#final fantasy goddamn seven
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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)
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summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh?
content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross
word count: 7.2k
Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do.
I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat.
I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one.
Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.
Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me.
Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi.
Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her.
The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become.
This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this.
It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time.
What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.
And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto.
Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.
He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out.
But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him.
He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.
“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated.
Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action.
Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.
“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!”
—
“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway.
“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that.
He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him.
So you do it again.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.
“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him.
“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!”
“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”
Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.”
Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance.
You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.
“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.”
Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest.
“Stay out of my way, then.”
“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.”
“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”
“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”
—
Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had.
See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.
Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft.
In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.
Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound.
He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask–
“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”
On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first.
“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.”
Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”
“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”
Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs.
But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something.
But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips.
He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.
“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”
You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.
“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”
“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”
“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.”
A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”
“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day.
Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.
“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“
“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”
“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”
Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win.
He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this.
Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking.
But he’s done it.
Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second.
Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell.
“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”
Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.”
And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.
“Nicole Summers.”
“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”
“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”
“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”
“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”
You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick.
“How was it?” you press.
Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”
Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”
“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”
Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass.
Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to.
What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”
“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.
“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.
“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping.
“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.
“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again.
“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face.
Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights.
“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?”
“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.”
Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you.
“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”
That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh.
“Combination lock, huh?”
“Allegedly.”
“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.”
Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”
Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”
He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t.
You’re drunk.
If you can stay drunk, all bets are off.
If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk.
You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan.
And it would mean nothing.
And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.
But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat.
“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”
So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home.
“Oh, shit!”
Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about.
“Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.
Trembling.
“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”
Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus.
He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.
Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–”
But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other.
Fuck. He can’t leave you like this.
You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there.
“Uh– Lacy?”
The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door.
A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you?
“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful.
Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–?
“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.”
“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon.
“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”
But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position.
“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands.
What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed.
“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.”
It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face.
“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed.
“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”
“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”
“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.”
–
You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive.
“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.
You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver.
“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness.
Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it.
“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”
She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy.
You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that.
So somebody must have.
Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile.
Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet.
Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.
Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada.
Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax.
“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.”
Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts.
“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”
“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.”
“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare.
“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”
Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”
“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing.
“Wayne–”
“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.”
He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night.
He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.
–
Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover.
It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s.
You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?
Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?
But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life.
The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess.
Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day.
You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.
You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that.
Regret stabs at you.
“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi.
“What?”
“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?”
Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”
“Ugh, thank god.”
“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.”
You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van.
“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you.
“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”
“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”
“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”
Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High.
“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.”
He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.”
You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”
“You’re never late for first period.”
“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?”
“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.”
It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would.
Until now.
And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him.
Until now.
“So?” he says, all expectant.
And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure.
The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded.
But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson?
Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust.
You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot.
As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.
You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk.
“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”
You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”
Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum.
Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand.
Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body.
She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park.
“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…”
“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”
“Huh?”
“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”
You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.”
Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now.
Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight.
“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little.
Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be.
“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
–
Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine.
But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap.
Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die.
Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.
You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor.
Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night.
“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker.
She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her.
Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape.
“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says.
This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at.
“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table.
There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?”
This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart.
You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you.
Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.
“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”
author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes:
- you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob
- eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease
- speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later
- admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people!
- did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~
- jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory
- RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig
- at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track
- thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats
#published by powder#in progress#hellfire & ice#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson fic#stranger things fic#e. munson by powder
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mammon in twisted wonderland pt.1
obey me masterlist | masterlist
mammon woke up in complete darkness and sort of just… stood there. like he felt around, realised he was in a small area, and then just stood there as he processed what was happening. mammon briefly thought he was dead, before remembering that he was a demon where he then continued to just stand there.
he continued to just stand there (like the patient and vaguely confused demon he was) until he heard a voice, and he then proceeded to… continue to stand there.
mammon felt the heat of something hitting whatever he was in before he saw anything. and it was then he decided to stop just standing there, where he gently pushed the door to the coffin off. he scared the soul out of the small… demon cat in front of him.
then he left, very casually and explored while managing to leave the small demon cat in the dust. being amongst the fastest of demon’s is both a curse and blessing, especially because it means he effortlessly leaves anything and everything behind him (by complete accident).
honestly mammon was hella fascinated by crowley (crows, duh) and was especially attentive to how he looked (he absently listened, but not consciously, so like usual).
mammon’s brain immediately went “er, what?” when he finally processed that he was in a school, and he realised that when he saw the massive group of children (mammon is 6000+ minimum, they are all children).
…pardon?
mammon’s brain froze when he realised just how many children were here. also mammon is a demon, mammon is massive compared to humans. and mammon was just realising that he was wearing a… strange like, 3 part robe thing. like, excuse me? where the hell (devildom?) did his normal clothes go???
his brain went to “look after the children and play along with their fantasies” when he was confronted with the magic mirror from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. then he spoke to the mirror, and he smiled through the confusion (and slight pain he felt when he remembered that none of his siblings ever cared about these things).
mammon was even more confused when the mirror said that his soul was unclear. like, excuse me? he could almost understand, except the mirror said his soul was unclear, not his + all the human souls he’d eaten before.
apparently his magic and soul weren’t compatible with this ‘twisted wonderland’ as crowley had called it.
proceeded to get bullied by the small demon cat (satan may love them, and mammon may love satan, but mammon didn’t understand why he loved cats). then he almost cackled when the small demon cat (what was it’s name again?) set fire to everything.
then the cute naive white haired kid got caught on fire. less funny, and now slightly concerned. you’re favourite demon took off the easiest layer of the weird robe (the top layer with the hood) and very gently (seriously, gentler then a damn feather) put out the fire.
also now the freakishly tall, handsome demon from literal hell, was comforting the white haired baby in front of him. then he was catching the small demon cat, getting scolded by crowley (lucifer much?) and getting told to leave.
gladly.
except mammon couldn’t leave.
goddamn it…
then he ended up in a ramshackle house. that was leaking. …and kind of looked like the house of lamentation. mammon kind of just stood there, in the living room silently as he just contemplated life. …then the small demon cat was back.
…wait small demon cat’s name is grimm? …avatar of greed is activated. small demon cat is now his.
the most patient demon with grimm. also he just staaaaared at the ghosts when they appeared and they skedaddled. can’t use demon magic, and his soul isn’t clear here, however, mammon is still one of the 7 demon lords of hell, and damn dude can be scary when he wants to be.
did in fact protest when told he needed to earn his stay (“it wasn’t even my fault?!”) however he kept his list of arguments to himself.
smelled the deception on ace when he turned up.
mammon listened to the stories of the great seven and absently compared some of them to his brothers (queen of hearts to lucifer, the beautiful queen to asmodeus).
your friendly greed demon encouraged grimm defending himself, kept a close eye on ace and grimm to make sure both children were safe.
mammon learnt very quickly that he had some of his demon qualities. his stare, his height, stature and various other senses and apparently his insane healing ability.
mammon very carefully hid his burned hand when crowley yelled at him, and by the time they’d gotten their punishment (so much nicer then lucifer) his hand was all good.
just about choked from laughter and panic when ace got crushed by a cauldron.
got injured again by the damn chandelier. blood was literally everywhere, and no one noticed.
…mammon wanted to go home…
fully prepared to talk his way out of the massive bill for the chandelier, and scrutinised the remains of it (not worth that much).
ace and deuce were insanely… oversized for the dwarfs mine, mammon might as well have been a giant in a hobbit hole.
honestly, mammon probably could’ve bodied the big, glass head thing, but instead he was responsibly and guided the (idiot) children to solve it themselves.
felt like a proud mama hen when they figured it out.
was still fascinated by crowley, but was also tempted to, er, do some demon stuff to him.
was even prouder of grimm after they were accepted into the school (wasn’t thrilled with becoming a student again).
was smothered by a curious murder of crows as he and grimm walked back to ramshackle dorm.
after doing some cleanup work on the dorm he noticed some little trinkets left near windows that apparently hadn’t been closed.
#obey me#mammon#lucifer#asmodeus#twisted wonderland#ace#deuce#grimm#crowley#obey me x twisted wonderland#twst crossover#twisted wonderland crossover#obey me x twst#obey me crossover
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The Midnight Kiss
Azriel took a hike this chap 😬😬 his inner thoughts were secluded from me😓😓 Fear not, Elain had no problem in blabbing for three two . Enjoy your Elain-fest, i guess… Adopte an author today, and win the privilege of helping to keep the flame alive! See ya 😻😽
Enjoy. Comments are welcomed and cherished :)
Part 6: In need of a Scotty to beam her up
Hands roaming each other's bodies in a hurry, a trail of discarded clothes leading to the bedroom, ragged breaths and frantic steps finding the way towards the bed, two bodies rolling around the sheets, her soft moans and his rough groans matching the “thud, ” of the headboard denting the wallpaper, a symphony of,
“Faster,”
“Harder,”
“Deeper,”
“There. Right there,”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
loud enough to haunt her nosy neighbor for days to come!
Had they been a regular couple, that’s how their third date would be coming to an end; in a steamy encounter between the sheets.
Since they were Azriel and Elain, their third date came to an end with the couple talking in his car, the engine roaring smoothly on the background.
Elain Archeron had been away from the dating scene for five years, yet the rules had not changed much: People expected to get laid by the third date. Sometimes on the first date, or even before having a first date! Bottom line is, go down dirty and hard in the first opportunity you have, put all the chemistry to test to avoid settling down with someone you have no interest in sleeping with. Despite not understanding the appeal of sleeping around, Elain agreed that a couple’s sexual life played a big part in the relationship. She also knew good bedroom chemistry turned into shackles when a guy treated you like shit outside of it. Worst bargain coin ever. Elain had been in one of those relationships before. It took so long for her to see how shitty her last relationship was, and finally break free from it, that once she did, Elain retracted from men all together. Hence the birth of her Crush Land.
Elain’s Crush Land was her happy place, a safe space where she could fantasize about the men she found attractive, without actually having to get involved with them. After all, it was much easier to crush from a distance than to get close and end up disappointed, especially when she had no confidence in maintaining a healthy relationship. In her Land the men were all perfect, flawless, fulfilling all of her expectations without her having to explain a thing. As every good sovereign, she establish ground rules for her Land, two unbreaklabe rules that kept her reign peaceful for years:
1º)This cannot be a one-Crush-land;
2º) The maximum of days a Crush can remain in his throne, is seven days. After that, he's trouble.
With time, Elain grow attached to her delusional lifestyle, content with her fantasies, her Crush Land providing all the male interaction she needed. Until she met Cassian.
Goddamn Cassian Marino, with his massive size and perfect round ass, sauntering into her life flaunting his silky hair and megawatt smiles, destroying everything she worked hard to perfect. Cass refused to fit into her equation, shattering her one-week-crush mold, frequently appearing in her mind till he was the only guy she could fantasize about. Funny thing is that was her wake up call. Ah, Elain thought sadly, I must be lonely.
Loneliness was a bitch. Especially for someone like her, who had been in relationships more than she had been alone. That’s why her Crush Land was important. No matter how silly it sounded, it helped her to learn to be alone, feel fulfilled by herself, not depend on a partner to give her worth. Elain was worthy. And her ever growing infatuation with Cass was proof that she was ready to get back into the dating world, preferably with him.
Life was also a bitch, slapping her, laughing at her pathetic hopeful plans, rubbing Cass' smoking-hot grilfriend in her face, before she could even have the chance to embarass herself with a confession. Cassian deciding to start when Elain decided to start dating, only to end up dating someone that was not her would be hilarious, had it not happened to her. It did happen to her, and Elain was devastated. But no matter! She would not let that stop her from taking a leep of faith with another guy.
Did she expected for this guy to be Cass' brother? No.
Did she expect for this guy to be her work-nemesis? Also, no.
Did she expect for this guy to be both, and despite the fact she knew that, to accept dating him anyway? Absolutly not!
Sometimes spontaneity made her do crazy things.
Elain would be the first one to admit Azriel's credentials were not looking good. But no matter! Azriel had showed he was interested in moving on too, and Elain was nothing, if not an optimist. She was confident about her abilities to move on, ready to conquer any challange life throw her way! All she needed was a guy who was willing to take her, not tame her, and everything would work out.
That’s how she found herself in boss-turned-boyfriend situation. What Elain and Azriel were doing was different from everything she had ever tried. This time she started dating her boyfriend before even liking him properly, going on dates to get to know each other. And Elain was enjoying this “get to know me” stage, enjoying discovering the little things she would not know simply by working with him.
Despite not having his brother’s easy disposition to accommodate strangers and make everyone feel comfortable with a flash of his white teeth, Azriel wasn’t the cold-hearted tin man she anticipated. As she got to know him, Elain discovered Azriel had no problem in being open and honest about his feelings, his expectations regarding their relationship, his desire to fall in love with her.
Elain was surprised to know he wasn't just interested in moving on, he was interested in her too! Initially, she thought they would help each other get over their exes, gain confidence with the opossite sex, and move on to find actual partners. Azriel nearly blew a fuse when she told him that.
"Let me get this straight. You wanna date me, to date another guy?"
"Yeah, we,"
"No." He stopped her.
"You'll date another girl, too,"
"No."
"Let me finish,"
"No. You are not dating another guy! Are you out of your damn mind?" He interrupted, a vein popping in his forehead. "I warned you, Elain, I warned you I don't do casual. You date me, you are mine, and I do not share what's mine. Fuck no, you'll not date another guy."
Elain thought women's hormones sure worked in mysterious ways, because she had no business finding a domineering man that sexy. So, she changed routes, treating him as a real boyfriend, trying her best to box all his annoying bits to focus in his qualities –a feature she spent the better part of a year believing he did not have. Turned out he did.
It pained her old self to admit this, but Azriel was excellent in his job. He was also beautiful –she was dying to get him in front of her lenses– educated –when he wanted to be– from a good family, with good values, and apparently, extra sexy when he claimed his domain of her. It would be a lie to say a man like that, showing interest in you, didn’t send butterfly into a frenzy in a girl’s belly. Azriel being an attentive boyfriend didn't hurt either.
Even busy, he made sure to text her here and there throughout the the week, matching his free time to hers so they could go on dates. Since their relationship changed from coworkers to lovers, he started watching his tone, policing himself to not lash at her as he usually would – in fact, Azriel was treating the entire team better. Taking did breaths to control his temper while rejecting ideas, reducing the number of times he indiretcly called them stupid during a day, and he had only told her to shut up twice this week – a progress if she ever saw one. It was her fault, honestly. Elain couldn't help it, provoking him was fun.
Plus, bantering didn't end with her wanting to punch his teeth out anymore, now they ended with him cornering her in the empty pantry, his office, the elevator, he parking lot, deseert corridors, Azriel tracking her down to bite the snarkiness out of her lips.
“Jesus, you are such a biter,” she pointed out one day, after a particularly sharp nip.
“Learned from you,” he breathed in her mouth.
Guilty. Elain couldn’t get enough of his plushy lips, nibbling and sucking on them till Azriel lost his stark facade, self-control thrown out the window, forgetting they stood in company property to press her on the nearest corner, groaning into her mouth, closing his long finger around her throat, making a mess of her hair. The man seemed obsessed with her hair and her neck. Elain was quickly becoming obsessed with his neck too, tip-toeing to fill it with wet kisses, leaving hickeys at the base, just shy from the collar of his dress shirts, like a little secret hidden in plain sight. It felt good to brand her teeth on his skin. A small punishment for all the times he made he want to punch his face.
At the end of the day, Elain wasn’t in love with Azriel, but she sure liked being his girlfriend. So much so, that when he pulled up in front of her building, she began to stall, coaxing him into conversing a little bit longer, not wanting to part.
Now she sat in his car, asking him endless questions about a subject most girlfriends would avoid like the plague: His ex.
“So you never had a girlfriend? Like, never, ever.” She asked for the third time, stunned with the complex and crazy history of her boyfriend.
Elain knew it wasn’t proper to use their date night to play 21 questions about his ex, but she was a curious person.
“If you want to get technical about it. She didn’t want labels. Had no problems getting the advantages of one, tho.”
His eyes dipped to her leg, which was bare, courtesy of her peach pleated skirt, a question clear in his hazel orbs. Elain allowed silently, watching as he gently ran his knuckles over the longitudinal scar dividing her kneecap in two halves, the line of scar tissue lighter than her skin.
"Does it still hurt?"
"Only if it gets too cold. My doc said it’s psychological, I said he isn’t the one feeling the pins burning. I swear to you, my orthopedist is whack, never trust your knee to Edgar Montero from Beacon Hill, never."
"How many pins?"
Elain lifted two fingers. Azriel removed his hand.
"It's fine, most of the time I forget about it."
He reached for his jacket on the back seat, draping it over her legs.
“Thanks,” Elain undid the straps of her sandals, not noticing him adjusting the temperature, and crossed her legs under his jacket, snapping a quick pic of her covered legs, catching the shoes on his carfloor. Then she returned to the subject of her interest. “Oh man, that’s a lot of responsibility, being someone’s first girlfriend. Just so you know, I had a lot of boyfriends, lots of experience.”
Azriel turned on his seat to better face her. “I have a decade of experience.”
She used her hand to make and “0” shape, saying, “stil had zero girlfriends. Were you lonely?"
Elain was. In her last relationship, Elain felt lonely even though she wasn't alone. She never wanted to experience that feeling again.
Azriel merely shrugged. “Work kept me busy enough.”
“Life is more than fashion, Marino. Life is bitter without the sweet frosting of love."
"Let me guess: that's why you fall in love easily."
"touché." She winked at him.
His raven-hair touched the headrest, Azriel closing his eyes. "How many boyfriend are we talking about?" he asked casually.
"You sure you wanna know?"
"Mmh."
"Most people prefer not to know about their partners past..." she taunted.
Azriel opened one eye, giving her an incredulous look. "You are so full of shit. You literally spent," he looked at his watch, "one hour and twenty minutes interrogating me."
It was her time to shrug, playing it cool. "I'm confident like that." Bullshit. Freaking curious enough to put George to shame, that's what she was.
"Stop stalling." Damn it, he knew her antics.
"Since you insist. Don't go crying later!" she gave him a last warn, putting a hand on her chest. "Just so you know, I'm extremely loyal. Got my first boyfriend entering high school, dated him till senior year. We broke up, I started dating this other guy in college, we were together till I turned twenty-four – he kind of traumatized me a little, but that's story for another time. Then I met this cute guy on tinder, he was stinky rich, but I think his mom wanted to bone him." Elain grimaced, using air quotes to repeat the nasty words she had to hear. "That lady was not happy to see her 'precious golden boy' with a 'lousy photographer'. I am not lousy. A goddamn amazing photographer, that's wha I am. Dumped his ass and won a contest later that month, thank you very much, mama Vanserra.”
Six months after breaking up with Graysen, Elain got into a bad funk. She missed intimacy, missed sex, and the worst part, she missed Graysen. To avoid crawling back to him, she tried a dating app, finding Lucien Vanserra on the first swipe, who she got involved with for three blissful months. Then his crazy mother started wanting to compete with Elain for her son’s love and affection. The woman acted like her son was her late husband. Yikes.
“And?” Azriel urged to go on, his voice bringing her out of memory lane.
“And what?”
"You said you dated a lot, I'm waiting for the "lot" part."
Elain grabbed the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric. "How dare you criticize my lovely love history? You never had a girlfriend. You are like, like – a dating novice!”
Azriel made sure his eye roll was a deliberately slow one, grabbing her chin to bring her closer. “You dated two guys and a half.”
"Why a half?"
"You never dated the third asshole."
“Still dated more than you.”
“Questionable.”
Elain snorted, impressed with his audacity to judge her when he never managed to get a single girl to date him. Before she could tell him to shove it, Azriel ran his thumb across her lower lip. He knew just how to shush her, because Elain went inert instantly.
“Are you done interrogating me, now?” She nodded. “Or do you wish to reminisce about your harem a little longer?” She shook her head.
There was no need to think about a witty reply. Azriel wasn’t actually interested in an answer, didn’t wait for on either.
He kissed her with all the patient she didn’t have, taking his time in tasting her lips; and there they were without fail, the goddamn fireworks blowing behind her lids like they did every time he touched her. Elain melted into him. His kiss was unhurried, throughtful, lips moving with the same tender assurance of the hand palming the beck of her neck, finger tangling in the waves at her nape, tugging in delicious way that was neither too harsh nor too tight. Perfect. His touch was perfect.
Elain endure the slow tempo the best she could, the kiss lingering like the sweetest of punishments. She let him conduct the pace till she was tingling all over, goosebumps coating her skin, Then she exploded, untamed and unleashed.
Where Azriel was calm, Elain was the storm. She wasted no time with gentleness, sticking her tongue in his mouth to deepen the kiss, delighting in his small flinch of surprise. Elain throw her arms around his neck like a desperate drowning girl in search of a life jacket to cling to, Azriel shuddering under her embrace, matching her wild pace with no struggle. Elain loved how versatile he was, changing from one type of kiss to another with easy, allowing her to guide him, to coach him as she saw fit. Heavy panting soon filled the air, the peculiar couple getting lost in the erratic kiss. When Azriel released her, his voice was lower than usual, rough on the edges, a black ocean smothering the beautiful hazel of his eyes.
"Is the experienced up to your standards, madam?"
She barely nodded, lipstick smudged all over, eyes glazed with need, searching for his mouth again.
Few were the things capable of turning Elain silent and compliant.
Azriel's kiss was on top of that list.
.
.
.
Elain sidestepped into the conference room carrying four colorful binders, arms feeling like jelly under the heavy weight, huffing from the small walks from the room to her desk. Okay, maybe the material wasn’t that heavy and she was the one out of shape. Christ, she needed to exercise more frequently. Elain could not remember the last time she did some cardio, except for running to the bakery two blocks down from her place. Fine, she needed to exercise, period.
She dropped her cargo on the long table, organizing the variety of fabric swatches, reference data and sponsoring proposals Nuala left in her care, snapping a quick photo of it all. Nuala caught a nasty flu she was trying to nurse before their business trip, leaving Elain, Miguel and Azriel to run their last meeting without her.
Speaking of Azriel…
Elain glanced expectantly at her boss, who was casually leaning against the table, focused solemnly on his tablet, scribbling over the interview draft Miguel presented to him. The assistant writer stood by him, eyes moving furiously from the object to his boss face, fidgeting like a child who waits for parental approval. These days Elain wasn’t much different, constantly rocking on her heels as she waited to snatch his attention.
The reminiscence of daylight seemed to clung to him, highlighting the deep navy of his dress shirt, the color making his profile stand out. The top button was undone, giving her the smallest glimpse of bronzed skin, Elain biting her lip as she remembered what was hidden by his shirt. At the height of his second button laid a little purple bruise, made by her. Elain sighed. How come he was able to stand there, doing nothing but breathe and be serious, and look as good as a seasoned model posing for the camera? Life was unfair. Well, not so unfair since she was the one who got to enjoy this big, sexy, handsome,
“Did your toddler redacted the last questions?” Azriel’s sharp remark interrupted her silent inspection of him. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t have to, directing his piercing stare at Miguel, who scratched his head, saying,
“I don’t have kids.”
“Figured. A toddler knows better than to ask Wang personal questions. Keep it professional, focus in the progress of her career, she’s prone to be volatile if you don’t. Tis last page is useless. Do it again.”
“Yes, boss man. Will do.”
Behind them, Elain rolled her eyes at Azriel for ruining her sweet memories with his unwanted crudeness. Moments like this, she didn't like him one bit. Azriel wasn't lying when he said it was hard for him to connect with people, and once he got hyperfocused in his job that little detail shined light a beacon. The man was in serious need of an interpersonal relationship coach. Learning the difference between constructive criticism and public humiliation would do wonders to his character.
Elain slammed a clipboard on the table, making a grand show of pretending to sneeze three time, just to slip in the words, “quit,” “being,” “a jerk,” in between. She could hear Azriel taking a deep breath before his neck turned like the little girl in the exorcist.
“Excuse me?”
“You should say “bless you, love”, but thanks.”
Elain could swear the lights flickers. "Are you doing that?" Shuddering, she made the sign of the cross.
Azriel scowled harder. “Are you out of your meds again?”
Oh, the nerve of this man. Liked being his girlfriend her ass. Elain gave him the sweetest smile she could muster, ending up looking like a psycho on the loose.
“Of course not, Marino. I have my medicine right here,” she pinched his cheeks, Miguel sucking his lips inwards to avoid laughing. “How could I look at this face and not feel healthy and energized? Don’t be a jerk, love, scowling gives you winkles, and God did not make me this hot to date a wrinkled old geezer.”
“I’m not old.”
"You are. Age is a state of mind, and yours show in your grumpiness." She tapped his cheek lightly, smoothing the frown from between his brows. "Relax for me," she said, then, a bit quieter, "that sounds awfully sensual doesn't it? Relax for me."
He seemed peeved, but Elain was positive he wanted to laugh. She could see his lips twitching in the corner.
"You know I'm still your boss, right?"
"So you've told me. Now stop scolding the poor boy, I don't his beautiful soul to be crushed by corporate world. You done with the interview, yeah?" she pushed the remaining binders closer to Azriel, explaining their contents. “Nuala asked to pass this along. This one has partnership proposals. She said to email her if you have any doubt, she’ll be glue to her phone in case you need her. This one has secured sponsors. Take a look at these gorgeous Jacobsen settees we can display on set.” She flipped all the way to page twenty-four, showing him a variety of furniture to choose from, watching him overseeing the selection with keen attention.
“They look rigid,” Azriel commented absently.
“You know all about that, don’t you?” See? Easy to provoke. “I’m aiming for uncomfortable. Is part of the first act. Nuala and I were playing with a couple of scenarios, and I did some sketches. My goal is for it to be hard on the edges, unpleasant, transitioning into a more and welcoming atmosphere once her apprentices come into the picture, color bleeding in. They are her missing piece, her equilibrium.”
She located the blue binder, spreading it open in front of her boss, displaying all the confidence and grace that she had mastered dealing with her previous clientele. Anxious brides needed reassurance, and Elain was an expert in gving it, gently guiding them into her vision with steady steps, making sure to accommodate their hidden desires to create the perfect shooting.
She showed them the pages, giving visual representation of how the model would look in the set, how the poses would convey the message. Azriel analyzed each page quietly, lost in contemplation, contrary to Miguel, who silently shook beside him, clutching his fist to his mouth.
Elain reached in front of Azriel to slap Miguel's arm. “What are you laughing at?”
“You said you sketched.”
“I did.”
“Angelita, you drew a bunch of stick people.” He lifted the tip of a paper, trying to discern what the heck she had done there. Lots of circles and lines, that's what. “It’s impossible to understand this.”
Elain gasped out loud, dramatically clutching a hand to her chest, gluing the back of her other hand to her forehead.
"Here we go," Azriel muttered, getting out of her way.
Elain staggered towards Miguel, clinging to his jacket, shaking him left and right.
“My own friend. My brother in army!”
“Brother in arms.” Azriel corrected with a shake of the head.
Elain ignored him, way too deep into her theatrical redemption of a betrayed person, continuing her absurd discourse.
“My ally! Here I was, defending your maidenly honor, and you, you! You throw me under the bus! Thou shalt not kill, Miguel, thou shalt not kill! Why do you murder me like this! Have you no compassion? Have you no honor? Why do you betray me, why?" With a final cry, she sobbed into his shirt.
"Alright, alright. Get up now." Miguel held Elain up right, who was still pretending to be weak on the knees. “Couldn’t you have cut some old mags or something?”
“And give you some else’s vision?” her face twisted with horror, Elain pushing away from him to clean her fake tears. “No, thank you. This is an original shooting, with original concept, so we needed original drawings.” She tapped her index on the paper. “You have to look with your third eye, friend.”
“I have that?”
“Everyone does.” Fixing her hair in a ponytail, Elain wiggled herself between the two man, preparing to give a class they would not forget. “Pay attention, por sabor.”
“Por favor," he corrected amused.
“That’s what I said. Look, these are all different poses, kneeling, standing, laying down. I gave my blood for the stick people! Look! Here, she’s falling from a cliff into darkness, see, her arms are trying to grab salvation. Here, they are lying down, bored to death, in desperate need of something new, excitement. Then, boom! Wangsalvation. And here comes Vera," her passionate speech mellowed, for a shadow was casted over her, a strong frame trapping her between his body and the table. Elain wondered if Azriel had an inner furnace, because he always seemed to run hotter than her.
She cleared her throat, struggling to remain professional. "Vera is – Vera...? Yes! Vera. Vera will be waiting for her pupils, reaching her hand like the statue of a goddess, teaching her ways to the youth.”
The heat of Azriel's body seeped into her naked arms as he gently took a hold of her wrist, long soft fingers wrapping around her skin. Mouth-watering muscles flexed as guided her, making her point at something she could not care less.
"What's that one?"
Elain licked her lips, imagining how much prettier he’d look holding both of her wrists, pinning her hands above her head, binders dropped to the ground because she’d be the one spread on this table, harsh hazel eyes darkening with desire as he bent over–
“Models in opposite sides, touching each other’s faces.” She mumbled bewildered.
“Mmmh.” His purring vibrated on her back, Elain gulping at the awareness that she was straight out resting against his front. Her cheeks heated, eyes darting quickly to the witness in the room, only to find him distracted by his phone.
“Hey, Jerry read my email. He'll see me first thing tomorrow,” Miguel said casually. Jerry was their chief-editor, responsible for all the journalist aspects of an issue. “I’ll cut the last page and brainstorm new questions tonight. Maybe he can finish proofreading before we fly out.”
Azriel's hand moved from her wrist to her waist, resting casually at her hip. "I rather you proofread the winner's interview first. Wang is the last to go, there’s time to fix hers.”
“You sure?”
The two exchanged more words Elain didn’t pay an ounce of attention to, too busy digesting her latest daydream. The fact that her fantasies were now starred by a different Marino still caught her by surprise sometimes.
Surely, all that making out, like a couple of unsupervised horny teenagers, was messing with her brain chemistry. Because Azriel went from being nothing but a cranky boss, who made her blood boiling with impatience after their interactions, to be the protagonist of her x-rated story lines, sending her spiraling simply because he touched her wrist –not even her ass or titties, her goddamn wrist! This man’s touch needed to be studied.
The more she thought about it, the clearer it got: Elain not only liked to be Azriel's girlfriend; Elain liked Azriel.
A kiss on top of her head startled Elain back in the present, Miguel long gone from the room.
“I can smell your neurons burning.” Azriel joked, smelling her hair, kissing the same spot from before. The little excited thing in her chest went crazy. “Why is your heart beating so fast?” he whispered in her ear, “I can feel it in my chest.”
Crap, he could feel it?
Elain groaned.
At first, she thought Azriel Marino didn't had a flirtatious bone in his body, later, she understood he simply wasn't into cheesy reckless pick up lines like her. No, Azriel enjoyed other ways to take her off her feet, generally pointing things a gentleman should pretend he hadn't noticed! Sometimes it felt like this man was put on this earth to humble her. Christ, how was she supposed to flirt her way out this? Elain was in need of a Scotty to beam her up and away from here, before this man discovered her weakness. He was already way to powerful for her taste.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that my boss being inappropriate during office hours.”
“Now, she remembers I'm her boss. And you are inappropriate all the time.”
“Yeah, but it’s weird when you do it. I'm the funny partner in this relationship.”
Azriel used her jeans beltloops to turn her around till her ass was pressed on the table “Are you?” Since when had this man confused face been so adorable? "You are fun, but funny, tsk tsk. Funny is a big stretch."
His fingers dug in her in waist, cutting her cognitive abilities, stopping her from registering the insult. Was he going to put her up the table? God, she hoped he would. "Cute shirt."
Elain looked down on her white tee design, where two potted plants were having a conversation. One saying, "Aloe, how are you?", the other "Hey, long Thyme no see."
"Thanks."
He traced her lower lip, muttering. "No lipstick, today?"
Before she could control herself, Elain let her tongue dart outside, meetind the pad of his thumb. "Didn't want to smear you," she replied in a daze.
"Glass walls. Office hours." Came his low warning.
"Technically, we are past office hours. I'm friends with Marie, you know, the cleaning lady. She gave those glass walls an extra glow this morning, I can guarantee you'll find no germs in it. Now, if you wanna put some germs in it, I have a few ideas about what we could press there. Who. You. could press there. But I should warn you, the dress code suggestion may get a little skimpy."
There was no hidding his smile now, except he wasn't amused. His smile was wicked, smoldering hazel eyes hiding delirious promises. Azriel cleaned her saliva over her cheek, finding her neck.
Knuckles rapped against the glass wall; a melodious voice calling his name. Worse, calling him by a pet name.
"Az." The affectionate sugary tone made Elain grimace. And she wasn't the only one.
One blink and the burning desire in his eyes morphed into anxiety.
"Az?" His face paled. As if he couldn't believe the sound reaching his ears. Elain looked from him to the gorgeous woman in the doorway, checking her from feet to face.
Black stilettos, red strapless jumpsuit and sunglasses greeted her. Manicured red coffin nails clutched a tiny mini purse, beach blonde hair gathered at her nape in a low, elegant, ponytail, once again making Elain feel inadequate in her jeans and tee. Morrigan took her sunglasses off, giving Elain a view of her red swollen eyes.
"Az... Azriel." Her trembling voice calling his full name seemed to wake up Azriel from his trance. He withdrew from Elain completely, turning to Morrigan at last
"Hi." Uncomfortable silence stretched when he didn't greet her back. If Morrigan was saddened by his stiff reaction, she did not let it show. "Can we talk? Please. I really need to speak with you."
#elriel#elriel fanfic#elriel fanfiction#elain archeron#azriel shadowsinger#elain acotar#azriel#elain#elain x azriel#cass and mor#my writing#the midnight kiss#part 6#i'm still here!#impressed with myself#congrats livi! you go girl! give me a complete fic to read before bed when i feel like it#two things i wanted in this chapter#elriel navigating the waters between banter and affection#and Mor reappearing like the ghost of christmas past#😆😅😂🤣#i forgot the last thing I made was a spicy MB for love language day#was shocked when i opened my drafts#got stuck drooling for a bit 🤤🤤🤤🤤#yes it's canon#they make out in the office#🤫🔥
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What season of Dimension 20 should a noob start with I want to understand what the FUCK you're talking about
oooooooo yes, welcome, come on in, were all fucking weird here!
get ready to have Extreme Feelings about one (1) loud, white man
but also, you can kinda start wherever you want? i haven't even watch every single season, anyway. here's the seasons, out of airing order, probably
fantasy high - the original, the og. teens in fantasy high school, having hijinks and saving the world. honestly, if there's like an established place to start, this is it. there's a second season, and a couple of live shows that are so fucking fun. griffin mcelroy's live ep is fucking WILD, i love ficus
pirates of leviathan - fantasy high adjacent, post fh season 2. i didn't actually finish this one. i dont remember why. i dont super have a strong attachment to fh season 2, so the setting for this one just didn't interest me, but it's pirates having hijinks on a floating pirate city
unsleeping city 1 & 2 - urban fantasy weirdness, urban fantasy fun times. the magical world that lives beneath and alongside the new york we all know. like fables, maybe, but more fantasy archetypes than folklore. really fun, really enjoyable, i have no memory of season two but i know i watched it
the seven - another fh spinoff, but a little more tied into the first season. a fantasy party of all the people they spent season one trying to save. it is SO FUCKING FUNNY, and SO FUCKING GAMEPLAY CRUNCHY, and I CRIED SO FUCKING HARD. need some emotional healing? exquisite. i miiiight suggest watching fh first, just to understand who they are, but also you don't *need* to
tiny heist - borrowers and fairies and thug bugs and living toys, trying to run a heist. so goddamn fun. highly, highly recommend. i love a fuckin heist. its the mcelroy family season, so if you like them you can look forward to that. just mcelroy is just. he's fucking batshit.
a crown of candy - game of thrones ass campaign, but the characters and kingdoms are all based on the different food groups. for real and honest, this season didn't hit me and i didn't finish it. but i do enjoy compilations of it on youtube
the ravening war - crown of candy spin off. i also didn't watch this at all, but it has cr's matt mercer as the guest gm, and im sure he's a great guy and all, but i just don't vibe with his dm style. deffo the least amount of levity of all the seasons, i think
mice & murder - a sherlock holmes, agatha christie ass murder mystery where everyone is in the house trying to solve the murder. also everyone is woodland creatures. another highly recommend if you're into murder mysteries like that
escape from the bloodkeep - what if lotr was told from the baddies pov. it's so stupid, so silly, so much fun. highly recommend
shriek week - monsters on their final week of college. despite my love of guest gm, gabe hicks, this season just Did Not Hit Me. not even ify nwadiwe could hold me
misfits and magic - hogwarts ass magic school for little wizards, but without the transphobia and racism. need some kids upsetting an unjust society based on classism? this for you. so, so good! guest gm aabria iyengar, she fucking knocks it out of the park. there's also a christmas episodes and a live show with a different cast
a starstruck odyssey - did you know that brennan lee mulligans mom elaine wrote the comic starstruck? this season is based on the comic and its very fucking fun! scifi shenanigans out the ass
neverafter - horror themed season, about macabre fairytale characters and the enduring nature of stories. it took me a bit to get into this season, but it's so good! you gotta like horror, tho. that's important to remember. it's a dark season
coffin run - draculas followers try to get an injured dracula back to the castle before his enemies catch up. sooooooo so so fucking funny, one of my favorite seasons. guest gm jasmine bhullar kills it. absolutely unfuckinghinged season
a court of fey and flowers - EASILY my favorite, second favorite season. aabria is back, the fey are having a party, someone is trying to do something terrible, they need to navigate jane austen era ass court politics to figure it out. so, so fucking stupid and fun
dungeons & drag queens - i havent finished this season, cuz i got Depressed As Shit earlier this year and just couldn't, but im about to jump back in. honestly, the plot doesn't matter, it's monet x change, alaska thunderfuck, jujubee and bob the drag queen. do you need to know anything else? no, you don't
mentopolis - the current season. a good place to start it you don't want to binge anything, as only one episode is out. it's a noir detective mystery taking place within the brain of a scientist and is already climbing the ranks of my favorite seasons
godspeed, you little nerd. go forth and have fun
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Behold, my slapdash spur of the moment word vomit silly little fantasy of if Aemond Had Switched Sides To The Blacks When Viserys Croaked:
-Otto and especially Alicent would be in straight up denial up until they see his ass on that dragon coming for King’s Landing because fAmILy sTiCkS tOgEtHeR nO mAtTeR wHaT like who cares if Otto pimped out his daughter and who cares that they forced Helaena to marry Aegon (she has zero love for that bum come on now) WE ARE A FAMILY DAMMIT and they just can’t comprehend a dynamic where Aemond would see them as anything other than his highest priority worthy of 1000% of his loyalty and dedication no matter how scummy they are ✨just because they’re family✨
-a little standoff with Daemon when Aemond gets to Dragonstone because Daemon is the way that he is 🤷🏽♀️
-“Mother says that Father changed his mind at the last moment but I know by the seven that that is complete bullshit he barely even knew we existed and yes I still can’t stand my nephews BUT I’m willing to leave it all in the past-ish because Aegon’s drunk r*p*st ass would run the realm straight into the ground, let’s just be realistic here..”
-would apologize to Rhaena and get all huffy when she refuses to accept the apology, Jace would play peacemaker and finally apologize about the eye which in turn would prompt Aemond to grudgingly admit that *maybe* he shouldn’t have grabbed a rock to try to bash Jace’s skull in with and it just snowballs into an actual heart to heart between them all, Baela adding in that hey I should have remembered dragons aren’t slaves and they choose their riders blah blah bla Aemond adding that it was definitely out of pocket for him to claim Vhagar literally hours after her moms funeral blah blah bla we were all just kids tho bla blah blah ending with Luke apologizing about the pig thing 🥺
-then we get a scene where Daemon is still suspicious and questions Aemond when they’re like out patrolling or whatever. “Why did you REALLY leave?” (You little shit??)
-“....because Mother turned out to be just like grandsire...and I realized grandsire didn’t give a shit about my eye or what I had suffered, only that it gave him an opportunity to weaken Rhaenyra because I had obtained a dragon for ‘our side’. It’s all they care about, how they can undermine her and uplift house Hightower....They don’t give a shit about me and I would have done everything for them...I’m as interchangeable as the most lowly of their banner men.”
-cue Daemon inwardly realizing oh shit I have a new son now because yes Daemon is a fucked up scumbag but goddamn it if he isn’t a total sap for the whole “I try so hard to get genuine love from my family why can’t they understand that and give me some love back” thing
-anyways Aemond goes to Storm’s end and snags Maris as a wife because who doesn’t love a good roast amirite and the whole posse will storm Kings Landing, RhaeRhae is crowned again in front of the people and she reigns for a bajillion squillion years everyone is happy especially me the end lmao
#hotd fanfics#hotd fanfiction#Aemond Targaryen imagine#Rhaenyra Targaryen#Daemon Targaryen#look if this imagine really chafes your ass that badly just block me??? the block button is right there boo#yOuRe iNvAdInG tHe gReEnS tAg no the fuck I’m not I’m posting a relevant Aemond post in the Aemond tag cry about it#blocking people is free try it today#like I’m not even super anti green or whatever 🙄🙄🙄#I’m not out here harassing greens fans on their posts and shit#hell im even devouring a lot of Aemond x OC fanfics because they’re so damn good!#LET ME LIVE#also once more with feeling: the block button is RIGHT THERE if this shit bothers you so much???#yes this is about an anon lmao#I never get anons and when I do I don’t give a fuck but I had TIME today#😂 mostly because work was shitty but hey that’s life as they say#welp this went off in a completely unrelated direction#so how we doing? everyone liking hotd? is the acting great or what 👌🏽#god I love fandom no matter how fucking stupid it gets sighhh 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤
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Episode 44! Na-Go gets her final form, apparently!
It's so bizarre to me to see a female Rider penned by Takahashi of all people get so much love, considering how underutilized Poppy and especially Valkyrie were, but I admit I've been very pleasantly surprised by how much I loved Neon all throughout this season. ...I'm a little conflicted on the design, but
Oh, and uh... Spoilers, I guess...
-The phrase "be careful what you wish for" comes to mind.
-I just realized that Gya-Go's helmet is retooled from Seeker's. ...I feel a little sad knowing that, I really wish he got the chance to come into the main series for a bit the way Falchion did. I can see him being something of an inverse of how Bacht was in Saber. Er uh, Bahato. Sorry, I'm not a big fan of that romanization.
-It took you far too long to acknowledge that fact, Old Man Kousei.
-Now that's just gutwrenching.
-Whoa, claw!
-Good job, Kasahara-san. You've still got it.
-Akari...
-Fuck, man...
-For personal reasons I have no real desire to weigh in on the discussion on how this whole arc surrounding Neon and her family was handled, but...
-Man, Kousei. You've got a long road ahead of you before you can even try to make amends. Not just with Neon, but everyone who ever played this game.
-Oh, never mind that, the Fox Man is here!
-Oh what do you know about this world, Kekera?
-Hello, Michinaga. ...yeah, I'm calling you by your name again.
-I have to wonder, did Tohru resurrect in all the chaos?
-All we can do is play Beroba and Jitto's game better than them.
-Ohhhhh, I see. Powered with belief, like any good god.
-...I wonder if the Invess have their own religion surrounding Mai and Kouta?
-Tsumuri...
-No shit they'd kidnap Neon, Keiwa!
-You heard her constantly torturing Neon, man!
-I like how it's ambiguous that Keiwa
-Michinaga, whaddup man?
-The cow man has beef.
-Playing the DGP's game.
-Goddamn, whipping out the special first thing!
-Not even the Shogun's men stick around when he's off to war.
-God, I still can't get over how the Bujin is just a Real-Ass Goddamn Sword.
-Do you believe in Ace Ukiyo?
-Going foxhunting.
-"Then why do you still look so miserable?" :(
-All it took for the Shogun to rule was a few terrible lies and one terrible miscalculation.
-Hello, Irumi.
-You've also got a bajillion things to make up for.
-Gya-Go's core...
-"Give that back to the fox man, Neon."
-Wish granted?
-Oh, hi Beroba.
-"I have a job to do. It's my responsibility."
-Honey, I sincerely doubt you bought that gun of yours.
-Ohhhhhhhh
-Neon Kurama. Kamen Rider Na-Go!
-Welcome back to the game.
-Ohhhhh, that's good.
-Fantasy!
-Ready...
-Fight!
-Holy shit, she's a wizard.
-Oooooh, right where it hurts!
-Oh man, this is super disorienting.
-Ooooooogh.
-Goddamn, that's a finisher.
-Premium L.
-Off she goes.
-Down.
-"How's that despair treating you?"
-It's only right that Michinaga get in on this too.
-That's seven years bad luck right there, Beroba.
-Thanks, Jesus~!
-"Beroba's dead, man."
-...well, that's exactly how Keiwa's Inner Demon looked in Movie Battle Royale. ...think I'm gonna keep calling him the Shogun for a while. All the power and
-DA-PAAN?????
-HE'S STILL AROUND????
-Damn, I guess PunkJack's not transforming again until the new movie.
-Oh hello.
-You're Mela, the villain of the movie. Cross Geats, I believe your form is called.
-Somehow we always knew it'd come to this. And yet we
-That was quite exciting, wasn't it?
-Man... I'm not prepared for next episode.
#geats#kr geats#geats spoilers#kamen rider geats#the world's next round: trick shot of desire for the grand victory#kamen rider
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Seven Sentence Sunday
Thanks for the tag @trippedandfell and @adventuresofprettyboyandthekid! 💙💙 This is waaaay more than seven sentences, but I haven't posted a writing snippet in a while so hopefully this makes up for that!
~
"Is that— Is that a shooting star?"
Eddie looks up at the night sky, more vast and sprawling than he's ever seen in LA. The constellations pepper the sky like glitter on one of Christopher's grade-school art projects, but if he follows where Tess is pointing — just above what must be the silhouette of a giraffe or maybe an an elephant — he just makes out a faint trail of light, floating from east to west.
His stomach pangs. Because he knows in his heart of hearts that it's not a shooting star. Not really. It's probably just an airplane, or a satellite, or an entire figment of his and Tess's collective imagination. Because a goddamn UFO streaking across the sky is much more likely than Eddie ever giving himself the permission to want. To hope that maybe one — just one — of his wishes could come true.
He turns back to Tess to break the news, but it's too late. Her eyes are pressed closed, her shoulders are scrunched and her brows are furrowed in concentration, like she's putting every ounce of her mental fortitude toward this wish, and Eddie can't find it in his heart to shatter the fantasy for her. So he glances at the tent, where Buck and Quinn are watching the stars.
Buck's jacket is draped across her shoulders and she's practically swimming in it. Not unlike how Eddie's enveloped in pain and longing when she slips her hand into Buck's, and Buck smiles in turn, ducking his head in that signature way that Eddie had managed to delude himself into thinking had just been for him all these years.
And so he faces the sky, closes his eyes, and wishes.
I wish that Buck would end up with someone who makes him happy. Even if it’s not me.
"What did you wish for?" Tess asks when Eddie finally opens his eyes.
Eddie sighs and looks back up at the expanse that feels as big as the knot in his stomach. "Can't tell you," he murmurs, because despite committing his life to acting unselfishly, it's times like this when it doesn't feel as good as it probably should. "Can't risk it not coming true."
~
Tagging: @megslovesbooks @ashwinmeird @madneyandbuddie @elvensorceress @imsupposedtobewritting @jacksadventuresinwriting
#wip tag game#seven sentence sunday#buddie#nothing safe is worth the drive feed#eddie diaz#evan buckley
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KH3 is great! Have you tried any of the Flantastic Seven yet? I did them all in my last playthrough and they can be surprisingly fun!
Frankly, people have been up Sora's even back in KH2, Kairi's "He's completely hopeless without us" gets me reeling to this day.
Personally, I'd also add the Beast (or, Adam, is it?) to the group.
Don't worry, Maleficent WILL get to Luxu, you'll see, it's great.
Lastly, about the Toybox trailer... what do you know about Final Fantasy XV?
"Omnis Adoratio Verum Rex"
OMG THE FLAN HEARTLESS HAHA! Yeah, I ran into one at Olympus and feel like I'm playing racing games at the arcade again with how much I struggle to drift. You're right, super fun though and I'm a stubborn person.
And yeah, I'd say Sora's little journey of feeling down on himself while other people chip away at him and put him down predates KH1. The game starts out with "lazy bum" and all the other island kids being like "Yeah, you're not much compared to Riku." And then Riku himself, who's supposed to be his best friend, being a jackass, and who knows how long he was pulling that stunt. The Keyblade-worthiness thing is ingrained in Sora's brain now, since then, and even though Riku has tried to clean up his act since then, you've still got stuff like that Kairi (I know he didn't hear her but still, goddamn, girl) line you mentioned I also went :(( at, Beast/Adam, and other moments reaffirming to Sora's inner voice that's like "uuughh... I'm a looser who won't measure up to what people expect of me just by being meeee."
YEEES. WELL, MY QUEEN MALEFICENT BETTER SHARE WITH THE CLASS. 'Bout to rip off Luxu's hood and then his Master is next in line for my assault.
And I admittedly don't know much about FFXV outside of the development hell (I think it was supposed to be another game or something but I can't remember it's been years lol), and that it's a Buddy Film video game with Noctis the prince dude and his honorary boyfriends on a road trip. I have their sick ass car as a mount in FFXIV.
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for the musi c ask game 5, 10, & 15
Ooh, this ended up being rather fun. Got to trawl through some of my favorite music for this :3
For this ask game
5: A song that needs to be played LOUD
Not exactly a song, but one of the first things I thought of was "Here comes Meliodas" from Seven Deadly Sins: Cursed by Light. I haven't even watched the movie yet (mostly because I haven't finished the anime, because the last two seasons of the anime are terrible, but anyway) but the music is just so damn good I turn up the sound (and the bass) every single time it comes on. Very stimmy, too.
10: A song that makes you sad
"Welly Boots" by The Amazing Devil. This is a bit of an odd answer, in that it doesn't make me sad for any kind of personal experience. It makes me sad because I associate it with an OC, Mavwin. More specifically, I associate it with her father, who fucked up badly, and in doing so fucked things up for his people, his kids, and Mavwin in particular. I view the song as being from his point of view in the afterlife, after he dies due to his screw-ups, watching his beloved daughter suffer for his mistakes and begging her to survive and make it through to a happy ending.
15: A song that is a cover by another artist
I'm fond of "Come Little Children" by Erutan. I'm pretty sure I originally heard it in what I think was a Final Fantasy AMV, except I had No Goddamn Idea what Final Fantasy was, so I didn't know what I was looking at and only realized it was probably Final Fantasy like. As I was typing this, actually. I later found it again via this excellent My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic fan animation and fell in love with it. I ended up singing it as a lullaby for infants over the years.
Thanks for the ask!
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Hi there, hope you're doing well! I'm currently all caught up on my shows and am in search of new ones to watch, do you have any that you've been really enjoying lately or that you might recommend?
i'm just out here surviving! i hope you're well as well!
okay this is a question i love answering. i'm not really sure what your bag is, or what shows you've already watched, but i'll rec stuff across genres/tropes. i also, as a rule, never recommend stuff that i haven't watched and loved.
gonna start out by saying that, to me, you won't find better found family dynamics than in Leverage, which is one of my all-time favorite shows and a regular rewatch.
i just finished iZombie and loved it. it's goofy, at times a little gory, unexpectedly touching, the relationships are so good, and it feels relevant to today's world given the current climate here.
i'm generally not that attracted to sci-fi/fantasy, but i fucking loved Fringe. i also very much enjoy Grimm if you're looking for something that's also goofy and doesn't take itself too seriously. also, i'd be remiss if i didn't mention Sense 8.
for legal dramas, I recently marathoned The Good Wife and The Lincoln Lawyer, both of which i found enjoyable. TGW is definitely heavier on the drama side and involves a lot of politics, so TLL is the lighter way to go. (side note: i've worked for law professors for ten years and i find legal dramas/cop shows to be hilariously entertaining because every so often i find myself muttering "you quite literally cannot do that" lol.) also, Goliath is pretty amazing and each season is its own story.
can't talk about legal dramas without a few cop shows, and i do enjoy Bosch, Rizzoli & Isles (the books and show are drastically different, i've found them both worthwhile), Flashpoint, and Numb3rs was pretty interesting in that it was at least a fresh concept.
if you don't mind violence, Hunters is a great show but it's definitely a lot (they're modern day Nazi hunters, and there are flashbacks involving the concentration camps) but fair warning, it ends on a cliffhanger and i have no idea when/if s2 will drop. The Boys while very violent, is also very darkly humorous, which is the kind of stuff i like.
for goofiness with a side of heart, Psych is a great watch. Schitt's Creek is also an obvious choice. also I found The Librarians to be very enjoyable. Parks & Rec is hit or miss for some people. you really have to power through it at first before it finds its footing.
for a good one-and-done, i did like Eyewitness. for an excellent one-and-done, Watchmen is top tier. seven seconds is also pretty good. also enjoyed Somewhere Between because I am hella attracted to devon sawa.
i also really enjoyed Lovecraft Country, but it's also one of those shows that's A Lot. historical drama mixed with horror, if that sounds appealing. the episode where they travel back in time to the day of the tulsa race massacre is one i had to sit with for a while.
thrillers I enjoy are Reacher, Jack Ryan, Person of Interest, Blindspot, and Shooter.
for true crime, one of my favorite docuseries is The Keepers. The Staircase is also an interesting one.
for history stuff, i absolutely love Drain the Oceans. it's fucking fascinating.
The Fall, because Gillian Anderson.
for medical drama, i have a preference for The Night Shift. it ends on a sot of cliffhanger, but i think it stands pretty well as a series finale.
for medical hilarity, Sirens. i laugh every goddamn time i watch it.
I have a very, very long list of shows I started but haven't finished because I find it almost impossible to keep up with shows that are actively airing. if it's a popular show and it's not on here, that's probably what happened lol.
my current shows are 911, Big Sky, and Air Disasters.
ask me random stuff!
#omg this got so long I'm so sorry#and it took me forever??? I was trying to remember shows I watched forever ago lol
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Your brain ever just grab you by the shoulder, get right in your face, and begin screaming at you to create a Matrix one-shot adventure using the Cypher system right goddamn now? “Brain, it’s almost midnight,” you shout back. “Not the time to relive cringey 90′s power fantasies!”
Brain’s not having any of it though. It presses your face onto the keyboard and conjures up memories of the first movie. Remember the first time you saw it? Remember how unashamedly 90′s it was? It was so dumb! We lapped it up like wild, thirsty animals. Maybe your friends could ignore everything about the sequels and just dive gleefully into some nostalgia with you! It’s just a one-shot anyway, so it can be as silly, leather-clad, over-the-top stupid as you want.
A “whoa” involuntarily gurgles from your face as you’re pressed harder into the keyboard. Your brain finally lets up on the pressure. Fingers twitch once and before you even lay them on the keys, you’ve come up with the skill system. Is Kung Fu a skill? Yes. How about Bullshit Gunplay? You bet your ass it is.
It’s seven minute to midnight. Let’s see how much you can get done before the clock strikes twelve.
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Castlevania Nocturne Season 1 Review
Its a good time to be a gamer, or an adult who likes animation. After decades of flop after flop, it seems that filmmakers and animation studios finally got their shit together, and realized that video games aren't just a fad that will pass in a few weeks. We can now rest easy, knowing that the people who make video game adaptations actually know what video games are, and did their research on them before putting pen to paper.
Sure, in every boom, there's bound to be a few stinkers. I doubt any news outlet is putting the live action Monster Hunter movie in their 'Top Ten Best Video Game Movies' lists anytime soon. But as it stands today, the market for video game adaptations for the big (or small) screen is bustling, with major successes like the Super Mario Bros movie proving just how successful they can be.
Streaming services, as well, have taken this in stride, putting forth their best and brightest to make some damn good shows for their platforms. With shows like Arcane, Cyberpunk : Edgerunners, and Castlevania (2017), most video game or animation fans have been eating well with Netflix, and the release of Nocturne last September was just another scoop on the sundae.
Castlevania: Nocturne is a short animated series created by Clive Bradley, and directed by Sam and Adam Deats. Based on the Konami games, Nocturne follows a group of young magical heroes who work together to stop a secret ruling class of vampires from summoning a messiah and bringing about the end-times. A cunning show with a dark premise, Nocturne is 8 episodes of fast-paced, blood spraying, beautifully animated action that lives up to it's precedent's legacy.
Coming just 2 years after the finale of the original series, Nocturne only ups the quality of the series as a whole on all fronts. For starters, the visuals. My god, the animation is incredible! I wish I could show every fight scene, every smoothly-animated sequence here, but alas, I'd lag the shit outta this post. I'll spare you, mobile users.
Watching this show took me back to 2017, when the original series came out. Sitting on a bus, on a youth trip in the middle east, I'd watch the fight at the end of season 1 over and over, trying to spot how they animated it. Seven years later, I still find myself staring in slack-jawed amazement at the slick animation on display, which moves so fast that at times, I can't even tell what's going on. One thing's for sure, though: its goddamn beautiful.
On top of that, Nocturne keeps the series' ball rolling, adding onto the previously established lore while keeping the past relevant, to make it fit the overarching narrative. It acknowledges what happened at the end of the previous series, and continues where it left off, albeit a few decades later. Nocturne's main characters aren't nobodies: their family lineage and abilities link them to the previous trio, showing how though the passage of time, the show stays the same.
The main character, Richter, is a stark contrast to Trevor, the previous series' protagonist. He's polite, nicely dressed, works well with others, and has a lot to learn about his ancestry, which gets revealed more over time. Where Trevor felt like a seasoned vampire hunter, Richter has this sense of youthfulness about him, making him feel more inexperienced. We get to watch him learn and grow, rather than start with him already being experienced, and it feels satisfying to see how far he's come by the last episode. Plus he gives me gender feels, so he's alright in my books.
Supporting him is Maria, this series' counterpart to Sypha, and Richter's adopted sister. She is a leader in the fight for freedom in the French Revolution, and can summon magical animals to fight for her. Her youthful energy, stubbornness, and deep knowledge of politics keep her from being another 'strong empowered woman' , a stereotype which many fantasy series believe is somehow akin to feminist writing.
The third member of this series' main trio isn't a counterpart to Alucard, though she could end up being just as powerful. Annette, a Caribbean woman who fled slavery as a child, can harness the powers of an African god to control rocks and metal, to create weapons or help her allies. She is one of the first major Black characters in this series, and proves to be a valuable ally time and time again, saving her friends' asses at least a dozen times.
Despite the show only being 8 episodes as of time of writing this, Nocturne manages to pull you in quickly, with its likeable characters and quickly escalating plot. When I started this show last year, I was hesitant to let go of the old trio and old story, and adopt this new one. By episode 4, though, I was into it, and wanted to know more about the story. While the original Castlevania takes four seasons to get to the point of a unified team and major evil, Nocturne does it in a fraction of the time, with all of the same grace and glory, and none of the season 3 like its predecessor. Now this is speedrunning!
To top it all off, Nocturne continues its family legacy of giving some damn good representation in a show that's source material never really demanded it. Much of the main cast falls into various minority groups, and for one in particular, her struggles are shown in detail. We live in an era where a major animated action series features a metal mage who escaped slavery, an gay Aztec vampire who falls in love with a holy knight, a Black vampire with flaming hair and bat wings, and a vampire matriarch with the power to blot out the sun. There's something for everyone here, and I mean it.
Unfortunately, that's all there is for now. Castlevania: Nocturne, as it stands, is just one season, with a second on the way. Still, what's here is strong, and proves that the original Castlevania wasn't just a lucky break. Just like it, Nocturne delivers blazing fast action, awesome character design, and tons of representation, but quickens the pace of the story to get the ball rolling right away. After 8 episodes, I already feel attached to these new characters, and I anxiously await the next season. Who knows, maybe they'll add a werewolf character!
#anime and manga#anime review#film critic#review#anime#anime critique#animation#video games#castlevania#castlevania nocturne#animated series
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you see, the issue with being dogshit at games, but loving being a weirdo abt ur faves is that it takes forever if you dont want spoilers to search ur blorbo n whatever
i just wanna look at final fantasy seven cloud strife but noooooooOoOo i have to wait another probably 100hours of gametime that friends do in 40hrs bc im just dogshit. i spent 5 min finding a goddamn door....
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-person's video game meta states that a character's fairly innocuous claims about his early life are implausible because obviously that's not how the world works, and therefore he was just lying and a completely different thing happened
-this irritates me, i challenge their reasoning
-they're like yeah no decent normal people don't let [stated childhood experience] exist, therefore i feel secure in assuming that character was bullshitting, believe what you want though it's just fiction whatever
-i'm way too annoyed about this. why am i so annoyed? i like this character and this is a dumb analysis in at least two distinct ways, but i care a normal amount about this usually
-ah. right. the thing being dismissed as so implausible it's evidence we should discard our data is my life. i lived that.
-my personal experience of being a poor child with rich friends is being defined as not only unlikely and unrealistic but evidence that i am not honest, trustworthy, or a reliable reporter of my own life if i share it
-on the basis of what this internet person thinks 'decent' people 'normally' do
-i 100% promise you that is not 'provide a constant stream of nourishment to every underprivileged household they personally know about.' basically nobody does that. especially not if they're 'rich' rather than merely 'secure.' it's very special and also deeply humiliating when they do! but it's not standard practice. if that was how people normally behave we wouldn't need structured charity and government food aid, and we for sure wouldn't still have so many malnourished children
-500% promise you that's not an urban-exclusive problem
-the rich parents will sometimes be very generous in bursts, but many of them will absolutely try to cut you out of their kid's life if you're shameless enough to mooch regularly, and all of them will treat your parents with contempt for it
-yeah okay i get to be mad, i can move on now
-'relatable' is being nine years old and not starving, but dying of jealousy of the kids who are eating in front of you when you have nothing and your stomach is twinging and it's hours til the free lunch, and then dying all over again when someone notices your longing expression every day and starts bringing extra to share even though both of you are too damn awkward to have ever spoken
-but you take the free food and remember it for life because that is the only time anyone has ever done such a thing for you just to be kind
#offering charity can be really insulting!#asking for or accepting it is frequently mortifying!#my family never had much pride about that kind of thing but it still cropped up sometimes#the fact that this person can confidently dismiss one of the only clear statements of motive from a character whose behavior is pretty wild#one which i find extremely straightforward and relatable and realistic and which ties into half the otherwise random things he does#as 'lying' because 'child hunger is obviously not a chronic problem when there are rich people around'#genuinely feeling more Class Feelings than i ever did about being around people dressed all in designer apparel#ugh#hoc est meum#poverty#final fantasy goddamn seven#ffvii#DID YOU MISS THE ONGOING THREAD OF FACILE BUT ACCURATE ECONOMIC CRITIQUE?????#these games aren't subtle how to people consistently walk right through the nailbats to the face#'angeal hewley has no characterization because the part of him that's about poverty being a lasting form of trauma i dismiss as fake news'#klsdfja;fdljfsdlk
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ff7 pack/soulmate au where packs. Every person on gaia fits with someone else as a soulmate (either romantic or platonic) and with a group of people as pack. shinra has developed a way of finding out who you resonate with as a pack. Everyone is tested when they enter the fold. Cloud falls in with the firsts and zack and not everyone takes it so well at first.
Interesting concept...
Angeal and Genesis have known they were soulmates since they were practically babies, the Project G scientists discovering this immediately. It’s in part why they were both placed in Banora. When they arrive at Shinra it’s immediately discovered they resonate with Sephiroth, which makes Hollander theorize at first it’s due to them all being the result of the Projects. This theory lasts up until Cloud and Zack.
Hojo initially assumed Sephiroth would have no soulmate (since after all Sephiroth was his perfect creation and it’s not like he’d had a soulmate, not like the confusing pack of Vincent, Lucrecia, Chaos and Jenova). He was very irate by him having four, especially since two of them were Hollander’s Failures. Zack and Cloud are even less acceptable due to their lack of connection to Jenova.
Cloud was not expecting (obviously) to be soulmates with the Trinity and Zack Fair. Getting to Shinra, being discovered to resonate with them and basically being shoved into their lives was really not something he expected, but he’s...mostly okay with it? The harassment he’s facing kind of sucks, especially once it’s figured out his soulmates are platonic (Angeal and Genesis), familial (Zack), and romantic (Sephiroth). The last in particular is kind of awkward due to Cloud being fourteen to Sephiroth’s twenty.
When the degradation mess starts it goes even more poorly for Shinra than in canon, with all five of them abandoning ship. Due to discovering Hojo’s notes on things they end up in Nibelheim, looking for answers in the mansion and mostly getting even more confused, especially following finding Lucrecia’s arguably more sane notes on the project versus Hojo’s well, ‘notes’. Sephiroth is not entirely sure how to feel, from Lucrecia’s notes, that he arguably has two fathers and two mothers, just that one of those fathers is sort of a WEAPON and one of his mothers is an alien, possibly goddess of destruction.
They do succeed in healing Angeal and Genesis, but now they also have additional questions like ‘what to do with Jenova?, how is Cloud’s mom also supposed to be in Sephiroth’s parents’ pack?, why is Hojo Like That?’
#final fantasy seven#ffvii#cloud strife#zack fair#angeal hewley#genesis rhapsodos#sephiroth#sefikura#gengeal#my entertainment at implying really goddamn weird ships#Anonymous
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mother knows best | 3
— drabble 3 ; of hair styles and scissors —
pairing | ot7 x female reader (platonic), ot7 moms & female reader
summary | being the only woman in a friend group with seven men automatically makes you the love interest in seven mothers’ wistful romantic stories. though your relationship with the guys remains completely platonic, the marriage fantasy their moms frequently project onto you and their sons has them coming up with all sorts of shenanigans to make you their daughter-in-law. mother knows best, you suppose.
warnings | overbearing moms, attempts at humor, platonic, slice of life au
series index | general masterlist
Something’s wrong.
Jungkook knows every nook and corner of this house, knows how it’s organized, knows every single crack, knows the exact location of where everything is.
So why can’t he find the damn scissors?
“Eomma!” He calls out as he scurries around the kitchen scavenging for a pair of scissors. He tries the drawers, the cupboards, even the refrigerator, but no criss-crossed cutter comes to sight. Not a single pair.
He could’ve sworn he used one just a few days ago. Weird.
“Eomma!” He tries again as he moves his scavenger hunting to the living room. He’s in the midst of turning over the couch cushions when he hears his mother’s laugh ringing through the stairs.
“Yes, dear, and make sure to get the measurements right, okay?” Mrs. Jeon says excitedly to her phone as she enters the living room area. Jungkook halts his scissor hunting for a split second to look up and spot your pixelated face on his mom’s phone screen. “And add only a bit of salt. It balances out the sweetness.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Jeon,” he hears you reply appreciatively through the video call.
Mrs. Jeon scoffs and waves her free hand dismissively as she draws nearer to her son’s spot by the couch. “What do I keep telling you, dear? Mrs. Jeon is my mother-in-law. Call me Eomma.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. After all, his mother never beats around the bush.
Sure, it may seem like a harmless comment coming from a close friend’s mom. But he knows his mother, knows that she’s as competitive as he is if not more, knows she’s already fantasizing about his own marriage, knows she has her eyes set on you as the bride.
(Actually, you have seven pairs of eyes trained on you as a bride.)
“That’s funny.” You giggle. “Mrs. Park told me to call her that, too. What a coincidence!”
Jungkook tenses. After all, he did say his mother was competitive.
“Well, that old lady didn’t just give you her signature homemade cookie recipe now, did she?” Mrs. Jeon says, eyes twitching. She needs to have a word or two with good ol’ Mrs. Park.
“Nope,” you reply, completely oblivious to the competitive fire in Mrs. Jeon’s eyes. “Thanks again, Mrs. Jeo— I mean, Eomma,” you backtrack with a giggle. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“Oh, hush,” she waves you off with a dazzling smile. “My cookies are to die for.” She then angles the phone to show Jungkook, who’s still busy feeling around the couch for the goddamn scissors. “Speaking of cookies, sweetie, here’s my best one yet.”
“Oh,” you exclaim, “hey, Kookie!”
She winks at her son while hidden from the camera, but he only gags at her in response before replying to you with a distracted, “hey.”
“Woah,” you say and he sees the worry etched on your pixelated face. “You okay? You gonna puke or something?”
“Nah, I’m just looking for some damn scissors.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause my hair’s getting too long.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” You pout. “I think you look good with long hair…”
He scoffs at your dreamy sigh. Of course, you would think that. After all, you cried for a full week when you first watched Harry Styles chop off his curly locks in a documentary.
“Anyways,” you say after a moment, “good luck with that. I gotta go, bye!”
“Bye,” he mumbles, still preoccupied with his missing treasure as his mom says her own goodbyes to you before hanging up.
He tries asking again after he finally has her attention. “Eomma, have you seen where the scissors are?”
Silence.
He looks up. “Eomma?”
“You don’t need them,” she blurts out, scratching the back of her head, feigning nonchalance.
He blinks.
“Who needs scissors, anyway? Useless inventions, scissors…” she continues, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
Jungkook sighs. “Alright, what did you do?”
“Nothing!” Mrs. Jeon holds her hands up defensively.
“Eomma.”
“Nothing, really! It’s just that… I just hid them all in a drawer and—”
“Why would you do that?” Her son asks as he pinches the bridge of his nose, already having an inkling of where this is going, while she just whistles in faux innocence.
“I just thought… Well, you heard Y/N, didn’t you? Oh, Kookie, you look so dashing with long hair! Trust me, this is the best way to win her over.”
She wrings her hands when he says nothing in response, opting instead to give her a meaningful look, hoping she’ll get the point..
“Kookie,” His mom pleads. “You don’t want Y/N to be upset, do you?”
It’s Jungkook who ends up upset, flopping face-first on the couch in defeat.
#bts x reader#bangtan x reader#ot7 x reader#jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook x reader#jeongguk x reader#jeon jeongguk x reader#jungkook x you#jeon jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#jeon jungkook x y/n#taehyung x reader#kim taehyung x reader#jimin x reader#park jimin x reader#hoseok x reader#jung hoseok x reader#yoongi x reader#min yoongi x reader#seokjin x reader#kim seokjin x reader#namjoon x reader#kim namjoon x reader#b.works
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