by a band of humans who intended to brainwash him. He managed to break free and devoured his captors, but kept the chains around his wrists and ankles. He thinks they make him look badass.

-He met a female Meradon named Demeera while in captivity, freeing her during his escape. They would soon become a mated pair with an incredibly close bond, eventually having a son together. Not too long after Miko's birth, Demeera would contract a serious illness. Despite his best efforts, Bulzar didn't have the resources or medical knowledge to help her, and she passed away while Miko was still a baby.

- While Bulzar has a serious dislike of humans, the one exception is a trio of human bounty hunters: Balroc, Owin, and Grimaldus. The three healed Miko's injuries after he was attacked by hunters, and despite getting off to a VERY bad start with the lil' Meradon's father (who ate Balroc and quickly regretted it), they would sort things out and be on generally friendly terms from that point on

-Raising Miko, he quickly discovered his son's aversion to killing/eating animals, something quite rare for omnivorous Meradons. While Bulzar is bothered that Miko refuses to eat meat with him, he still respects his son's wishes and will hold off on hunting for prey when Miko is present.

#hoot hoots #hooter’s ocs #character bio #bulzar #miko #hooter draws

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writingseaslugs · 2 years

Text

Hello everyone, and welcome to the Lounge! I'm the owner, and you can call me either Salt or Slug, whichever suits your fancy (They/He). This is a side blog for all my fandom writing. I'm currently whipping up drinks for Twisted Wonderland and Obey Me, but Genshin Impact might soon join the menu as well.

This is your directory for all the locations of my Lounge, so please continue on if you'd like to sip on some of the cocktails. Please keep in mind that this is an 18+ bar, so if you're under the age of 18, please leave and return once you're the proper age to sit at our bar.

Request Information | AU Information | Tips on Writing Headcanons | How To Start Your Own Request Blog | Mini Smut Writing Tutorial

Here's our bar, where we have themed menus. We do have some virgin drinks, that are always marked with SFW, and then our hard liquor that's marked with NSFW. If you'd like to make a custom order, please look over our bar rules before making your order!

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Obey Me's Menu

These are our tables that you can sit at. We have a few different areas, and if you'd like to meet some of our regular's, then look no further.

These are the VIP's, the ones whom I talk to or have interactions with often, and have a special place at the bar. @twistedchatterbox @queeniesrose @angrylilcyclops @the-mermaid-of-the-stars @hoboyherewego @v-anrouge @twstfournights @wysteriadelights

Here's a few regulars that often come up to the bar and chat, or even order (If you'd like to have a custom anon name, please ask in the inbox so I can add it to the list. No Emoji's Please):

Floyd's-Dick-In-A-Box Anon

Long Island Iced Tea Anon

At this bar we are kind to one another, and treat everyone with respect. Please be kind to one another while you're here, and not judge. There might sometimes be triggering topics brought up in conversation or writing, but there will always be a warning to let you know before you click it.

This is an 18+ bar and we have several harder drinks here. Again, there will always be a warning as to what the story is so you can decide if you'd like to order the drink. If it's not to your taste, don't drink it. Don't complain just because you disliked it, please. Everyone likes different drinks.

We also don't tolerate people remaking my drinks and serving it at other blogs. Again do not repost or copy my content onto other platforms. I have an AO3 that I sometimes post on, "BleepSheeps".

If there's anything you don't want to see, we have custom tags here that you can block. The tags are as follows:

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- Slug Reblogs Stuff: This is the tag I'll be using for all my reblogs.

- Slug Polls: This is for whenever I'm doing a poll and need input on what's going to be written and posted next on the blog!

- Slug Announcements: Whenever I make announcements about things going on in the blog, this will be used from now on. If you want to be kept up to date on what's going on and future plans, don't block this tag. If you really don't care about what's going on, then by all means, block it.

If you only want to see written content on my blog, then simply block all the hashtags above. If you want to see everything I have to offer, then don't. It's up to you to customize what you see.

If you're thinking about starting your own bar, then I have a few helpful tips and tutorials on how you can get started!

Starting a Request Blog

Tips on Writing Headcanons

Mini Smut Writing Tutorial

#masterlist

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cienie-isengardu · 5 months

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MK1 fanfiction

EDIT: now all chapters will be collected under the title of Cracked mirror of black, cold soul

No one asked for it, but as I did not get enough Bi-Han & Shang Tsung interaction, I was forced to write about them myself. The first part is at least done, we will see if I managed to finish the second. Mainly written as a character study of MK1!Shang Tsung, a bit about his relationship with Damashi, General Shao and potential partnership with Sub-Zero post story-mode.

There was a time when Shang Tsung was nothing more than just a pitiful loser clinging to an even more pathetic life. All he could do to survive was to pretend to be someone else, someone better, wiser; someone worthy of trust, someone people like and listen to. Lying to people was easy. Lying to himself anyone would care if he died came much harder and harder with each passing day.

Then came Damashi and offered him not only power but also kindness, a praise for making progress, be it for fulfilling her plans or for his own growing skills. He would gladly burn the world just to earn her smile, a good word, anything really. She made him for the first time in a long long time feel valued, appreciated, even liked despite who he was under all the polite words and charming smiles.

But that was a lie too. A lie he foolishly fell for, like a stray, hungry dog falls for a kind pat on the head and a little treat before the new owner will kick it for fun.

Shang Tsung was many things but definitely not a dog to be kicked, be it by Liu Kang or his Titan self. If none of the gods cared for him, he wouldn't care for them either. And now, after he ran away from prison and a terrifying storm washed him ashore on a deserted island full of magic secrets to unlock, he had time and means to repay each of his pursuers, to make all the realms if not respect his skills then fear them.

Since Damashi’s - his own Titan self’s - betrayal many days and nights have passed and with each Shang Tsung’s mastery of magic grew stronger, his knowledge deepened, his confidence restored and strengthened. He claimed the island as his new home, the impregnable fortress secured by the most wicked, devilish and brilliant traps he could think about and for the first time in ages, he finally felt like belonging to the right place.

It was as good a life as it could be. Not perfect, as Shang Tsung still needed to figure out how to secure his food supplies before he would tame the wild land, unused for years and maybe the animals lurking in the shadows could be useful too. A domestic cattle would be a great addition for sure, as it was the only type of animal he had any skill to maintain but then again, there was no way he would engage in tedious farming. He had no time nor patience for that kind of work yet he did not want any stranger on his island either. All he could do for now was to eat the catched fishes and some plucked from tree fruits while bringing all the needed ingredients and supplies from a quick trip to the land. Using magic portals was a tricky solution - magic brought unwanted attention and once used, always left some traits to follow but after the last storm he did not feel safe on a boat sailing through the open sea. On the land, he did run into some of his former allies, exchanged important news and some secrets here and there, never truly betraying where he was hiding. The General and his men treated Shang Tsung with suspicion, always demanding more than he offered. On the other hand, he and Quan Chi worked well in the past, but after the last betrayal, Shang Tsung couldn’t trust anyone anymore. Everyone blamed him for his Titan self’s lies, like he was the one lying to them all. The Royal Family wanted his head, the Earthrealm Champions hunted him too. It was a mess, amusing and irritating at the same time.

He was going to deal with that matter too, when the right time came. For now, Shang Tsung enjoyed the new found magic - the power awaiting for those who will dare to reach out for it. A power he didn’t need to share with anyone.

Everything would feel much better though if Sub-Zero didn’t somehow find a way to break into his new home like all the deviously set up traps meant nothing.

Shang Tsung should know something was off the moment he felt coldness creeping into his bones, but in all fairness, it was always cold here. He did not have yet an idea how to heat the interior of an abandoned fortress and as much as he liked to not freeze in his own sleep, luxury like that was not on his priority list. He should be more cautious, more focused on the change in the air about him than walking straight into his own room and then be dumstocked at the sight of Sub-Zero looking through his books as if he had lived here forever and Shang Tsung was the unwanted guest.

“Your security is shitty” was all he got as a greeting. Cold, sharp, uncaring words judging him as an incompetent idiot. The bastard did not even bother to look at him, just kept rummaging through the books like it was the only thing worth this attention.

Shang Tsung wasn’t sure what offended him more - being ignored or watching as his precious belongings were touched without his permission. He liked books way more than he liked people.

In the last few years he killed people for less than that yet he smiled his most charming smile, the gears in his head working fast and furious on how to turn the unpleasant situation for his own advantage. The fact that Sub-Zero allowed him to see himself in the open instead of lurking in the shadows to cut his throat gave Shang Tsung a reason for a bit of optimism. As far as he heard from his former, maybe-still-maybe-not allies, Lin Kuei rejected Liu Kang’s authority and were on their own. It of course did not mean that Sub-Zero was his friend or ally nor that he wouldn't murder Shang Tsung at the end of day, either to reconcile with Fire Lord or to bribe the god to let the Lin Kuei be in peace.

Shang Tsung couldn’t blame Bi-Han for that - in this cruel world, everyone was looking after their own best interest, but the vision of losing his life did not sit well with him at all. He wasn’t afraid of fighting and he did beat down great Champions in the last battle, but out of all opponents, it was Sub-Zero's ice axe that was the closest to beheading him for good.

He did not plan to forget that anytime soon.

“What an unexpected surprise,” he said, all the soft, so sweet smile, velvet voice and sharp eyes analyzing the danger standing before him. “What can I do for you, my friend? Or did you just miss my humble company?”

He teased with feigned innocence because men hated when he said ridiculous stuff like that. Shang Tsung hated it himself, because he knew no one would miss him at all.

“For one, drop the false politeness” came Sub-Zero’s cold reply, a mix of disapproval and command that Shang Tsung was so used to, because this was how people treated him, the real him, all his life. “We are not friends.”

There was a flare of anger in Shang Tsung now, the desire to prove himself the superior, not a pitiful dog anyone could kick and command - but he knew better than to allow this fire to burn inside him. Emotions were a weakness he couldn’t afford. Did the man even know how much he provoked the sorcerer with his cold disdain? Shang Tsung had no idea. He heard a lot of stories about Lin Kuei; even in the backwater hole from which he crawled out everyone heard the terrifying tales of Fire Lord’s secret army. Of the ice demons stealthier than shadows and more deadly than night itself and for a long time Shang Tsung did not think of them as living beings from this world.

Still… Sub-Zero was mortal, wasn’t he? A special one no doubt, with control over ice yet he could bleed too. Shang Tsung wondered for a moment what he could find under the fine, cold skin if he ever had a chance to look for the answer. An ice demon, human or hybrid of both?

“But we are still allies, aren’t we?” he asked, still polite and careful, yet walking up to the other man with his typical swagger. Not close enough to be in arm reach, but close enough to show he wasn’t that easily intimidated.

The great military hero of Edenia always looked down on his movements; how he fought, how he gesticulated, how he walked. No self-respecting soldier would walk like some pleased prostitute after a well-paid job, the General said not once nor twice and all Shang Tsung could do then was to smile the brightest smile and thank him, like his disdain was the best praise he heard that day. The only thing they really have in common, beside the desire to take down Sindel’s regime, was being self-made men for both worked hard to be who they were. Yet General came from an old, aristocratic family with even older military tradition and everything that did not fit his narrow-minded idea of the world was treated with hostility and contempt.

Shang Tsung’s skinny body, swagger, shrewdness, curiosity and wordiness unsurprisingly annoyed the great warrior and to say he took no pleasure in that fact would be a blatant lie. Even if it was childish and unproductive pleasure, it amused him to know how little effort he needed to test the patience of such a stern and manly man.

Sub-Zero reminded him a lot of Shao and he suspected it was the soldier thing; the body built for fight and hardship, no-nonse attitude and the way both men moved - with deadly precision and confidence only a person that in fact killed an enemy in battle could muster. Even the way they spoke sounded similar, a barked command that everyone around instinctively wanted to obey, either out of respect or fear.

For that similarity alone, Shang Tsung expected the Lin Kuei Grandmaster to snarl at him some nasty remark about how his Titan self betrayed them all and thus how little he himself was worth of anyone’s trust. Anything to put the sorcerer down even a bit, to remind him what a failure he was.

“That is yet to be seen” was all the Grandmaster said, finally glancing from the book to Shang Tsung.

It was hard to read anything from the man’s face, as half of it was hidden behind that damned Lin Kuei mask. All he could do was to rely on the move of a brew and the incantation of voice, each syllable, a moment of pause. It was a hard task, as the man showed no emotions and spoke so little so far. But the sorcerer knew there was anger, always lurking in each word spoken by Sub-Zero, but also… an excitement at finally being free of Liu Kang’s control. As Damashi foretold.

Shang Tsung couldn’t help but to think there was something much deeper about Damashi's interest in breaking Lin Kuei from Fire Lord than he ever suspected before. Back then the choice sounded logical - every action that would deprive Liu Kang of the advantage was worth taking so he did not question his benefactor. How could he, really? Now though? The truth burned him to the core and he learned the hard way that each of Damashi’s words had a hidden meaning, each action served a different goal than was promised; the victory he was in fact never part of. Yet… even the deepest shade of lie had a grain of truth. He knew that one well, for he lied all his life.

His Titan self for some reason wanted not so much the Lin Kuei itself as the Sub-Zero specifically on his side. Maybe more than Titan Shang Tsung even wanted his own younger self, corrupted by Liu Kang.

The mere thought made him want to curse all gods alike. There was no difference for him between Liu Kang and his Titan-self, as both played him like some pawn, not even an important figure. Just pawn, to hold away from power, to sacrifice it when times would come.

But there was more to it than just jealous anger and the never ending feeling of never being good enough. If Sub-Zero meant so much, if not in the grand scheme of things itself then just for personal satisfaction of Titan, then maybe he could be important to Shang Tsung’s own plans. Allies were hard to come by and these days he could use some, well, not protection really, he was done with living under someone else's wing but he wouldn’t say no to some partnership or at least casual support. The little favor here and there where things were still thick and troublesome to deal on your own. After all, freedom always came at some cost.

Maybe Sub-Zero came to the same conclusion and his unexpected visit was just a reconnaissance. They were more alike than one would think, as similar desires drove them into this madness of Titans. To prove their own might and skills to all those that looked down on them their whole life. But above everything else, to be free and powerful enough to keep that freedom.

To his own surprise, Shang Tsung took comfort in that thought.

If they were meant to stay allies - or as close two stubborn outcasts with grudge against gods could rely on each other, some sacrifices were to be made. Shang Tsung did something he rarely did - he dropped the false politeness under which he hid himself for years.

“How did you find me?” he asked Sub-Zero directly, raising his chin challengingly. He was not afraid of Lin Kuei, just curious.

“You are not as careful as you think you are” Bi-Han answered with no less challenging stare, yet the flick of an amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. Shang Tsung knew the man was smirking under that damned mask and that thought alone made him puff in anger.

The brown eyes shone even more.

Sub-Zero moved from his place, slowly walking from one bookshelf to another. His fingers traced books, never stopping at any particular volume, but always touching the book spines, like there was something interesting in their textures. The man did not pay attention to Shang Tsung and not really to books either. He was studying the room itself. The sorcerer couldn’t place why it bothered him so much but he knew better than to allow Sub-Zero to learn even the most trivial things about himself or his fortress.

Damashi warned him against that the first day when she spoke about Lin Kuei. They are thieves, the mysterious being said, all grace and patience and praise for the unwanted Shang Tsung who drank in her words like the wisdom of gods, who will steal your fortune, life and secrets. Always be on your guard around them, especially around the one named Sub-Zero. If only he was smarter back then, less in need to please his generous benefactor, maybe he could hear in her sweet voice the longing for something, someone, that was not anymore. For the old partnership that was broken and defiled by Liu Kang’s peaceful vision of the world. But he was a fool who thought her yearning was for him alone.

Shang Tsung was done with being played like a fool.

“Who told you about my island?” he demanded, voice still quiet yet no less burning with an old anger. He would get his answers, whatever kindly or by force.

A long sigh escaped Sub-Zero’s lips and frankly it took him out by surprise. Shang Tsung - or rather his Titan self - knew the man was running on frustration for years, but that sounded as a whole new level of annoyance.

“I heard about it from Havik, who heard that from Rain, who heard that from Reiko, who heard that from Shao, who heard about it from Quan Chi. But the whole Sun Do is full of similar gossip.”

For a moment none of them spoke. Shang Tsung stared at Sub-Zero’s impassive, half-hidden face that still somehow emanated his disgust at their maybe-allies-maybe-not-but-definitely-idiots who apparently couldn’t keep a secret to save their own life. The feeling was mutual, because this was the reason why the sorcerer hated working with others. No one apparently could keep their mouth shut down if you didn’t help make that permanently.

He closed eyes and rubbed his forehead, like that could ward off all the bad thoughts assaulting his mind right now. His fingers were cold, too cold for his liking, unpleasantly stiff and numb. He did not like how the mere presence of a cryomancer affected his body, how it made him shiver and weak. He was an Edenian for fuck’s sake, and Edenia did not even know what winter cold was. He did not know that himself, until Damashi led him to a snow-covered fortress and he almost freezed there the first night.

It took him a moment to realize something bad was happening. He couldn’t focus, all his senses dulled, body so clumsy and weak. As if his energy suddenly dropped to zero and fatigue was taking over. A flash of panic crossed his mind, but he was too tired, too cold to even be afraid for his life.

He had no idea how long he remained in the grip of this piercing soul frost. A few seconds? Days? He couldn’t even say. What mattered was that once the control of his senses came back, he was still alive and Sub-Zero gone.

And the fact the bastard stole a few of his precious scrolls and books.

***

The books showed up on his desk a few days later. There was no thank you or sorry about that note, not even the fuck you, loser. Shang Tsung both admired the man's boldness and hated him for it. Still he appreciated the books were returned in a good condition, as there was not a single scratch on any of them, not even a new page crease. He had no idea if that was some sort of weird Lin Kuei’s way to test him, disrespect or Sub-Zero took the books simply because he wanted to read them but he was a bastard with no sense of social politeness to just ask as any normal human being would. Damashi mentioned cryomancers were naturally difficult like that.

Shang Tsung had better things to do than to wonder what the check was wrong with Sub-Zero yet he was too curious for his own sake. Sadly, the titles alone did not say anything useful on the matter and even though he read each book just in case, there was hardly anything worth the time it took to finish them. No grand secrets revealed, no magic or military knowledge, not even historical value. Just some technical nonsense that bore him to death and if Sub-Zero was into stuff like that then no wonder the man lacked any social grace.

The Grandmaster of Lin Kuei so far did not try to kill him and returned the books so Shang Tsung decided to give him the benefit of doubt and so he did not cross out the man from the list of potential allies. It did not stop him however from improving the traps just in case the man decided to return solely to steal again.

***

The scrolls showed up on his desk three days later. Their appearance actually worried Shang Tsung, not just because the trap again turned out to be useless. He was not worried even by the possibility Sub-Zero found some secret entrance he did not know about yet. No, what worried him was the fact he spent the whole morning in his chamber and walked out for like twenty minutes at best and when he returned, the scrolls WERE. THERE.

That actually unnerved him much more than he wanted to admit.

The scrolls turned out to be written in a language Shang Tsung did not even know and the implication that Lin Kuei could read it only added to the feeling of cold unease. There was however a note left on the scrolls; a small paper with only Royal Army searching the coast written in Shang Tsung’s own language.

He was not afraid of empress Mileena’s army but he did appreciate the warning. Of course, the warning could be a fraud, a means to build trust only to betray him. The common sense advised caution yet there was a weird sense of peace within Shang Tsung. A hope or hunch, he did not know, but deep in his heart he felt everything was alright.

All he could do for now was wait to see if Sub-Zero will lead the enemy to his fortress or not. So he waited.

(The fact that another book disappeared with Sub-Zero did not surprise him much. Irritated, yes, but not worried. For some reason he felt everything was like it should be, like some almost forgotten memory of past life came back to him and the sense of deja vu was weirdly comforting.)

#mortal kombat #shang tsung #bi han #sub zero #cienie's fanfiction #and to think i started to write if for the cat propaganda that i did not use yet lol #i'm here for #bi han and shang tsung #relationship colored by various source material #sub zero's love for ancient scrolls full of secret knowledge though in this fic he steals stuff for sektor's project from the mk1 ending #and how he get inside a highly secured places #and don't tell me i'm the only one to think damashi was special person to shang tsung #also lol at how all of the bad guys gossip no one in mk cast know what secret means or what? XD #as for bi han's powers i was inspired by mk book i guess #and it turned out like he changed the ambient temperature unnoticed until it was too late and then get the hell away with books XD

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leportraitducadavre · 6 months

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You know there’s a weird connection between the fandom’s perceived idea of “good writing” and their personal feelings about specific characters. “I like this character, therefore, they’re well written” and viceversa, “I dislike this character, therefore, they’re badly written” –I’ve seen this in many fandoms and with different characters, but there’s no fandom where this is more noticeable than in the “anti Sakura” portion of the audience.

Before we start, let me be clear on something: I don’t personally like Sakura, I don’t consider myself a fan of hers (or her stans, which are just as annoying as Hinata’s), nor I believe she’s the “heroine” of a story that has no room for a character with such status (I’ve said this before, Naruto is the hero and Sasuke is the antagonist -there’s no necessity nor space for anyone else as Sakura is merely the female character with most panel time, yet she doesn’t move the plot forward and she isn’t relevant to the development of other key characters, as most of them completely ignore her existence).

“Likeability” isn’t a determining factor when it comes to labelling a character “well” or “badly” written, such notion relies on subjective factors which makes it impossible to objectively determine the overall value of a character inside a story.

The most important factor to label a character “goodly written” has more to do with how well they represent their theological narrative. For instance, Danzo -who I genuinely despise, is amazingly written, as he spot on tackles the subject of extreme-nationalistic world view, while Itachi -on the other hand, is sort-of all over the place as he subscribes to Danzo’s ideology and defends it with the same actions, yet Kishimoto desperately wanted to keep him inside the “good guys” group, which ultimately failed and took down anything Itachi might have had going for him (besides other inconsistencies as he’s presented as a genius who made nothing but mistake after mistake). There’s a reason why the antagonists are often the ones with the best characterizations, as they aren’t tied to been “morally correct” or “likeable” in order to reflect their thematic plot, which is why the better characters in Naruto happen to be Uchiha (Sasuke, Obito, Madara).

Sakura has no weight inside the plot, as she is mostly used for support of either Naruto and (to a lesser extent) Sasuke, she stands narratively in the same spectrum as most “good” characters of the show, so she’s thematically not much more relevant than the rest of K-11; yet she’s given more depth than many other characters, as she’s a layered character of whom we see both her strengths and flaws, something we can’t say for other characters, such as Hinata.

In the Hyüga princess™’s case, her personality is mostly one dimensional as she is a thematic piece used to deepen Neji’s character. In case you haven’t noticed, she was constructed in opposition to him: She needs to be shy in order for Naruto to take pity on her when Neji insults her (as Neji is mostly arrogant and outspoken), she’s comically bad because Neji is a prodigy, she’s “a freak” (said by Naruto himself) because Neji isn't, she’s a slave owner because Neji is her slave, and so on –the only thing she has that wasn’t built in order to oppose her cousin was her infatuation with Naruto, something she makes a priority.

Everything we “know” about Hinata was mostly fandom-made, Hinata is shy and soft spoken, why is she considered “nice”? We never saw her worrying about anyone but Naruto: She was glad Kiba lost his match and offered Naruto the ointment to treat his wounds, she diminished her cousin’s trauma and endorsed the oppressive system of her clan, we never see her visiting Kiba after he returned from his mission to bring Sasuke back to Konoha (something we see Ino and Sakura do with their respective teammates, and while Hinata was recovering from Neji’s attack, she had enough strength to train and go see the Chünin Exams final stage, at no point is mentioned she was bed-ridden, as Sasuke had enough time to recover from Gaara’s attack before escaping the village), she thought about Naruto’s warm hand seconds after her cousin died and she was the only character not shown to be glad about Shikamaru being alive as we saw her pouting and thinking about how much she wanted to be beside Naruto. Furthermore, is there any scene in which she appears where she’s not thinking or talking about Naruto or where he is not the main focus?

How come a character designed to be nothing more than support (for Neji and Naruto, as her infatuation with him was built in order to have some oppositional force to the idea of “nobody likes him”, as Naruto has an unrequited love for Sakura during the whole duration of the manga) is “better written” than Sakura, who despite herself being also support she has far more thematically ground to move around (Kishimoto explores through her different themes, even if they aren’t relevant to the plot itself, such as romantical obsession, low self-esteem and the decisions/characteristics that are driven by it, female friendship, and few others).

Honest question: It’s her sad background reason enough to like Hinata? Do you truly need a “compelling” backstory in order to claim a character is “better written” than others? Sakura was bullied because she was shy, Hinata -being the Hyüga heir, wasn’t shown to suffer the same fate at the hands of her classmates. Think about it this way, while Sakura was being bullied and had to be helped by Ino, Hinata was being trained by her father and witnessing Hiashi torture her uncle while Neji cried, helpless! –and just a few years later, she used that exact knowledge to insult him! So she’s not really that nice after all!

What is it with the obsession of both fandoms with the idea of “potential” and how, apparently, they were “robbed of it” (what “potential”? When did Hinata even hint at improving her fighting techniques? She was defeated every single time! When did Sakura, who canonically has a smaller chakra pool than both Sasuke and Naruto, have the possibility of surpass literally Ashura and Indra’s reincarnations? Them having more panel time will mean absolutely nothing as we’ll see them doing the exact same thing we already see them do only twice as much. “Potential” is about exploring a latent ability of them, Hinata has none and Sakura’s chakra flux control was properly exploited!).

There’s more to say about this, but I’m honestly tired at this point…

#anti hinata #anti hinata hyuga #anti hinata hyuuga #anti hinata fandom #anti hinata stans #anti nh #anti naruhina #anti naruhina fandom #anti sakura #anti sakura haruno #anti sakura fandom #anti sakura stans

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enam3l · 1 year

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Hi luv! I just finished reading your “rockstar eddie munson does halloween pt.2” fic and OOOF damn was it delicious! I was wondering if I could put in a request for Rockstar!Eddie x reader for headcanons about the paparazzi or media in general being obsessed with Eddie and the Reader’s love story and how they handle it? Like Eddie’s doing an interview with Corroded Coffin and the interviewer loosely asks about the reader and Eddie goes off bragging about his wife and his kids like a lovestruck teenager OR maybe a talk show host is fascinated by their love story as highschool sweethearts or something. Idk what do you think?

Thank you for finally giving me the opportunity to do the big one - how rockstar Eddie met his wife. I got insanely carried away, I am not sure I have ever written this much, not even for my dissertation. This was absolutely a labour of love, I feel kind of silly for how invested I am in characters I've created. Thanks for giving me the perfect way of doing this bby.

the big one: how rockstar eddie met his wife

no TW / SFW / all wonderful heartwarming fluff / a huge insight to rockstar Eddie universe / whopping 11.7k words / enjoy and as always, request whatever! / follow #enam3ls rockstar eddie for more of the story

On a chilly November day, Eddie Munson sits in his favourite booth at The Hideout with a finger nervously circling his glass, it's like he's twenty again and never left. But it's 1999 and he sits there now having his free hand calmingly stroked by his wife who senses his nerves and presses reassuring kisses into his shoulder every time he fidgets in his seat. The bar is empty beside you both, a photographer strolling round the venue taking pictures of its quirks and creaking corners and then at the bar the manager and owner sit chatting to the interviewer. Eddie is next to be interviewed.

Admittedly it's pretty epic that he was about to speak to and be featured in The Face magazine. Ten years since Corroded Coffin released their debut album and having just released their third, Eddie finds himself back in the place it all began. So far in his career, he'd shied away from the press, the press he'd received unwillingly in 86 had been traumatising and enough publicity to last a lifetime. Being famous in his eyes was a collateral consequence of being able to make music as a living. He didn't want the world knowing his business, having his privacy and the home life he loved so much invaded. He was aware that for some reason unknown to him, the media had taken an intrigue into his life with you. Well actually, he could understand their intrigue in you, he thought you were the coolest and most beautiful girl in the world and still had to pinch himself that you'd not only dated him but married him and then had his children. But now he was willing to put himself on the record for the first time.

After a decade in the industry now, Eddie respected his humble beginnings more than ever and respected other artists who'd done the same. He found a common ground between Corroded Coffin and the other musicians they loved and admired, they'd all built there way up, starting at first in places like The Hideaway where he sat again now. Outside of the band he'd developed his own project of raising awareness and money for local independent venues and now The Face had picked up on his work and wanted to document his story and then collaborate in highlighting other small venues across the country which had been the homes of bands we all know. Eddie decided opening up publicly was worth it if it meant helping keeping these places open, giving the next group of lost kids trying to find purpose in music a home. Ever his supporter, you had come along to hold his hand – literally.

Finally the interviewer came round and slid into the booth, sitting across the table from you both. Eddie looked over at The Hideout’s owners who gave him a huge grin and thumbs up, eternally grateful that Eddie had never forgotten them. The interviewer shuffled his papers and flicked on a tape recorder after checking Eddie was ready. The interviewer had been very kind and normal which did help relax Eddie slightly. Until now, Eddie had brushed off magazines, newspapers and chat shows. He didn't want to be ogled at and turned into a spectacle by mainstream media, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him these were the same types who’s berated him and brandished him a ‘freak’ in school. Instead, Eddie had stuck to giving attention exclusively to awkward fans who were making zines from their own rooms or off-beat shows and publications for avid music fans who were allies, not judges. The Face, he felt were an ally so here they were.

‘So, Eddie, we're here in your hometown of Hawkins at a bar called The Hideout. How does it feel to be back?’ the interviewer begins, clearly genuinely interested.

‘Well…’ Eddie hesitates but is spurred on by an encouraging squeeze to his leg from you, 'it's pretty nice to be back in here. It's always nice to be here, it's not my first time back since I was a teen or anything. Our family and friends are here so we come back a lot. Even if the town didn't necessarily feel like home, this place did. You wouldn't think from the outside, I guess. But inside, this place is an escape.’

The interviewer smiles and responds ,

‘Your friends and family are still here? That's cool man. Is it okay to say you're actually here talking to me with your wife? No worries if not, I can cut this!’

Eddie turns to you, he doesn't want to speak for you.

You smile ‘No that's absolutely fine, for the record, I am present.’

You all snigger and the interviewer continues,

‘Awesome, thanks. So I take it then you've been here too, Y/N? It's sweet you're able to see Eddie’s beginnings and really cool that you guys keep coming back and are now supporting it.’

A smile is shared between you and Eddie that the interviewer picks up on.

'Well…’ you begin, 'this place has a lot of history.’

Eddie laughs and agrees ‘yep, you can say that.’

Both of your hands are intertwined together, resting on the table and you both give each other a squeeze at your words. The interviewer notices your tender interactions.

‘Okay, I'm sensing a story here. What does The Hideout mean to you?’

Eddie cracks, he can't resist boasting about you, you're his kryptonite.

‘Sooo… this isn't just where Corroded Coffin started and had our biggest moments, it's actually where me and Y/N started,’ the interviewer lets out a little gasp and Eddie chuckles, ‘well shit, guess that cats out the bag or whatever now man. Yeah, I mean that's a question I get asked a lot. How we met, how we got together. Like fuck, we literally met right here.’

On February 11th 1989, once again the boys of Corroded Coffin find themselves once again back in The Hideout, except now they've got a bestselling debut album. After escaping Hawkins in December 1986 in Eddie’s battered van, they drove straight to New York to play any club that would let them through the door and graft until someone gave them a break. Some lunatic thankfully believed in them, gave them a record deal and now to celebrate not only releasing an album but it being a hit, Corroded Coffin have come home to celebrate in the place it all started. Dustin had called Eddie practically screeching down the phone, him and Steve had been watching the television and Corroded Coffin’s album had been mentioned, it's significant record sales being highlighted.

‘You did it Eddie, holy shit!! They're talking about on the damn tv!!’

Eddie was baffled ‘Woah, Jesus. Calm down, man. Hello to you to. Now what the hell are you talking about.’

Dustin was ecstatic 'Do you not know?! The album, honestly Eddie, how do you not know. It's huge, they're freaking talking about it on tv, how it's fucking awesome!’

Suddenly Steve’s voice takes over the line

‘Yeah dude like on MTV and everything. Legit shit. No weirdo show for metalheads or anything. Everyone is talking about you guys.’

Eddie rolled his eyes at Steve but he was surprised, they'd expected to just be acknowledged by people into their scene, not to be spoke about by everyone else. But for whatever reason, Corroded Coffin had sparked intrigue, people wanted to talk about that band from that spooky ass town in Indiana. Dustin and Steve came up with the idea for them to do a celebration gig at The Hideout, an event for those in the town who'd supported the guys from the beginning. It was actually a pretty cool idea and the guys all liked it and the venues owners had always been supportive of them and were more than happy to have a homecoming.

They'd never expected it to be packed. People coming from everywhere to see Corroded Coffin in their natural habitat. The band, the staff and owners stood backstage laughing, totally dazed. From tickets alone the bar had made more money than it would usually in six months. The owner clapped Eddie on the back and cracked up

‘Shit, I knew letting you punks crash my stage nearly every night would pay off one of these days. Proud of you guys. Now go deafen this fuckin town and make sure they drink this place dry.’

Eddie peers from around the curtain. The Hideout was jam packed, probably a health and safety violation but the perks of being a small venue in a random town was you could get away with those things. Still, he was stunned. They'd played sold out shows before, they'd generated quite the cult following in New York even before they signed a record deal. But this was their first gig since the album released and there was something different about seeing his home venue full like this… for him. His eyes scanned until they fell on a booth closest to the stage, packed in were his friends. Around a table full of drinks sat Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Dustin, Mike, Will, Lucas, Eleven and Max. They spotted him and cheered and waved like madmen. Eddie would forever be grateful for their unconditional support and how they'd stuck together after escaping the unthinkable.

A poke from Gareth got Eddie’s attention. It was showtime. The boys huddled together in a circle chanting to psych themselves up, a ritual they'd continued on from their Hellfire days. Each member grabbed their instrument, let out a nervous round of woops and stepped out one by one on stage. Blinded by the lights and deafened by the cheers.

Earlier that evening, across the road from the bar, a battered car pulls up outside The Forest Motel. The driver climbs out, legs a little stiff from the journey. As the door slams shut a puff of dust jumps into the air, the car decorated in a thin layer of the stuff from travelling cross country. They fumble with the boot to retrieve a leather duffel bursting at the seams, close the boot and look up to assess their home for the next two nights. Neon lights flicker on the sign meaning only ‘The rest Motel’ read clearly, a happy accident they suppose but doubt their nights will be restful based on the thumbing radiating from a bar across the narrow road. The area is run down, the only things on the small street placed within the forest being the motel, the bar, a small greasy looking café and a twenty-four-hour liquor shop. As they'd turned off the highway into the town the wooden sign labelled as ‘Hawkins,’ it was hard to ignore the overwhelmingly gloomy aura of the place. As soon as the threshold was crossed, the sky becoming a little darker, air a little stiller, the trees taller and somehow more daunting than the ones that had lined to highway.

Duffle over shoulder, the driver pushed through the heavy doors into a dated, kitschy lobby area. A receptionist sat at the desk flicking through television stations until landing on MTV which blared loudly. Satisfied the receptionist looked up noticing the driver’s presence and scrambled, straightening her uniform and whizzing her chair over to the computer.

Flustered but smiling she apologised ‘Hi, I'm so sorry! I totally zoned, this is like the quietest it's been all day! Do you have a booking?’

The driver came over to the desk, letting the duffle hit the floor as they rested their elbows on the counter. Smiling back they replied ‘Yeah, yeah I do. It's Y/N. One night. Is it okay that I'm checking in late?’

The receptionist looked relieved and confessed ‘Oh thank god because we do not have a single room available if you hadn't booked. The place is soo full, it's usually a total ghost town. Yeah checking in now is no problem but you're kinda late for the gig though? Most people came this morning or afternoon.’

Your face wrinkles in confusion and you have to ask ‘Oh no sorry I'm not here for… the gig? What gig is it?’

She now gasps and clasps her had in excitement

‘Ohmygod you don't know? So like okay so these guys they like went to my high school, total losers then but whatever anyway turns out they're not like a hot band. I mean they're not my thing really, so noisy… anyway! They're debut album just went right into the charts and now they've come back here. You know that dirty looking bar over the road? Yeah! That's where they started and they're doing a homecoming gig to celebrate. Sooo cool right??’

You blinked, trying to process the barrage of words she just practically squealed out. Although she's at least clarified why the seemingly dingy bar was so loud and looked so busy.

Attempting to force a polite smile you reply ‘Yeah, that's awesome.’

The look in her eye gives away that she's disappointed your energy didn't match hers or that you hadn't asked for gossip about the guys you assume she probably would only give the light of day now because of their fame. The receptionist rustles around the desk sighing, realising you're really not going to give her more.

‘Well… here's your key. Room number 12. Go outside, up the stairs then it's the last door. Have a good stay.’

Her clear disappointment makes you feel a little bad so you make sure to give her a bright smile as you thank her and take the key. As you collect your duffle and head towards the door you came through before, your head snaps round at the sudden volume increase on the television and a girlish squeal from the receptionist.

'Ohmygod! Wait! Come back! Look, look!’ She's stood back up now, jumping on the spot with her hands flapping like a crazed fangirl. You shuffle back over and you gaze in the direction of the television, still on MTV, which she points to. A bright pink manicured nail taps the screen at the music video playing.

‘That's them! That's them! See, they're like actual rockstars. Totally crazy they came from this shithole ugh I wish I wasn't working. You should try and go, at least someone should have fun.’

You laugh and nod ‘Maybe!’ you linger for a moment watching the video and waiting for the band members to appear but they don't, the gloomy music video only shows a little girl kicking a hideous monster's ass. The music however is good, heavy on guitars with surprisingly nice vocals.

Once you're finally in the room, you immediately flop onto the bed. Exhausted from driving all day, legs stiff and fingers cramping. A groan escapes when you remember your journey is barely over, still to cross the state borders to get to your final destination of Chicago. As cliché as it sounds, your job was your dream one, allowing you to get paid for being creative and travel the country but admittedly that could be draining at times. It'd been a long time since you'd been able to call somewhere your ‘hometown,’ the receptionist’s rambling had reminded you of that and the idea of calling a place ‘home’ made your heart twinge a little. The small apartment in New York that the company provided wasn't home, you didn't chose it, you barely decorated it and frankly, you were never there. It was basecamp if anything, where you kept the majority of your belongs and near the main office – practical not personal.

The shower thankfully was hot unlike the other motels you'd hit so far and soothed your aches. Once out of the bathroom you noticed the music radiating from across the road was even louder, you peak from behind the curtains at the bar. It's almost vibrating from the amps. God, you were tempted. Even if the band weren't there and even if their music had sounded god awful, you really could do with a drink and going to a bar was a lot less depressing than drinking a bottle of rum from the liquor store next door out of plastic cups from the motel, alone and overthinking. Fuck it, you think, you're going to go. Worst case scenario you can make the giddy receptionist feel better by telling her she didn't miss out, best case scenario you dance until your feet hurt and have some drunk sex with a stranger. After drying your hair and doing your make up, you pick out a long sleeve black mini dress and some knee high black boots and thank the universe for giving you a job full of trendy people so you actually have to make effort at work. You analyse yourself in the mirror and decide for someone who is sleep deprived and not slept in their own bed in days, you look pretty good.

The best thing about motels is not having to go through reception to leave or arrive meaning you can make all the worst life choices possible without getting a single judging look from a knowing receptionist. In this case, you just didn't want to be spotted by the receptionist and admit she persuaded you, you're also a little worried she might make you take her with you. The bar is heaving, even from the outside. People litter the street out front smoking and chattering, the variety of people tickles you. Hard weathered metal heads all leather clad are mixed among mild mannered suburbanites and a surprising amount of scantly-clad hot girls. It's sweet you think to yourself, how this random town has gathered together to celebrate the band and how clearly they have a fan base who are dedicated enough to come all the way out here just to be a part of the moment. The gangs of girls makes you wonder again what the band look like, you're baffled how a group of guys the receptionist cruelly called ‘losers’ could end up with attention like this. You have an inkling the receptionist was definitely wrong about them.

Luckily once you're at the door, they still have a couple of tickets left but they warn you it's already started. It's a struggle to even get into the room, bodies rammed together and bouncing in motion along to the song they're mid way through. The place is deceptively big and all wooden panelled, more like a real venue than a bar with a huge open standing area, an upstairs balcony and long bar on the left hand side that is crammed with people. On the right hand side there's a row of plush red velvet booths. You wonder what The Hideout was before it was a bar, it looked as if it once could've been a beautiful theatre but that memory is wiped out by blaring guitars which you can only hear and not see over the crowd. Wiggling between people and feeling embarrassed at being an inconveniences you suddenly get caught in a sweep of the crowd as a new song begins to play and clearly it's a favourite as suddenly everyone turns to get closer to the stage.

Eventually, you're able to pop out the other side and finally get to the now abandoned bar. As you lean over the bar top to look at the bottles lining the walls, you're bumped into. You stumble back as a drink splashes all over your boots. A loud frantic voice brings your head back up from staring at the puddle you're now stood in.

‘Oh shit!! Oh man, I'm so so sorry! Shit, they said I'd spill the drinks as well. Crap. Are you okay? Shit. Let me get you some paper towels.’

A boy in his late teens stands in front of you, he has a sweet face, an impressive mop of curls on top but most impressively he's wearing a Weird Al t-shirt to a metal gig which makes you laugh. He's brandishing napkins at you before you can respond. Taking them you giggle,

‘Hey, hey honestly don't worry! It's only my shoes and it's probably the least gross thing I'll step in here… cool t-shirt though.’

He grins now practically ear to ear, his smile somehow warms your heart and the compliment makes him look like he might hug you.

‘THANK YOU! Can you say that again to my friends? They tried to make me change. Hey look let me get your drink to apologise anyway and to thank you for backing me and Al up?’

You attempt to shake your head and wave your hands

‘No no don't worry about it honestly, I'm okay!’

But he's already got the bartenders attention and his smile persists.

' I insist! Plus we've got a tab anyway,’ he turns to look at you now with a proud look on his face and he points towards the stage, ' the guitarist over there? One of my best friends.’

The stage is visible from the bar but between the bright lights and the fact there's multiple guitars on stage, you're not sure which is his friend but you're still impressed and love how proud he is of his friend too.

‘Damn, that's really cool. Well thank you so much then!’ You give the bartender your order then turn back, 'I hadn't heard of these guys, I'm not from here. Just at the motel and heard about it. Thought I'd check it out, so far, so good.’

He nods thoughtfully, ‘Awesome! I was going to say, I've never seen you before and it's a small town so, y’know. Oh shit, I'm Dustin by the way!’

You introduce yourself and shake the hand he's extended out. The bartender slides your drink over and you take it. You look around and shuffle awkwardly, realising you're not sure where to go or what to do now. Dustin clearly notices and gathers his drinks and nods his head in the opposite direction as if to signal you somewhere.

‘Well Y/N, let us adopt you for the night! Come on and join our band of misfits supporting the actual band. We've got a booth, it's pretty sweet.’

Knowing you've got no one else and also that you cannot reject that sweet face you smile and follow him through the crowd. The booth is packed with the whole group buzzing, bouncing in their spots and craning their necks to spot their friend on stage. Nothing needs to be said, you just know how much they love their friend and for the second time that night, your heart twinges at the thought of something absent in your life. A girl, probably the same age as yourself is stood by the table waiting for Dustin’s arrival. Immediately upon seeing you both she is fussing the boy and collecting the drinks, you can already tell she's the mom of the group. Her eyes dart between the two of you, clearing waiting for an explanation about the strange girl encroaching on her team, for a mild looking girl she is surprisingly terrifying. Dustin slings an arm round your shoulder, saving you and guides you to the table, now getting everyone's attention.

‘Guys! This is Y/N, she's with us for the night after I may have possibly spilt a beer on her… sorry Steve.’

A guy with handsome boyish looks, caramel eyes and fantastic hair gives Dustin a scowl and groans

‘Agh, Dustin! I knew this would happen, man. You gotta be more careful,’ the terrifying girl backs him up but he turns to you with a charming smile ‘I’m always telling him this. But I'm not complaining you got wet, it means we get to meet you Y/N.’

You try not to snigger at the accidental innuendo but a laugh escapes. The rest of the group (aside one teenage girl with brown hair who just looks confused) stare at him, gobsmacked and shaking their heads. Another teenage girl with beautiful red hair groans audibly and let's out

‘Jesus Christ, Steve!’

The terrifying girl clips him round the head with the back of her hand as two guys who you're pretty sure are stoned, burst out laughing. Another girl with a light brown messy bob saves the conversation and introduces herself as Robin then points to each member,

'You've clearly met Dustin and unfortunately, Steve. Then Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle and the rugrats are Max, El, Mike, Will and Lucas.’

Robin then shoos everyone down the booth for you to hop in, you sandwich in between her and Steve.

The mix of ages confuses you slightly so you cave and ask, ‘So… I gotta ask, how do you know each other?’ They look between each other, as if there's a secret on debate that you're not privy to. Nancy takes the lead again,

' Well we all went to school together. We are…’ and she points to herself and the older people ‘pretty much the same age and then that's my brother Mike and his friends and we've all sort of merged into one big group.’ It's clear they're all incredibly close, the age gap not an issue and a sense that they are each other's family and will be bonded for life. The young ones are eighteen and the others early twenties like yourself. Your curiosity is killing you though and you cave,

‘So what about the band? Your friends with the guitarist right, how do you know him?’

Laughs are shared between them again, you sense another secret that's not for you to hear. Mike speaks up for the first time,

‘Eddie? School as well! He was kind of our mentor,’ he points between the other boys his age, ‘he was older. He urm…repeated a few years so he's like twenty four now?’ Mike is nudged in the ribs by Lucas now who interrupts,

‘Clearly, Eddie didn't need school because now he's a freaking rockstar,’ he points to the side of the stage furthest from you, ‘and the other guys all went to school with us too.’

Your view is still obscured, between stage lights and the distance, the infamous Eddie remains a mystery man. But you can still work out his guitar over the other members and can hear his surprisingly soft voice blending in with the lead singer's, the band is amazing but something about him stands out even whilst he's faceless.

Corroded Coffin reach their final song and you're a little tipsy and truly feeling part of the group. It's the most included you've felt in so long, the most fun you've had since leaving college. You've all been throwing yourselves round and heads banging, the gang serenading each other with the lyrics they've learnt by heart to all the songs. When the band finishes the crowd go wild, screams and cheers lasting for minutes. It's endearing as you see the band visibly flustered at the praise and the lead singer thanks them repeatedly, evidently baffled. Once they leave the stage and the lights come on a little, you worry that this is the end of your evening, the end of your time with this group you've known for an hour but somehow you want to cling to. But a little tug at your sleeve pulls you out of your worries, Robin is smiling and says

‘We’ll be sticking around for a bit, we want to congratulate our rockstar! We've not seen Eds in months and this place will be open for a while. Wanna stay?’

You can't hide your grin and nod enthusiastically, your grin only expands when the sweet girl pulls you in for a hug. She's right, it's clear they're not going anywhere but you decide now the crowd is thinning out, you’ll go to the bathroom.

The bathroom is thick with perfume and cigarette smoke. Gorgeous girls are gathered round the mirrors, reapplying make up, adjusting outfits and taming hair. You slide into a cubicle. Once in there you can't help but listen to the chatter.

‘Eddie is so fucking hot, it's those tattoos. His arms? The way they flex when he plays. I want to eat him.’ A second voice responds,

‘Bitch, I have every intention of eating him all up tonight.’

A third now chimes in,

‘You fucking wish, that cheap ass push up bra you wore at the San Francisco gig didn't even make him budge.’

The girls continue to bicker, more voices getting involved discussing Eddie, his dating life and sex appeal as well as the other members. It's driving you insane hearing so much about this man and still having no face to go off. Even with the information you have, it's hard to form an image or opinion of him. Within the past two hours since you've heard of Eddie’s existence, he's been referred to as a loser, a rockstar, a sweetheart, a role model and now, a sex god. When you finish and clean up, you leave the bathroom, still stuck behind the gaggle of fangirls as they continue to debate the things they want to do to each band member.

Eddie is exhausted. Him and the rest of Corroded Coffin came straight off the press circuit around California, onto a plane and then to The Hideout. He wants to see his uncle and have a long nap in his old bedroom, he wants to finally see his friends after being separated for so long. It's all he could think about on stage and he felt guilty. Homecoming for Eddie was being reunited with his friends, that's who he wanted to do this gig for. But instead he spent the night looking out onto a sea of people who for most of his life have hated him, belonging to a town that once never wanted him to return. The fame was bittersweet, getting to play music professionally was a dream, being forced once again into the public eye was not. The CIA, admittedly did an excellent job doing a thorough retraction of previous claims made about him but Eddie can't forget how this town treated him because they treated him like a criminal long before he allegedly was one. Now they have the audacity to praise him and ask things of him. They don't actually like his music because his music has always been the same and they didn't like it before. They don't actually like him personally because he's the same as ever and they didn't like him before. They liked that his name meant something other than bad news now and they could have a tangible link to him. There's a handful of people he owes in Hawkins, people who can ask anything of him because they always gave him so much: the band, the gang, the owners of the Hideout, his Uncle Wayne and then Joyce and Hopper.

Amongst the people of Hawkins there are real fans of Corroded Coffin and he feels guilty about that too. They've come all the way out here to see him but he's letting himself fall to the side of the stage, mostly out of view and hidden by a strategically placed stage light. Usually on stage he's wild and gives it his all, he embodies a similar state he gets when he's being a Dungeon Master but in front of his former ‘neighbours’ he already feels naked and he'd very much like to hide.

Once the set has finished and wires are removed, Eddie all but runs from backstage into the bar where he knows his friends are. They're sat in a booth he got the bar owner to reserve for them, it was their regular seats long before he left Hawkins. Every single one of them came. They spot him too and run over. It's a pile on, a tangling of limbs and hair. These people are Eddie’s home and fuck, he thinks, he's felt a part of him missing without them. He loves the band, they've been friends for years but there's a bond between Eddie and the gang that goes beyond friendship, they're bonded by life and death and the horrific bits in-between that no human is ever meant to know. Once they all untangle, Eddie hugs everyone individually and is then bombarded by congratulations and compliments and he can take these ones because he knows they're genuine.

His final hug is with Dustin, who he clings onto a little longer than the rest and then lets his hands, stinging from playing all night, ruffle the boys soft curls.

‘Fuck, I missed you man.’

Dustin grins, the feeling is more than mutual.

‘Eddie! That was the most metal ever! And thank you for sorting the booth out. Shit it was all so awesome.’

Steve sidles over now, never wanting to miss out. He slings his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and jabs him.

‘Yep, the kids right bro. Even I could tolerate your screaming. You guys were hardcore out there.’

Eddie sees Steve’s smug face waiting for a reaction to his cheeky jibes and Eddie is not above giving him one. He lunges his own arm forward and dares to muss the locks of thee Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. Steve gasps and stumbles backwards and away, quickly attempting to restyle his hair as he does, Eddie turns too and sees a noisy gaggle leaving the women’s bathrooms.

‘Shit.’ Eddie wishes immediately that the Upside Down had granted him the power of invisibility and not just some gnarly scars. Fan girls. He recognised a few, they show up at a lot of events and gigs. On one hand he appreciates their commitment, they do love the music and they are the reason he has an income, on the other hand he's absolutely terrified of them and is stumped by their desire and persistence. Eddie was no virgin, he hadn't been before he left Hawkins and he definitely wasn't now. It turns out that outside a small town, people seem to think Eddie is hot and what Hawkins called ‘quirks’ and ‘uncool’ was actually pretty cool in the city. Now, he can't lie, some of these girls are gorgeous and he may have slept with one or two on some very dark days. They're mostly kind women who mean well but their persistence scares the crap out of him and he's acutely aware that in high school they would've bought drugs off him yet recoiled at his touch. They don't know him, they don't really see him as a person, they see him as a symbol or whatever.

Carla, who could be described as the ring leader, is quick to pounce. She totters over to Eddie, hand immediately on his arm, fingers squeezing over prominent veins.

'Eddie, baby, you guys were so fucking hot tonight. Totally dominated…’ her long finger twiddles with a curl of his hair, ‘shame about that light though, couldn't see your sexy concentration face… you know I like that.’

Carla is too close for comfort and Eddie worries for a moment his strategic hiding was been rumbled but she doesn't dwell on it. But her words drown out as someone moves from around the fan girls. In fact, the world drowns out.

Eddie’s eyes are drawn to you in a way he's never felt before. The room around him feels dark and you're like a gentle candlelight, the only thing he can process. His nails dig into his palms, willing his body to do something except stare and sweat. You're beautiful in a way that feels otherworldly, belonging as an elven queen from a Hellfire world or an enchantress he would write lyrics about. You don't belong in somewhere as underwhelming and sad as Hawkins. Eddie certainly doesn't feel like you belong in a world he is a part of.

‘Oh, hey Y/N! Over here!’

Eddie's daze is broken by Steve’s voice and Eddie feels his heart sink as your head whips round to see Steve. Y/N is you and Steve knows you. The neutral look previously on your face is broken by a blooming smile as you walk towards Steve. Eddie could be sick, he feels eighteen again, small and invisible. Is Steve yours? In his absence, did Eddie miss the part where Steve met someone and was bringing her as a date to the gig. His eyes burn at your shoulder where Steve’s hand has found its way to and looks comfortable, like it belongs on your body. You must be Steve’s. Eddie feels ridiculous and a little creepy, fantasising about a stranger.

Realising Carla is still clutching him, Eddie apologises and excuses himself, brushing her off as he turns back away to the rest of his friends. He's about to shuffle away when his ears prick as Steve calls him name.

‘Eddie! Eddie, this is Y/N. We adopted her for the night, another poor innocent victim of Dustin’s butter fingers.’

‘Y/N, Eddie’s here now. Come, let me introduce you to the man of the hour…’ Steve’s hand on your shoulder guides you forward, you're still not sure who you're looking for, ‘Eddie! Eddie, this is Y/N. we adopted her for the night, another poor innocent victim of Dustin’s butter fingers.’

Next to the leggy blonde girl from the bathroom, a long tumble of curls span round. This was Eddie, and you could understand why the girl was planning on eating him. The mystery face was unveiled and your breath felt stuck in your throat. You were thankful now for the light that had hidden him from your sight all night as surely had you known this is who you'd be meeting, you'd have crawled out the tiny bathroom window. You felt lost in eyes flecked with every shade of brown which caused your cheeks to in turn go every shade of red. Fingernails dug into the nail bed of your thumb, hoping the sting would shock you into doing anything other that gawp at this poor man who probably spends his life fending off strange women who are undressing him with their eyes. Not that you're undressing him with your eyes, you're really trying very hard not to do that.

Neither you or Eddie are sure of how long you've been staring at the other, although both of you are unaware at the way the other is staring. Luckily the bubble is pierced by Dustin’s giddy voice,

‘Oh awesome! You guys met!’

Dustin appears between the two of you along with Robin.

Simultaneously both you and Eddie muster up a whispered,

‘Yeah…’

Robin looks between the two of you and a smirk forms, you are both looking at each other as if it's the first time you're seeing in colour – eyes slowly blinking, mouths agape in a little O shape. Neither of you are subtle. Robin nudges Dustin who then nudges Steve, all three now feeling they're witnessing the start of something between two completely oblivious people. A cough from Robin breaks the lingering stares once more,

‘Boys, do you want to get more drinks? Come on, Y/N we’ll go back to the booth.’

You're both dragged apart. You can't help but notice the way the girl from the bathroom who had been pawing at Eddie is left standing speechless and disoriented at the rejection. A part inside you feels smug and you want to beat it away for enjoying the disappointment of others at their loss of something you want.

‘Yeah… you're fucking welcome man,’ Steve chuckles as he claps Eddie on the back. Eddie shakes his head confused,

‘Huh? What do you mean?’

Dustin scoffs,

‘What do we mean? We just found you you're god damn dream girl, Eddie!’

Eddie looks over at you again, you're back at the booth and twiddling with an empty glass and he has to tell himself that when he looked over, you hadn't really snapped your head away, caught staring at him too. Wishful thinking, Munson he told himself. Love is not something for Eddie. He was lucky to be alive, luckier to have escaped Hawkins and then even luckier to have become a musician. There was no more luck left to be had, he understood. Love was just not meant for him, he'd used his three magic wishes from the universe and he just had to accept it. He was grateful for the occasional hook up and fling but feelings were never involved, for one, Eddie didn't ever feel comfortable enough with new people to let himself be open and vulnerable. Eddie sighs,

‘How do you know she's my dream girl?’

Steve and Dustin look irritated at his doubting.

‘Well she fucking looks like THAT for starter,’ Steve gestures exasperatedly.

‘Aaand she's so cool, Ed. Does all this cool creative work, likes all these cool bands that we've never heard of but you probably have. And, and, she knew what D&D was! She was genuinely interested when Mike blew our cover and got nerdy,’ Dustin lists breathlessly. Steve hums in agreement

‘Oh yeah! She was super nice about that, I've never met a girl that hot listen and understand to all your guys nerdy wizard shit. And she spoke to everyone, asked about all our lives, about you!’

Eddie is flustered at all this information, he had kind of hoped you sucked so he didn't have to feel so awkward and desperate. He had really hoped the little voice inside his heart saying 'give this one a chance,’ before he knew a thing about you, was wrong. However, he knew how protective the boys were of him and yet here they are giving him a sales pitch about you, a girl who even when nameless he felt he'd walk through glass just to know. Eddie presses his palms to his eyes and rubs. A deep groan escapes him,

‘Ughhh, fuck,’ he sees you still twirling the empty class, ‘shit. Fuck. Fine. Shit, okay what was she drinking?’

Dustin can't contain a skip of glee, Steve feels proud and his solemn friend’s bravery.

' Whiskey sour,’ Dustin announces with glee.

Eddie sighs, of course that was your drink. Cool drink for a cool girl. Damn it.

You were still trying to catch the breath Eddie’s presence stole once you got back in the booth. Robin’s hand still clutched around you wrist from having to force your limbs into action. Everyone at the table had intrigued and slightly smug faces as if they were waiting for you to tell them something. Nancy broke the silence,

‘Sooo… Eddie is nice right?’

You looked around, everyone was leaning forward and nodding, desperate for a response.

'Urm,’ you stuttered, 'We barely spoke?’ Although you were trying to stop the alcohol buzz taking over your tongue and spouting out ‘yeah hella nice to look at.’

The group clearly weren't satisfied with the response. Max takes the reigns now,

‘Well you'll speak tonight!’

Robin nods 'absolutely, we'll make sure of it!’

Sweet little Will is next ‘mmhmm, Y/N, you'll love him! You're so similar!’

If you didn't know better, you'd think these people you've known for an evening were trying to set you up with their friend. But as you're scanning the faces of your new pals with narrowed eyes, an awkward cough and shuffling of feet distracts you.

A large hand reaches a drink over to you, a litter of rings chiming against the glass and veins flexing as the hand lingers for a moment. Eddie stands at the edge of the booth, his warm eyes sparkling and a nervous smile on his face.

‘For you… Y/N’ he mumbles, ' Dustin said this is what you were drinking.’

It was, Dustin was right but this one was embellished with extra garnishes you hadn't received before. A big sugary cherry on top, a small straw and a couple of decorative leaves. You tried your hardest to only focus on the drink and the handsome face standing above you, refusing to let the Cheshire Cat grins surround you distract. Shit, you absolutely were being set up and you can't be mad when those big soft eyes blink at you hopefully.

You beam up at him, ‘thank you so much Eddie. You guys were amazing… definitely turned around a boring evening in a shitty motel for me.’ Your fingers brush as you take the glass from him and the static that runs between your skin shocks any confidence out of you. Eddie hesitates again when his hand retracts as he assesses the seating situation. Both of you are suddenly hyper aware the only space for him is next to you, oh these people are good you both thought, they've plotted this.

He nervously eyes the seat and then you, you wonder how someone who looks so confident and is a literal rockstar, could be so timid. He's probably had a million girls, you'd just witnessed a whole posse swoon over him. You shuffle over some more and pat the seat to invite him, he slides in carefully as if to be sure your bodies are not touching, preventing anymore thrilling electricity between your skin. The rest of the group have started babbling away again, clearly satisfied that their plan has come together. Eddie can't help his eyes linger on the straw you've now taken between your lips, he's often wished he was something other than himself however he's never before desired to be a straw. Brushing rogue curls behind his ear, he clears his throat and takes the leap,

‘So… hey, Urm… did you enjoy it?’

You swallow and smile, taken aback he'd even ask considering there wasn't now a non-hoarse voice in the building.

‘Yeah! You guys were amazing. Admittedly, I never heard of you guys before but the receptionist at the motel told me to come and I took a chance. I’m glad I did,’ you notice you're rambling and Eddie is giving slow blinks, ‘but… um, yeah. I could hear you over everyone else.’

Eddie had no idea who this receptionist is but he decides she may go on the list of people he owes, he's flattered and feels a smile creeping over his face until you say the last part. Then he panics.

‘Oh shit, did I fuck up?’ He's trying to run through the entire set in his mind, ‘fuck, was my amp too loud?’

You feel awful at the clear panic now covering his face and running through his voice, instinctually your hand reaches out and clutches his forearm to reassure him.

'No, no, no! I just mean… it just felt you played a little bit harder than everyone out, your voice stood out still amidst everything,’ your next words fall out without thinking, 'I couldn't see you but you were all I was paying attention to.’

Eddie’s heart flutters, he thinks you might be the sweetest thing in the world. He's trying desperately not to draw attention to your hand clutching him because he doesn't want it to withdraw. Your touch no longer causes static, it's now radiating soothing warmth and for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels calm.

‘Thank you… you're lovely,’ he whispers and you both just sit and smile at each other. You don't want to take your hand away either.

The two of you continue to chat, you're both aware you're at a packed table and yet neither of you care. You're both desperate to absorb as much information about the other as possible, neither of you wanting to address the voice in the back of your heads saying you’ll never see each other again. Awkward teen years and unconventional families and childhoods bond you. Both understand each other as larger than life personalities that mask sensitive insides that aren't built for the judgment of small towns. As you talk, neither of you notice your hand had slid down his arm and stayed rested on his thigh, own hand tantalisingly close. When Eddie notices, he lets his little finger brush against yours. He realises he's never felt this comfortable with a woman before, he's comfortable around Robin and Max particularly but it's platonic and it took time. With you he feels relaxed and the step to let his pinky continuously stroke over your hand feels natural and he doesn't want this to be platonic but he doesn't want it to be only sexual, he just doesn't want you to leave. The feeling is mutual.

Neither of you notice the crowd has gone, the bar empty aside from the group who are beginning to look a little tired and restless. You and Eddie are lost together until Nancy appears at the side of the table and gets your attention.

‘Hey guys, I'm really sorry but we're going to head off. It's getting late. Y/N it was so nice to meet you, Dustin got all your details right?’ You nod and grin and hope he uses them. ‘Great! And Eddie, we’ll see you at Steve's tomorrow night?’

Eddie nods and squeezes your hand as he drops it to get up to hug everyone goodbye, they all say bye to you and how they're so glad you ran into each other and they hope to see you soon. Once they leave, the bar is empty beside you, Eddie and the bar staff. Both of you can't help but look at each other grinning and erupting into giggles like little sugar rushed kids.

‘Do you want another drink?’ Eddie asks hopefully.

You nod enthusiastically, leaving was not an option that crossed either of your minds.

‘I'm just having a coke, what do you want?’ Eddie doesn't want a drop more of alcohol, he wants to be sober around you, a feeling he's not used to around women. He's scared alcohol will cheapen the moment or will prevent him from savouring every second of your company.

‘Good idea, a coke too please,’ you ask sweetly. You don't want alcohol, you want the sugar to keep you awake as long as possible to prolong this night.

Eddie strides over to the bar, the owner and manager stands behind counting bills.

‘Hey man, we still good to get some drinks?’

The owner looks up at Eddie then you, sat in the booth but gazing over at Eddie, moony eyed. He chuckles, ‘Sure. You reaping the rewards of being a rockstar now?’

Eddie shakes his head, a little embarrassed and a little irritated at the thought of you being depicted as nothing but a hook up because he's desperate for that not to happen. But he knows the owner, known him long enough to be a little vulnerable.

‘No, no, no. She's no fangirl, if anything I feel like a fan boy trying to impress her.’

The owner smiles as he makes the drinks, he's witnessed first hand how Eddie has come into his own over the years and he mocked at first but he knows Eddie is a sweet kid.

'Enjoy,’ he smirks as he passes over the drinks, ‘you got about thirty minutes before we finish clearing and then you guys gotta find a new place to make eyes.’ For the hundredth time that night, Eddie’s cheeks heat up.

You're sat waiting and the doe eyes you have whilst watching Eddie return to the booth makes him feel sticky sweet inside. Despite the empty booth, you make sure you're sat, knees touching as you angle yourselves so you can look at each other properly. Eddie decides to gamble and admit that time is ticking,

‘We’ll have to leave after we finish these…’

Your heart sinks. Part of you hope some how time would stand still and you could stay in this encounter forever, no journey to travel to, no flat states away you'd have to return to and more importantly no extravagant life for this boy in a band to go and get lost in. The sickening thought that you're both rogue bodies passing in the night and you'll lose track of each other has been pulling at you all night.

Looking into your drink, scared to see Eddie’s response, you almost whisper,

'I'm not done yet… with tonight.’

A silence lingers and you don't want to look up and see Eddie’s face twisted at your desperation. But that's not the expression on his face, his face is soft but shocked and his pupils dilate at your words, letting himself get lost in the thought of never letting you go. A pinky from his hand that clasps his glass, nudges yours which is also wrapped around your glass. Your pinkies hook around each other, his tiny touches reassure you and you dare to look up. His smile is the biggest you've seen all night, it's beautiful, he is beautiful.

‘Me neither,’ he whispers back.

You don't know this town but you assume everywhere is shut so you take the plunge,

‘Look… I'm in the motel over the round,’ his eyes widen at your words, 'do you just want to carry on there? I have snacks?’

Eddie refuses to let nerves win and take away this chance from him, his pinky squeezes yours.

‘Sounds good,’ he smiles. Your fingers unlink so you both can finish your drinks, you do so in silence, both a flurry of nerves. Glasses clunk to the wooden table top simultaneously. Eddie waits a second before getting up then offering his hand to help you slide out the booth. He drops it once you're safely on your feet and you wish he hadn't. You both walk out the bar, the owner wishing a goodnight and a wink and thumbs up at Eddie whilst your eyes are diverted. Once in the air you both inhale deeply, having forgotten what fresh air felt like after inhaling the thick and smoky air of the club.

Despite the road being deserted, Eddie pushes you behind him so he can assess when to cross and then safely guide you over. The walk to the motel is only a matter of steps and you're leading him up the creaking metal stairs to your room. Eddie gulps at his view of your legs in front of him, the backs of soft thighs moving with each step, your short dress fluttering slightly and he tries to divert his attention to the ground out of respect. You fumble with the key and lock then finally heave the door open and bounce on into the room. Eddie lingers in the door frame watching your movements, he's hesitant to make a wrong move. You throw yourself, back first onto the bed and starfish, your eyes and closed with a smile on your face and Eddie thinks this should've been their album cover. He doesn't want to stare at you on the bed too much, so let's his eyes scan round the room. It's endearingly retro, he's never been inside a room here before, only dropping weed off at the door – usually to sad regulars from The Hideout whose wives had thrown them out. His eyes snap back to your figure as you lean over to the bedside drawer. Shit, shit, shit. You're making a move. He doesn't want to just have sex with you, that's not why he's here, I mean he would like to have sex with you but not right now, right now he just wants to bathe in your presence for as long as you'll let him. He's panicking and he's still in the doorway like a creep he thinks and his words tumble out manically,

‘I DON’T WANT TO JUST SLEEP WITH YOU!’

Your bending figure darts back up, your eyes wide and slowly your hand returns out of the drawer revealing your fingers crinkling round packets of snacks. Eddie realises. You'd hidden food there, not condoms unless Cheetos had expanded their offerings. He thumps his head against the door frame, mortified. You realise and feel awful for him, you'd wondered why he was looking so on edge. A laugh falls out of your mouth before you can stop it,

‘Eddie… it's okay. They're just snacks and I invited you here because I didn't think anywhere else was open and… I wanted to just be around you.’

Eddie is thankful he's holding onto the door frame because he fears he'd melt into a puddle. His embarrassment is eclipsed by you admitting to feeling the same as him. He lets himself laugh at the mistake now, it feels like the natural response to your infectious smile. You shuffle over to one side of the bed and pat the empty side for Eddie to join you. You arrange the snacks in the middle as you watch him carefully take off his leather jacket, draping it over a chair and then unlacing his big boots in order to join you.

‘Oh, oops,’ you now realise you've yet to take your boots off as your legs dangle over the edge of the bed, 'I forgot to take mine off too, shit, I hate these fucking zips.’ You're muttering as you battle with the stiff zip that runs up your calf, Eddie swats your angry little hands away.

‘Let me,’ he sweetly smiles. Your voice couldn't muster up a peep even if you wanted to reject his help as he carefully takes your calf, holding it against his hip as his other hand glides up from your ankle to just under your knee where the zip resides. An audible gulp comes from you at his delicate touch, your legs are open, his hands so close to your thighs but his touch is gentle. You struggle to remember a moment shared with a guy that was this intimate and sweet. This, you think, is why you don't want to just fuck him because every time you touch or speak, you know it's so much more than sexual chemistry, it's something you dreamt of but never thought available to you.

Eddie leans over to tug the zip and guide it down your calf, he does it painstakingly slow to savour how your soft skin feels under his rough fingertips. He lets the first boot drop to the floor then moves onto the next leg, once your foot is finally free, you wiggle your toes and grin at him. The way your eyes twinkle at him as you peer up at his hovering figure makes him feel sick like he's eaten too much sweets, your leg is still propped against his hip and his hand is caressing the bare calf. Everything about you is warming and inviting in a way Eddie has never experience before. He cannot help himself as he bends a little further and dots a kiss on your knee. He's not sure why he does it, he just felt drawn to make more contact with you, like your bodies are magnets. There's no second to doubt himself as when he looks up, your hand is reaching out and tucking a curly strand behind his ear and then withdraws, brushing gently against his cheek. You then move your hand to take his, still on your thigh and tug him onto the bed.

The motel bed squeaks as he climbs on, you both get comfortable, lying on your sides, propped up on your elbows to look at each other. You pick at the snacks between you, squishing a marshmallow before popping it in your mouth. Eddie smiles endearingly at your marshmallow filled cheeks all puffed, he squishes them by cupping your face and laughs.

‘Like a cute little hamster.’

You grin and start to chew as you get more out the pocket and shove them into Eddie’s laughing mouth.

‘Don't mock me Edward,’ you chide and he's forced to eat the marshmallows, 'but you can call me cute again.’

Marshmallowy teeth grin at you, ‘Oh, I’ll call you cute as often as you like, sweetheart.’

You're both completely comfortable with each other now in a way no strangers can be unless they were destined to cross paths. His full name doesn't fill him with dread when it falls out of your mouth and his ‘sweetheart’ makes you feel like going by the nickname for the rest of your life. The rest of your life. You don't want to move on with your life right now, scared this is a one off interaction.

‘Eddie…’ you speak hesitantly, 'I have to leave here in like twelve hours but… I don't want to.’

You'd already discussed your lives, both of you living like nomads, travelling where your work told you too so he knows you're here for one night only much to his dismay.

‘I hate Hawkins,’ he admits, 'but I don't want you to leave either… I don't want to see you disappear off and I can't find you.’ You shuffle closer to each other.

'You can find me in Chicago for the next week,’ you smile sadly, ‘where will you be?’

Eddie’s schedule now he's done his press tour is fairly open so he considers what he could be doing in the next week.

'It's ridiculous y’know? I've known you what, like four hours and yet I just wanna say I’ll be wherever you'll be.’

It's a response you hadn't let yourself even dream of, scared of deluding yourself with fairytale romances. You cup his face, letting your thumb brush against his cheek, skimming under his fluttering eyelashes.

'I feel silly too. But I want you to be wherever I am too.’

The rest of the early hours you continue to reveal every part of your lives to the other. Bonding over the strong solo figures who raised you, your mom and Wayne being your anchors. You console each other of the figures who also abandoned you, both of your dads. Nothing feels off limits and it's hard to believe the gentle man in front of you who can sew and create intricate fantasy worlds and practically adopted a band of teenage boys, is the rockstar you'd seen girls fawning over like he was nothing but a hard-knock sexy symbol. Eventually both of your eyes droop and your breathing matches up as you fall asleep. During the night your hands find each other again and intertwined fingers make sure neither of you can slip away for now.

When sunlight seeps through lace curtains and awakes Eddie, he naturally goes to stretch his neck but is quick to realise movement is not possible. Tucked right into his neck, is you. Your face buried in the crook of his jaw and collar, he can feel your gentle breath fanning against his skin as your nose is nestled in his jugular. You hands are gripped to Eddie’s and he lets his fingers stroke your knuckles. A sense of pride fills him that you'd unconsciously sought out him for comfort in the night, your touch and relaxed nature around him feels more rewarding than selling out his hometown last night. He's unable to resist letting his mouth and nose rest on the crown of your head. Your soft hair smells of your perfume mixed with his cigarettes. Gently he lets himself kiss your head and then allows himself to be greedy and dot a couple more but clearly he was overzealous as you begin to stir.

Blinking sleep away, you open your eyes only to find your eye line is obstructed by the view of Eddie’s bobbing Adam's apple. For a moment you worry, a panic sets in telling you this how plenty of girls wake up with him only to never see him again but the panic is melted away by a tender kiss on your head. No, you remind yourself, this is not how normal one night stands go, for one they usually involve sex. Your night had consisted of longing stolen touches, confessions and life stories. This was more and you smile into Eddie’s neck.

‘Morning Ed,’ your sleepy voice groans. The nickname makes his heart swell and in response he clutches you tighter.

'Morning sweetheart, sleep well?’

Even though you hadn't actually slept that many hours due to your late night, it was still the best sleep you'd had in a long time. The first time you hadn't felt lonely, Eddie's presence comforting you in a way few ever had. You bury yourself further into his warm skin that smells like cigarettes and cinnamon and a natural Eddie-ness.

'Really well,’ you confess, 'I think you helped.’

Eddie lifts your chin so he can look at you properly, your eyes are soft and sleepy, mascara a little smudged but your cheeks are pink and you're the best view he's ever seen in a morning.

‘Oh thanks, did I bore you to sleep?’ He chuckles as he pokes your cheek. You're too sleepy still for sarcasm and you like him too much to let him worry, you can hear a slight self doubt in his voice.

‘Noo,’ you pout, 'just you. Comfy and warm. Help me settle. Wish you could be in my bed always. Sleep a lot better then.’

His hands brush your hair out of your face, he wants to remember this sleepy loving look you give him.

‘I couldn't say no, if you asked me to stay in your bed always.’

After allowing yourselves a little longer in each other's embrace, Eddie suggests getting breakfast at the café next door. You stuff your feet into some trainers as he laces his boot and as you leave the motel, you feel Eddie drape his leather jacket over your shoulders. You snuggle into it, letting his smell take you over, you have nothing to offer in return except your hand. So you hold his and they fit together naturally. You both enjoy the feeling of the others fingers stroking as you walk over to get food.

Over platefuls of greasy food, Eddie watches as you plot your journey from Hawkins to Chicago. The red dotted lines you mark just highlighting the distance that will be between you. Your nose and eyebrows are scrunched in concentration as you analyse routes as you chew syrupy waffles. Eddie wishes he could kiss off the syrup that lingers on the corner of your mouth but doesn't want it to be the first time he finally kisses you. He's been thinking about it since he saw you but didn't want to stop the chat between you.

‘Here!’ You jab at the map, 'that's where I'm staying in Chicago.’

Eddie swivels the map round so he can look. Corroded Coffin had visited a few times now, he recognises the area and lets his eyes seek out what he hopes is there. His finger jabs this time,

‘There! That's a good venue. We played before. It's just round the corner from you… maybe Corroded Coffin can play an impromptu gig next week with absolutely no ulterior motive.’ You laugh and take back your map but when you look up at Eddie, his face is completely sincere.

'Are you serious?’ You question.

'Deadly,’ Eddie nods, 'I… I don't want to just let you disappear. I can't explain it just yet but y’know, Y/N, this isn't normal right? I don't just feel like this around people I've known less than twenty four hours, do you?’

You shake your head, ‘No, Eddie, I don't. It's just you. I really want to see you again. Shit, I was panicking all night that this was a one off, worried I'd just never seen you again except on tv.’

He sighs a breath of relief, 'thank fuck, sweetheart. I was doing the same, was ready to pay The Hideout owner to lock us in.’

You laugh and throw an strawberry his way, he picks it up and munches grinning. Yeah, he thinks, wherever this girl goes I’m going to follow her.

Eddie loads your car as you check out, you'd forewarned him about the potential squealing receptionist who would ask a thousand questions and he thought it was best to avoid. When you meet him back at the car he opens the door for you but you can't bring yourself to be separated yet. Instinctively you both wrap your arms around each other and hug, clinging to the comfort you had now found and didn't want to let go of.

'There's a real nice restaurant near your hotel too, Y/N. Gonna let me take you on a first date, sweetheart?’

You smile into his chest, 'sleepover and the first date? I think we did it all wrong.’

His hands brushing through your hair now you look face to face he smirks, ' I think whatever we'd been doing before yesterday was wrong and this is all right.’

Once you're in the car you realise you still have on his leather jacket and you go to shrug it off but Eddie’s hand comes through the window to stop you.

‘Keep it, for now. Now you know I’ll definitely come to you because if anything, I’ll need that back.’ You grin at each other and you peck his hand gently like he did your knee last night. You hope next time you see him, you'll manage the lips, Eddie is thinking the same thing. As the car stirs into life and you drive off, neither of you look away from your view of the other until you disappear completely behind those lurking Hawkin’s trees.

‘And yeah,’ you laugh ‘he kept his promise. A surprise Corroded Coffin gig happened in Chicago the next week.’

Eddie kisses your cheek, ‘hell yeah, to this day I don't think I ever wanted to play a gig so bad. But yup, got my jacket,’ Eddie tugs at the leather jacket he now wears, 'and got the love of my life.’ The interviewer can't help but feel a little choked up and in awe of your story. They watch as you and Eddie gaze adoringly at each other, it's not a state you tend to see rockstars in but it seems Eddie Munson breaks the toxic stereotypes built up by decades of a male dominated music industry. Your love story feels too personal for them to actually report, the interviewer just feels lucky to have been privy to such a beautiful story and they decide to keep it that way.

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