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enam3l · 2 years

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

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

the big one: how rockstar eddie met his wife

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The interviewer smiles and responds ,

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

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

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

You all snigger and the interviewer continues,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly Steve’s voice takes over the line

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She now gasps and clasps her had in excitement

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You attempt to shake your head and wave your hands

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Jesus Christ, Steve!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A third now chimes in,

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Fuck, I missed you man.’

Dustin grins, the feeling is more than mutual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh, hey Y/N! Over here!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh awesome! You guys met!’

Dustin appears between the two of you along with Robin.

Simultaneously both you and Eddie muster up a whispered,

‘Yeah…’

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

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

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

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

‘Huh? What do you mean?’

Dustin scoffs,

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

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

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

Steve and Dustin look irritated at his doubting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

' Whiskey sour,’ Dustin announces with glee.

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

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

‘Sooo… Eddie is nice right?’

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

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

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

‘Well you'll speak tonight!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘So… hey, Urm… did you enjoy it?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'I'm not done yet… with tonight.’

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

‘Me neither,’ he whispers back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Like a cute little hamster.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Morning sweetheart, sleep well?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Are you serious?’ You question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#enam3l x eddie #enam3l asks #enam3ls rockstar eddie #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfic

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idontbeatgames · 10 months

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DC's Blue Beetle has officially debuted with a 94%(!!!) audience score on Rotten Tomatoes!

As I said in so many other posts: Please go out and watch Blue Beetle with your friends and family. As the first live-action Latino superhero film, the representation that it's bringing is such a warm welcome and no matter what people say, we need more superhero projects that represent massive cultures to have amazing lighthearted success stories now more than ever. Let Blue Beetle be the beginning of this amazing trend of these incredibly important films overcoming all of the odds no matter how many people choose to immediately write it off. And if that's not a good enough reason, here's multiple reasons why you should join the Blue Beetle Battalion by watching Blue Beetle in theaters:

Blue Beetle is the first live action Latino superhero film.

The film stars Cobra Kai's Xolo Maridueña as Jaime Reyes, Singer and Actress Becky G as the voice of the Scarab and George Lopez as Jaime's crazy uncle Rudy.

Blue Beetle is the first character in DC Studios' DCU timeline, as confirmed by DC Studios Co-Owner James Gunn

Blue Beetle was made as "the first act of a saga" and is currently planned to have a trilogy, assuming the first film does well.

Blue Beetle's Director, Angel Manuel Soto, prioritized real locations and practical effects for Blue Beetle, stating VFX is "a tool, not a dependency."

Blue Beetle's Director also didn't overwork the movie's VFX workers, which is a very common problem in the movie industry, stating "We didn't want to exploit the VFX artists as much as they have already been exploited. And using real locations allowed us to have better integration of the practical suits, so the VFX serve as an enhancement. It's a tool, not a dependency, and that really helped to make this whole thing feel bigger than life. We shot the third act in a real 500-year-old fortress in Puerto Rico. The communities depicted weren't a set. We went to the barrios of Puerto Rico and shot there. A lot of the people in the background are people from that community. So being able to make the film as lived in as possible felt worthy of the big screen experience."

Blue Beetle's Director also supports the ongoing strike and had this to say about the entire cast of Blue Beetle striking throughout its press run: "I do believe that the strike needed to happen. I wish it happened after the release of our movie, but at the end of the day, there's no better time than now. So, having them actually sacrifice this opportunity to be on the picket line and to fight for a better future — not only for them, but also to secure something better for future generations to come — is a heroic act of its own. So I'm celebrating them through their sacrifice in this moment, while also honoring the amazing work that they did. Representing them gives me the energy to continue doing this."

There is a genuine possibility that Xolo Mariduena's Blue Beetle can end up appearing in the upcoming Booster Gold show.

Blue Beetle is out NOW in Theaters!

#dc comics #idontbeatgames #dc movies #dc extended universe #superheroes #dc films #dc universe #dccomics #blue beetle #blue beetle 2023 #blue beetle movie #blue beetle film #bluebeetle #bluebeetlefilm #jaime reyes #angel manuel soto #xolo mariduena #xolo maridueña #dc studios

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petrichoraline · 1 year

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🔥 choose violence ask game 🔥 thingy

2,12,23 and 25

choose violence ask game!

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

i feel like a fish out of water here wow. i keep going through my faves and they all seem like they'd do both? like im thinking about one straight couple and even there things could get interesting but anyways

naoya from mr.unlucky is never doing either cause with the tempo at which kouta is moving they'd both die from old age before they ever get there

masumi and ritsu from bokushoku both love their dynamic (and why wouldn't they, they seem to be having the most enjoyable sex ever) and they're never changing partners so they're defiinitely sticking to their roles (ig masumi could be curious cause yknow how ritsu is basically his only partner ever but i doubt ritsu would be down? and also if the end of the world didn't get them to try switching i don't think it's likely to happen)

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

as i said, i take so many outcasts under my wing lol like the more hated he is, the more i empathise. like LM mark or even tonhon (i KNOW)

this question implies it's someone people are feel neutral/negative towards so i'll ignore my boy jiha from all the liquors though i haven't seen an ounce of love for him because i just think the show didn't get posted about much in general. he is cute, he keeps it real, he is the bestie the gives advice but actually sucks at relationships, low sense of self-worth - he's just perfect. and also those lips boyy he's so beautiful. anyways

i kept this question for kim actually but now that i'm here i wonder if i should even bother. like people have had a long time to sort out their feelings.

this just kind of ties with my dislike(?) of porschay, people just ganged up on kim as if the way he acted wasn't an act of protection - a poor choice but coming from a good place nonetheless. in my eyes he's such an antisocial loser that he's not that much more mature than chay who, in some way, i'm sure could outsmart kim easily, not to mention manipulate him if necessary. so with the whole pathetic factor going on idk how at least the tumblr fandom didn't instantly get his pov. i saw so many threats against this guy even long after the finale had aired, some were like ''i get it but i still want to smash him with a hammer for hurting chay'' which ok fair ig if you love porschay i can see where the anger comes from. but still. kim has grown up around the mafia, learnt to always keep his guard up. he tries to solve a mystery all by himself except for the help of a bodyguard who, ultimately, works for his dad, not for him. who can he trust except for himself? he's in the entertainment industry, ppl are interested in him for his family, looks, money or his fame. what he can give them. when he ain't sniffing around and wrecking his brains, he's in the recording studio. that man does not know how to act around his crush, we know how he subtly he gets info out of chay or how he's delighted to see a wall plastered with his face. that man is pathetic, lonely, paranoid, he'd kill anyone who's a threat to chay instantly (>leaves like a dozen corpses in a bar similar to a cat bringing rats to its owner) but will wallow in misery, write a song and serenade him through a text. HE DOES NOT GET HUMANS. he went to that bar, got told off and stormed off, he is so clueless, somebody please help him.

i actually read plenty of posts on kim and that's why i feel strongly about him (thank you everyone who defended him in such articulate ways❤️) and i don't even like him that much!! i just need the hate train to stop

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

i know what the question means but like i usually try to like ships, it's easier this way, no? lol so it's not really unwillingly..but i think haruka and rin is a good answer lmao

i was a haruka/makoto girlie for years but watching free! with friends made me realise the harurin appeal

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

i thought i wouldn't have much to say here but omg i have to pick just one? skipping over the controversial ones, i'll have to go for hate for songs in bls lol

i'll start off by saying a lot of my mutuals are of this opinion and i respect it <33 that being said - bro. i know they could be a bit much especially when the actors aren't that good or the song is a bit bland or if it just feels very out of place? i understand it's sort of become the norm to hate on these performances because '''bl boy whips out guitar'' is a fandom joke at this point. and people are so loud and proud about skipping every single scene with a song in it. but it results in takes like "omg why did win and team sing their confessions they sounded so bad, so off-key, i barely made it".. that's the point? they are overwhelmed with emotions, snot is running down their face, after months of inner turmoil they finally reach the point where they just have to let it all out and yeah, the song would sound much weirder if they played a studio version on top of the footage lmao (example: the autotune on top of akkayan's bday performance that was so horrendous it turned out funny)

it's not that i haven't been tempted to skip through a boring song. i'm not saying it's a baseless complaint. i just find the way it's expressed usually annoying.

#kalii wove you miss you <3 #petri replies #ppg #ask game

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uboat53 · 10 months

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Recently I wrote up a thing about how the right's elevation of property rights prevents them from ever being able to adjust issues of human rights. I think it's pretty good, you can find it here if you're interested.

One thought that came out of a discussion about it, though, was an interesting one and I need to do another LONG RANT (TM) to work through it.

INTRODUCTION

So a friend of mine took the concept of rent seeking and brought it up in the context of economies based on resource extraction. These are, in many ways, the ultimate example of rent seeking economies and the situation in which they dominate an economy is known as the "resource curse".

Here's the Wikipedia article on this concept if you're interested.

And that's when the thought hit me, are we living in a resource cursed economy? Is that resource capital and did we create this resource curse ourselves?

THE RESOURCE CURSE

Basically the resource curse goes like this:

You live in a place that has a resource. This resource is very easy to gather in proportion to its value, making it hugely profitable, much more profitable than just about anything else you can do. Every dollar you invest in that resource returns more money than a dollar invested in anything else.

Even worse, the export of that resource drives up the value of your currency, making all of your other exports less competitive in the international market. This further makes that resource a better investment by driving down the value of any other investment.

What this does to your economy is simple. Why would you invest in education when you can simply put more money into the resource and it'll give you higher profits? Why would you invest in health-care when you can simply put more money into the resource and it'll give you higher profits? Why would you invest in manufacturing or agriculture when you can simply put more money into the resource and it'll give you higher profits?

Meanwhile, your society stratifies. Those who own the resource get rich (for example, a Saudi who owns land with oil or a southern plantation owner who owns the rich land good for cotton) while everyone else gets poor. Eventually all you have left is a population in poverty and an otherwise stagnant economy that is entirely dependent on that one resource.

WHAT ABOUT US?

Well, we have a resource called capital. Effectively, this is stuff like land, buildings, machinery, and intellectual property like patents and trademarks. Even something like stock in a corporation basically boils down to the value of the things the corporation owns. Capital is property, whether physical or intellectual.

Because of the way our tax code is structured, there will literally never be a case where a dollar earned in labor will be worth more than a dollar earned from capital. Additionally, over the last two decades, wages have generally increased between 2% and 4% per year. Data on capital is a bit harder to find, but California real estate prices have increased an average of 4% per year and the DOW Jones Industrial Average (a measure of stock prices) has increased an average of more than 6% per year over that same time.

In other words, not only is a dollar earned from capital more advantageous in tax terms than a dollar earned from labor, a dollar invested in capital is likely to make a greater return than a dollar invested in labor.

THE RESOURCE CURSE

That's where I think we have a version of the resource curse. When ownership of resources like land, buildings, machinery, and intellectual property consistently returns a greater reward than any form of labor, then most of the resources of an economy will flow toward those resources. In the case of limited capital, such as land in a desirable area or stock in a hot company, this will push up the price of that asset, leading to an even greater return and pushing the cycle even further.

This type of capital in particular largely delivers rent seeking as opposed to productive returns. Owning a building in downtown Manhattan, provides a return whether or not you invest in something that increases the productivity of that building. In fact, there may be nothing you can do to improve its productivity and it will increase in value regardless.

The more this happens, the more it siphons resources that could otherwise increase the productivity of the economy, exactly like a resource curse.

UNCERTAINTY

This is something that just occurred to me, so I definitely haven't thought through the ramifications and possible issues with it. This is also something that occurred to me incidentally, so I haven't read anyone else's ideas on the topic for another perspective.

I'm curious how my conception of capital as a resource in the sense of a resource curse holds up. I also don't know that it maps to the failure of investment in productivity and labor in the way that natural resources do in a resource curse.

If anyone has any thoughts, even simple ones, I'd be very interested for another set of eyes on my little idea here.

CONCLUSION

I think there's a reasonable case to be made that we've artificially created a situation where our economy has become resource cursed with capital. It's still a fairly rough idea, but it seems to fit with what I know so far.

If this is true, the solution would be to somehow make capital investments less advantageous in relation to labor. This won't be easy because, of course, it sounds a bit perverse toward the goal of growing the economy, but also because it would require us to lower the level of respect we have given to property rights over the last several decades; a particular ideological point of the right-wing of American politics.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this or at least found it interesting. If you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them.

#economics #capitalism #resource curse

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bfxenon · 1 year

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Convince Your Boss to Send You to MozCon 2023 [Plus Bonus Letter Template!]

MozCon is returning in-person to Seattle August 7-8, 2023 and this year, we’re excited to bring the Future of Search to our stage.

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About a month or so after the conference, we release professionally edited videos of every presentation at the conference. Many of our ticket types include free access! Your colleagues won’t get to partake in the real-time experience(the #FOMO is real), but they will get a chance to learn everything you did.

Great food on site

We know that conference food isn’t typically worth mentioning, but MozCon is notorious for its cornucopia of tasty offerings.

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2022 was my first MozCon! It was a great experience where I got to listen to thought leaders and peers on their individual approaches. The event spoiled us with awesome swag and great speakers while creating a safe space to facilitate deep discussions.

-Ray Martinez, Director of SEO - Archer Education

As a small business owner, attending MozCon was a big leap of faith for me (and a big investment!) I was so delighted to find there was a place for me at MozCon. The speakers were excellent- true experts who shared what doesn't work as compellingly as what DOES. My fellow attendees were accessible, kind, and generous with their knowledge. Most importantly, I left with a list of clear tangible strategies for growing my business this year. I learned so much- and I'm so glad I went.

-Marguerite Tacoma Real Estate Agent MoveToTacoma.com

There are lots of conferences that marketing and SEO professionals can attend. MozCon provides extreme value through its high-quality speakers, entertaining events, delicious meals and snacks, and networking opportunities. If you had to choose just one conference to attend, you won't go wrong choosing MozCon.

- Jarrod Galm, SEO Manager, Wealth Enhancement Group

I came to MozCon expecting a handful of great takeaways and maybe some new SEO techniques. Instead, I was blown away multiple times over, made great connections, and I'm sharing a deck of takeaways with my team.

- Carly Johansen, Content Marketing Manager, Oregon State University Ecampus

MozCon 2022 was fantastic! Every session I attended was jam-packed full of actionable insights from speakers who really know their stuff. I left feeling invigorated, inspired and excited to put the things I'd learned into action

-Eloise West, Senior Digital Marketing Strategist, Designzillas

This is my second in-person event (I went in 2019) and fourth overall. This is still a great conference even having more experience, and I noticed I pick up different things each time as my experience grows and I hear things in different ways. The networking opportunities are also invaluable, especially as I'm an in-house SEO with no team. I've learned a ton and have really grown as an SEO and heavily attribute a lot of that to MozCon.

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MozCon is one unforgettable experience that lives and grows with you beyond just the days you spend attending the conference. And there's no time like the present to pitch MozCon to your boss. If they're still stuck on the "why", let them know about our subscriber or group pricing tiers — you’ll save hundreds of dollars when you do. Just think of all the Keurigs you could get for that communal kitchen!

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lakelandseo · 1 year

Text

Convince Your Boss to Send You to MozCon 2023 [Plus Bonus Letter Template!]

MozCon is returning in-person to Seattle August 7-8, 2023 and this year, we’re excited to bring the Future of Search to our stage.

Don’t worry, we’ve got a plan. (And if you want to skip ahead to the letter template, here it is!)

Get the Template

How to make the case

Covering everything a growing marketer needs (SEO, content, strategy, growth), MozCon delivers top-notch talks from hand-selected speakers over two days in August.

There's so much in store for you this year. Here’s just a sampling of what you can expect at this year’s MozCon:

Speakers and content

Networking

High-quality videos to share with your team

Great food on site

We know that conference food isn’t typically worth mentioning, but MozCon is notorious for its cornucopia of tasty offerings.

Discounts for current customers

Moz Pro, Moz Local, API, and STAT customers save big on their ticket cost, and there are discounts for groups of 10+ as well, so make sure to take advantage of savings where you can!

But of course, don’t take our word for it! There are some incredible resources available at your fingertips that tout the benefits of attending conferences:

-Ray Martinez, Director of SEO - Archer Education

-Marguerite Tacoma Real Estate Agent MoveToTacoma.com

- Jarrod Galm, SEO Manager, Wealth Enhancement Group

- Carly Johansen, Content Marketing Manager, Oregon State University Ecampus

-Eloise West, Senior Digital Marketing Strategist, Designzillas

-Lauren Huffman, SEO Manager, Lulu and Georgia

Need a little more to get your boss on board? Check out some videos from years past to get a taste for the caliber of our speakers.

Buy ticket, save money, get competitive marketing insights. Everyone wins!

Be sure to grab the letter template and make your case the easy way!

Get the Template

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ninas-gf · 1 year

Note

OK someone already told u abt rei sakuma but thats unfortunately not enough information for my favorite babygirl old man eichi's divorcee #3 . hes one of the most senior idols in ensemble square and one of its most skilled (this can be said for all the eccentrics really but it's important to rei in particular) because he DOES act like a 60-year-old teenager inflicted with vampirism (hes iron-deficient he told me himself and its implied heavily its a hereditary disease that passes thru the family) . hes eichi's perfect parallel, as i mentioned that eichi is the leader of heaven who brought nothing but war and pestilence upon yumenosaki, while rei is known for beinh the leader of demons, when in truth, it has been his guiding force and kindness that has thrown yumenosaki from the disrepair the war brought unto it. also in ensemble sqaure theyre roommates with aira and have a completely useless separator between their beds and generally just try to fuck shit up for one another.

now before i go on about rei i need you to remember that aira is an idol otaku first and a human second. imagine. imagine you are aira. you get your room assignments and you find out youre not only bunking with eichi fucking tenshouin the literal OWNER of ENSEMBLE SQUARE (who he may have sold himself to so or so but MOVING ON) and rei sakuma, one of the MOST POWERFUL and FAMOUS in the idol industry. safe to say aira probably definitely fainted a few times. over and over again.

ANYWAY BACK TO REI . hes like a little skrunkly. hes going thru so many things but most of them is because he really needs to lighten the weight on his shoulders! so much of everyone has been relying on him, and it's reduced his personality and character so much that he's turned into the very meaning of his name: zero. anyway they resolved this in ! era but of course !! makes everything worse and better so it never actually ended. as for his relationship with ritsu, he really really loves ritsu a lot and he cares about him immensely while ritsu told eichi rei was abusing him so he'd get more treats so i suppose that is an accurate parameter of their relationship. they get better tho. also ritsu and eichi are friends-ish! i'll talk abt this in another ask brb

someone just told me about the roommate thing and i find it so funny SKKSKSNSNSJ

also… you know how i feel when characters parallel each other… and act as foils with each other… UGH it never gets old, it’s never boring

rei definitely deserves better though 😭

#asks

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seijorhi · 4 years

Note

Can I request for Corrupt CEO Oikawa and female assistant? She finds out he’s involved in shady underground business and tries to quit. Non-con smut, pretty please 🥺 I love your fics! I enjoy reading dark content. Your smut is amazing I’m addicted💖

Let me preface this by saying there will probably be a part 2 to this fic

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW implied non-con, blood, violence (nothing too graphic I don’t think?)

The Lion’s Den

The invitation to dinner should have been the first red flag.

You’d left the letter on his desk next to his morning coffee, stacked neatly on top of the reports and documents he’d asked you to prepare the night before. Impossible to miss.

You weren’t exactly sure what kind of a response you were expecting - a call into his office, cool indifference, security guards showing up at your desk to promptly escort you out - but the innocuous calendar invite that flashes across your screen twenty minutes after he arrived wasn’t it.

8:30pm, Da Graziella. Don’t be late x

The name was familiar - upscale, Italian and one of Oikawa’s favourites. He knew the owner, or so he’d told you, always got treated like royalty whenever he set foot inside. You used to wonder about that, why certain people seemed to bow and simper and scrape whenever he was around. Initially, you’d assumed it was because he had money and with money came perceptions of power. Of course, now you know better. It’s the reason why you wrote that letter - the reason why you should decline the invitation as politely as you can.

But you don’t.

Not because you’re scared of him - you’re terrified - but you want this to go as smoothly as possible, and there is absolutely no reason for you to be scared of Oikawa Tooru.

Not unless you knew the truth, and knowing the truth would put you in a very precarious position.

The cursor hovers over the invite for a long moment when you feel a prickle at the back of your neck. Sure enough, when you glance up, there’s a pair of dark brown eyes staring at you from behind the glass wall that separates his office and yours.

Swallowing tightly, you click accept.

Oikawa smiles.

***

It’s a prestigious role, being the personal assistant for the CEO of Seijoh Industries, but it wasn’t the one you’d signed onto the company to do. You were an intern, fresh out of university, eager to put the last four years of your education to good use.

They’d put you in the marketing department with six other grads and told you that at the end of the year there would be one permanent position on the team you’d all get to compete for. The first three months had consisted of coffee runs, minute taking at meetings (so many meetings), excel spreadsheets and grunt work the actual team couldn’t be bothered with, and you were almost positive that things were going to continue that way until your team was picked to lead the campaign for the new launch. For a while it did - meetings, minutes and coffee, rinse and repeat. Except now your meetings included the senior VP’s and him - the CEO. Oikawa Tooru.

Of course nobody joined Seijoh without knowing about its charismatic founder. He was filthy rich, naturally, but he’d built this company from the ground up with his own two hands, made it into the powerhouse that it is. The media adored him, not just for his devastatingly handsome looks, but because he gave back to the community - a philanthropist at heart. He was the perfect poster boy for success in business.

(If only they knew how their poster boy really made his money.)

And he smiled so warmly and thanked you when you passed him his coffee. It wasn’t long until you felt those dark brown eyes seeking you out when the meetings dragged on, the playful glimmer and subtle twitching of his lips saying more than he could get away with - even as the CEO.

Still, you hadn’t expected it when he called you up to his office only a few weeks later to offer you the role of his personal assistant. You can’t quite remember the exact reasons he gave as to why; something about dedication and the diligence you’d shown. You’d caught his attention, and he needed somebody like you since he’d unfortunately had to let his last assistant go.

It was flattering, but being a PA wasn’t the career path you’d wanted at Seijoh. When you’d bashfully tried explaining as much, Oikawa had just waved away your concerns with a pretty smile and a laugh. In marketing, you were a glorified worker drone, one of six. Even if you did get the coveted promotion at the end of it all, you’d still be at the very bottom of the food chain, working yourself to the bone trying to make a mark on a company far bigger than yourself. With him, yes you would still be doing coffee runs and scheduling meetings and all of those mundane tasks, but you’d be working with one of the most powerful men in the country. Oikawa could open doors for you, and he could do it while making sure you received a generous salary for your efforts.

Your parents told you once never to look a gift horse in the mouth.

How could you possibly say no?

***

After handing in your letter of resignation, the rest of your day goes reasonably smoothly. Oikawa’s gone for most of it. His calendar says he’s in back to back meetings all day, meetings which for once you were exempt from attending. It might have been a cause for concern if it hadn’t been on the agenda for days - some disgruntled shareholder that needed to be pacified, or so he’d told you.

You’re secretly glad for the reprieve; you have four weeks left at Seijoh and you’re still not entirely sure how you’re supposed to meet your boss’s eye without quaking - and the last thing you want is for him to become suspicious. But without him hovering, interrupting your work every five minutes as he usually does, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Why dinner?

Why tonight?

You’re a good personal assistant, at least you think you are - Oikawa’s certainly never complained - but it’s not like you’re irreplaceable. You’ve heard of companies trying to negotiate with higher salaries and benefits to keep good employees, but even an excellent PA is just a PA, and the pay Oikawa has you on is more than generous. You’re good at handling his moods and eccentricities, you don’t mind that he gets irritable and petulant when he’s stressed and you know how his coffee order changes depending on what time of day it is, but that hardly makes you anything spectacular.

If it’s an impromptu thank you for the last year and a half or a farewell from your boss, why not wait until you’re actually finishing up? You’ve given him four weeks notice, even offered to train up your replacement if they manage to find somebody beforehand.

Which leaves you with the possibility that he knows the real reasons behind your sudden resignation - a thought that fills you with a biting unease.

But he has no reason to even suspect such a notion.

He couldn’t have known you’d come back to his house that night, or what you’d overheard - what you’d seen. One week later and you still can’t close your eyes without visions of blood and brain matter splattering across the walls, but-

It’s a popular restaurant. Respectable. You’re reading too much into it, Oikawa’s probably just curious about why you’re suddenly moving on from Seijoh. He’s always been a little blurry on the lines between personal and professional - at least where you’re concerned. And it’s not like the two of you haven’t gone out for meals together before, he’s often dragging out of the office for ‘work lunches’ or a celebratory dinner when a project goes well.

People quit their jobs every day. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Except when you arrive at Da Graziella and the maître d' takes your coat and leads you inside, you realise that the assumption you’d been clinging to was very, very wrong.

There’s not a soul inside of the restaurant save for Oikawa, watching you from the lone table set up in the centre of the room. Bathed in the warm, flickering light of the nearby candles, Oikawa smiles as you falter, your wide eyes darting around the empty restaurant before settling back on him.

There’s a pit in your stomach, an icy tendril of fear that creeps up your spine. It’s a familiar sensation - you’d felt it back at the mansion too, the moment you’d glanced through the crack in his office door and saw him eyeing the handguns in the open briefcase on his desk. You should have left then, before you’d seen anything incriminating, and you should definitely leave now - but it’s too late for that.

It was too late the moment you set foot inside.

You’ve walked willingly into the lion’s den, all you can do now is smile and pray that it’s not in the mood to play with its food.

“Ah, wonderful, you’re early. Would you like some wine to start off with, darling?” Oikawa asks. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

The endearment is new, but you can’t seem to focus on that when your heart is hammering against your chest. Easing yourself into the seat pulled for you, you wet your lips, but even then you can’t quite seem to make the words come out.

No matter, Oikawa chooses for you, murmuring the name of an italian vintage to the maître d' who nods approvingly and disappears, leaving the two of you alone.

“S-sir?” you finally manage to utter, though it comes out as more of a question than a greeting, “I- why is everyone…”

“Gone?” he supplies for you, taking a sip from his own glass. He shrugs leisurely, “I figured that it would be nicer if it were just us two, don’t you agree?”

No.

“Oh, um, yeah… I guess.”

He laughs, the sound like chiming bells and you know that he doesn’t believe you. It doesn’t matter, you’re here and alone and there is very little you can do to change either of those things. “So tense, Y/N. Really, you should relax. I would have thought after almost two years together, you’d know that I don’t bite.”

More images flash to the forefront of your mind; the sneer curling at his lips as he yanks out his pocket squares and uses it to wipe the splatter of blood from his face. One body on the floor, the other squirming away from his outstretched hand. The crunch of bones breaking, pleading whimpers and then-

No, Oikawa might not bite, but that doesn’t set you at ease.

But even now, doubt flickers. He can’t have known you were there, that you’d overheard the talk of shipments and bribes, a deal gone wrong. Nobody saw you come, you have your own set of keys. He can’t know.

He can’t know.

He can’t…

Oikawa’s grin widens, twisting into a smirk. “Well, that, and I suppose that I don’t particularly think what’s about to be said makes for polite dinnertime conversation. At least not where most people are concerned.”

Fear strikes at your heart, constricting until it hurts to breathe, but you will your tense muscles to relax, force what you hope - pray - is a convincing expression of mild confusion and absolutely nothing else onto your face.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

It’s a wonder that he can’t hear the frantic pounding of your chest as he leans closer, dropping his chin onto a propped up arm, “Tell me something, darling. If I’d invited you back to my humble abode instead of this restaurant, would you have come?”

You swallow tightly, the tiny hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. There’s a look in those pretty brown eyes, a glint of something darker, something amused - it reminds you of a cat toying with a mouse and it sets you on edge. “You did leave so quickly the last time you dropped by. You didn’t even stop to say hello.”

Ice douses your system as sheer panic spikes. You’re out of your seat before your brain even registers you’ve moved, knocking it clear from the table in your stumbling haste - but Oikawa’s faster. Long, pale fingers seize your wrist, keeping you in place with a deceptively strong grip.

Those fingers, trailing softly along the barrel of the gun. It’s more than cursory, there’s something almost loving and tender in the way he traces the smooth ridges of the weapon before he picks it up, testing its weight in his hand. Oikawa hums thoughtfully, eyeing the crying man kneeling before him. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Sit back down.” His voice is pleasant, but even as adrenaline pumps through your veins urging you to run, to fight - you know better than to believe it’s anything less than an order. “Good girl,” he purrs as you fumble for your chair.

Back at the mansion, you’d been scared. Horrified at the cold brutality of what you’d witnessed, your entire world seemingly falling out from beneath you. But even with your thoughts a hysterical tangle and nausea threatening to overtake you, your only focus had been on getting out unseen.

This, sitting face to face with a mobster - a man you thought you knew - with all the cards laid bare before you… it’s a whole new kind of terror. He could kill you, with his hands wrapped around your throat or the gun he’s undoubtedly carrying, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re not strong enough to fight him off and the only other person you’ve seen since arriving is the maître d' - you might have wilfully walked into this trap, but you’re not so naive as to believe Oikawa doesn’t have him and any other employees working tonight firmly in his pockets. They won’t come if you scream.

Tears prick at your eyes.

You are utterly alone and entirely at his mercy, and all that you can do is beg.

“Please, please, sir, I… I swear I-I didn’t see anyth-”

A single raised finger stops you. Oikawa tuts, shaking his head. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Y/N. I know exactly what you saw, and I can guess well enough what you overheard. Certainly enough for those irritating little cops to start sticking their noses where they don’t belong if you decided to talk. Do you really think I’d leave my home open for just anybody to waltz in without my knowledge? Please, darling. What kind of a man do you take me for?” he laughs, and you fight back a broken plea, desperately biting down on your lip in an effort to stop yourself from crying.

“But,” he continues, reaching across the table to take your hand once more, “I don’t want you to worry about that, sweetheart. It’s in the past - and not why I asked you here.”

His thumb strokes the back of your palm causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. Your heart is sitting in your throat, your stomach twisting in knots at the casual, innocent touch. You’re trembling in your seat, on the verge of ears and it feels like he’s testing you, except you don’t have a clue what you’re supposed to say, and you’re terrified that if you get it wrong, he’ll hurt you. “… I-it isn’t?”

Oikawa smiles, “No. I suppose in a way, it’s a blessing in disguise that you saw me for all that I am. It’s forced me to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

After a beat of silence and a gentle squeeze of your cold, rigid hand, you realise that he’s waiting for you to play along. “O-oh, um. What’s that?” your voice shakes, betraying the rapidly rising fear and panic eating away at you, but Oikawa pays it no mind.

“I understand why you resigned after witnessing what you did… it scared you, didn’t it? I scare you.”

There’s no point in lying, not when the evidence is right in front of him, so you nod.

He sighs heavily, but the amused glint in his eyes doesn’t shift. Even now, he’s still toying with you. “You’re a terrible actress,” he declares absentmindedly before his gaze sharpens. “There was always going to be an expiration date on our little arrangement, as much as I might have wished it otherwise.”

There’s something strangely wistful in his expression as he toys with your fingers, but the words, the gilded implications woven between them, fly right over your head. All you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the sharp drag of every breath filling your lungs as you wait for the penny to drop. “We can’t go back to what we had before, but you understand, don’t you, darling, that I can’t just have you wandering around knowing what you do.”

Your stomach drops, eyes widening in abject horror, “Please - please, Oikawa sir-”

He continues as if you hadn’t spoken. “If I offered you a choice; come willingly with me back home without making a fuss or I blow your pretty brains across the restaurant here and now, which would you pick?” he muses.

Fear is a funny thing. It makes the logical illogical, turns rational thought to mush, pushes you into a state of instinct that overrides everything else. Common sense would tell you that the threat of torture and whatever other nastiness that might await you back at Oikawa’s mansion was still the preferable option to the certainty of death at his hands should you refuse, but common sense had long since abandoned you.

As a fresh wave of adrenaline surges through your veins, you rip your hand from his and leap to your feet. This time you don’t give him a moment, kicking off your heels to sprint for the door. Distantly you register the hissed curse behind you. All you can think of is escape, running until Oikawa and the restaurant and everything you’d seen and learned was left in the dirt behind you. You don’t want to die, but you can’t bear the thought of what he’ll do to you if you submit. Will he drag it out, make your death slow and painful? Let you rot in the basement, forgotten by everyone? Will he make you beg and plead for mercy before he ends it?

Fear makes you clumsy - it slows you down.

You make it five steps before a pair of arms constrict around you, one around your waist, hauling you up from the floor, the other around your mouth, muffling the hysterical scream that rips from your throat. Legs flailing, kicking uselessly at nothing, you’re wrestled back inside. Oikawa’s lips are at your ear, growling something but you can’t make sense of the words over your harsh, panicked sobs, the sound of your frenzied pulse pounding in your ears.

It’s only when you’re tossed like a sack of potatoes back onto the table, knocking the air from your lungs that time seems to slow and clarity returns. Oikawa’s looming over you, panting, dark pupils swallowing the iris, yet instead of the fury you expect to see written across his face, Oikawa is grinning - wide and delighted.

“Wrong choice, baby,” he sings, quickly shucking off his jacket before grabbing the top of your dress and ripping.

Your eyes zero in on the handgun strapped to his chest, just within arms reach.

“But it’s okay,” he kisses you, moaning as he forces your mouth open, nipping harshly at your lips when you try to squirm away. “I forgive you, always sweetheart, you just have to make it up to me.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x female reader #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #tw implied noncon #tw blood #tw violence #my writing #yandere fic #female reader #I lied about the smut ok but there’ll probably be a part 2

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goodlifewrites · 3 years

Text

Should We Stop Calling Ourselves Fanfiction Writers?

I imagine many fanfiction writers have had that sense of embarrassment of applying the term to themselves. We tend to keep our writing within a community of other fanfic writers and readers and rarely, if ever, do we share our stories with “outsiders,” or even let them know this part of ourselves. We have a habit of treating our creative outlet as “cringey” to others, so we never let them in.

So I do wonder if we need to stop calling ourselves fanfiction writers. Because there really is nothing different about what we write compared to most other writers out there, and if re-labeling ourselves gets our amazing work in front of more eyes and gives us more confidence in our writing, shouldn’t we do that?

As a community, we segregate our writing too much from other forms of fiction. I’m not entirely sure why we do this, but my guess is we have tied “true writing” too much to “paid writing.” Our fanfiction will never be bought; legally it can’t. And because of this fact, we all seem to devalue it compared to the writing people make a living off of. But how is it actually any different?

At its core, the Cursed Child story is no different than any story posted on AO3. It takes an existing piece of intellectual property and tells a story based on that IP. The only difference is the owners of the IP gave explicit permission to the playwrights to make money off of this story. That’s really it. Cursed Child is only different from fanfiction because it was allowed to be monetized.

Now, many might argue that the big difference is that most fanfiction is bad, whereas most professional writing is good. I really hate this argument. For one, Cursed Child sort of exists to counter this argument (how many times have we heard the play is “bad fanfiction”?) But also, I hate the overall argument that fanfiction is inherently poor quality. Sure, most is not great. But one can argue that like most creative works, there is the good and the bad and the cream rises to the top. Can anyone read @annerbhp, @jenoramaca, @floreatcastellumposts, @thedistantdusk or @thebiwholived and honestly tell me their writing is inferior to what gets published solely? And if you do think its weaker, can you honestly say you just haven’t been conditioned to think fanfiction writing < professional paid writing?

The truth is all writing or fiction, in general, is fanfiction. Any movie which is a loose adaptation of Shakespeare is fanfiction. For example, 10 Things I Hate About You, which we all love, is based off of The Taming of the Shrew. Every trope we see in fiction is rooted in stories written years before it. When a tv show is adapted from a comic book, that’s fanfiction. The most recent Star Wars trilogy is fanfiction. Cursed Child is fanfiction.

The only reason we don’t call any of this fanfiction is because a) the writers got paid for these officially-sanctioned stories and b)fanfiction is considered a lesser form of creative fiction and thus they wouldn’t want to “devalue” what they wrote.

But that’s bullshit. It’s all meant to gatekeep “real writing” so as to keep the profession closed off from the huge number of insanely-talented writers who simply don’t have the resources or connections to monetize their work. Professional writers like feeling special, that achieving the status of “being paid for my creative output” makes them better than you. Forget the fact that their finished product has gone through extensive edits and reworking from an entire industry of other “experts” and some of the best writing in fanfiction has simply had a fellow writer give it a once-over.

We need to stop devaluing our work just because we aren’t getting paid for it or because a really important person hasn’t officially endorsed it. Calling our writing “fanfiction” attaches a stigma to our work that no other writer does, even though we’re producing the exact same thing. Until we either proudly share our writing with non-fandom friends and family or start referring everything as fanfiction, no one will ever take our writing seriously.

#fanfiction #fanficwritersarewriters

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

Text

8 Anti LO Asks

1. it is weird people framed the critique of rachel as "youre just jealous of her success!" like uh sure? why would anyone be thrilled her claim to fame is butchering a real culture's stories to sell DDLG porn to kids while using literal sexual assault as a romantic device to excuse a canon myth r//pist who in comic is a slave owner? like i get shes theyre co-worker and all but cmon, she has a LOT to be critiqued on even outside her bad pay, it's arrogant to act otherwise.

2. there are a few WT creators who are constantly harassed for being queer and BIPOC, and despite getting mass harassment and threats and other creators coming to their defense... rachel never did despite tweeting at the same time. i dunno, it kinda hurts seeing these people bend over backwards to defend her, meanwhile she has a bigger platform and never once defended them when they got worse than her. it just looks like everyone feels obligated to support her, but she doesnt do the same for them.

3. im sorry, even if the rates rachel is paying is "industry standard" and some full time creators get even LESS than that then like yall should not be like STOP HATING ON HER and instead be demanding you all get better pay too?? like fp and patreon etc etc factors into this but??? 2k a month and $450 a week is severely underpaid in the us?? this should be a discussion of all webtoonists should be paid a living wage, and rachel being so successful and yet underpaying her team is a bad precedence.

4 .am i the only one who is concerned how low the actual wages are according to the webtoon creators?? like maybe they get ad revenue and stuff but legit only starting at 2k a month is damn near poverty levels, and we know rachel is easily making at least four times that a month just off fast passes, so??? unionize webcomics bc that seems awful to me. not everyone can luck out on selling technicolor 50 shades to kids so they should be paid a living wage. webtoons is too successful not too 🤷🏿‍♀️

5. LO stans will say that people's art style changes over the years to excuse how different the art has become but you can't say that about LO because there's literally 5 different people drawing it, not including RS (she only gives bare sketches anyway).

Other webtoons use assistants as well but they're not as prominent in how much the art differs chapter by chapter and, even worse, panel to panel. Just call it what it is, lazy management on RS's side with her obvious low payed, time crunched and overworked team of 5 assistants.

6. please somebody get the assistants to unionize or something they should not be working for that level of pay. it's disgusting that rachel would take advantage of her followers like this and add that to everything else she's done/said and everything she's written in the comic I genuinely wish LO would tank already, it does not deserve the popularity, deals, and exposure that it has.

7. Spoilers for fp 179)) The art and anatomy is all over the place 😐😐😐😐

8. this is more of a general critique, but this trial plot line is SO bad. its just a repeat of the characters repeating the same things we already know each episode and added unneeded and confusing "backstories" and trying to add stakes we know wont go anywhere. at least w other episodes they tend to be so bad that you can have fun dunking on it, but these trial ones are just boring. its not fun to read at all.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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wobblydev · 3 years

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I recently joined the IWW because I believe workers should own their workplaces, what they produce, and be able to make decisions democratically within their workplaces. My co-workers aren't looking to organize with me, but I was wondering how I personally could benefit from being a member of the IWW. Does the IWW use direct action as opposed to negotiating (collective-bargaining especially)? Can they help improve my pay and working conditions?

Welcome to the one big union, fellow worker! I think the way you’ve phrased your question reveals a lot about the relationship between the union and its members. We are the union. When you pay dues and take out a red card, you are the union. You ask if “they” can help improve your pay and working conditions. The answer is no, not without your help.

That is a primary difference between solidarity unions (Such as the IWW) and the more common business unions—we use direct action (as you stated) to get the goods. Depending on the job, organizing workers may decide that pursuing a contract is their best option to win their demands, which is legitimate so long as the decision was arrived at democratically. Unlike the business unions, which very often do operate as a “they” in the life of the workers they are supposed to represent, every member of the IWW is a potential organizer. Today’s modern business unions are generally very hierarchical and undemocratic. Rank and file workers don’t have much say in how things are negotiated and often the contracts that unions end up signing totally surrender power to the bosses and owners, with no input from the majority of workers on the shop floor.

You say that your co-workers aren’t looking to organize with you? How do you know? Did you ask: “Hey, wanna organize?” That’s not going to work. Most workers today have no idea what a union is meant to actually achieve, much less how to actually build power on the job. The primary and sole focus of the IWW is to build worker power through direct, worker-led organizing campaigns. That means talking seriously to your co-workers, 1-on-1. It means listening, learning, mapping and brainstorming to help them realize that a guaranteed way to improve their working lives is to build and leverage worker power.

To address your big question: what can the IWW do for you?

If you are serious about building power at your job, I would recommend first and foremost get trained. Reach out to the Organizer Training Committee (if you’re in the US) and see when the next OT101 is being held. There is an online module you can take which will give you tools and techniques to begin seriously organizing. Beyond that, there are other initiatives that wobblies participate in, such as the General Defense Committee and the Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee, both of which can give you organizing experience without endangering your job.

If you think your job is totally hopeless, you could get trained and become an external organizer to assist fellow workers in organizing their own place of work.

You could join the Environmental Unionist Caucus and organize with fellow workers around the globe around environmental issues.

For over 100 years now the formula has proven to be successful: organize, use direct action, win. When done properly, even the most difficult job can be organized, with or without an official contract. The obstacles are myriad and the odds are stacked against us but if you want to get your hands dirty and learn how to fight for real power on the job, you’re in the right union.

If you’re in the US, all North American Regional Administration contacts can be found here https://iww.org/directory/

If you’re associated with a General Membership Branch or an Industrial Union Branch, have GHQ put you in touch with them and see about getting trained, or getting more involved in ongoing campaigns. If you’re not within the jurisdiction of a branch, you can join the At-Large Caucus and still get resources and support. As your organizing gains momentum, you could even charter a branch in your area.

If you need more specific help, feel free to reach out again and I’ll reply privately.

Again, welcome to the one big union!

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the-fixation-zone · 4 years

Text

a drink from hell

okay so i haven’t written fanfic in literal years (and even then, it was only one, unpublished) and my writing in general is rusty, but i saw this answer by @hurricanezukka and i just. i had to write something. so here it is! it doesn’t follow the prompt exactly, the plot got a little away from me, and if i didn’t just write something i was going to take a billion years on it/not finish it at all so! anyway! the Work!

~5k words

“Your change is three dollars.” Zuko hands over the bills, trying not to wrinkle his nose as yet another person purchases his Uncle’s…concoction. The customer smiles and walks down to the end of the counter, awaiting what Zuko believes can only loosely be considered a drink. He sighs through his nose, turns, and begins crafting. A Thai tea with…boba. He tries not to gag as he finishes it and hands it over with its obnoxiously large straw. The customer’s eyes light up when she sees it, her “thank you!” almost lost in the loud popping of the drink’s seal. Zuko does not say you’re welcome. Instead, he tries to keep his eyes from rolling and goes back to the register. Another day, another delusional person. When Uncle Iroh had said he wanted to try something new in his tea shop, Zuko hadn’t questioned it. It was his shop, after all, and Zuko was only there because of his Uncle’s love. Uncle obviously knew how to run a business without outside influence. But when Uncle had shown him the little…black…balls he intended to put into the most finely brewed tea in the city, Zuko had nearly put his foot down.

“Uncle. What…what are those.”

“They are tapioca balls, nephew! Don’t they look delicious? It will add a bit of fun to drinking tea, if I say so myself!”

Right. Fun. As if drinking hot (or, in this case, cold) leaf juice needed to be a diverting activity. Zuko had said nothing and had dutifully tried one. And then he had just as dutifully spit it out when Uncle wasn’t looking. Honestly, what the fuck was he thinking?

So now Zuko stands behind the counter of the Jasmine Dragon and waits for people to come in and order the monstrosity, forcing him to relive his waking nightmare. Cold tea. And tapioca balls. It isn’t enough to make him rethink working here, but it’s damn close.

“Gooooood afternoon! I hear you guys have something called boba tea?”

Zuko’s eyes clench close reflexively before he remembers the customer service etiquette Iroh tried to drill in him. He opens his eyes and says, through clenched teeth, “Yes. We do. Only place in the city.”

“Wooooow.” The customer is flashing him a bright smile, one that takes Zuko off-guard for a moment. Sure, sometimes customer’s smile at him. It’s usually because they want something. A bit knocked off the price of their drink; to be able to use an expired coupon. But this customer doesn’t seem to want anything. Just the boba. “Is it good?”

Zuko raises his eyes from the smile to the man’s eyes, intending on telling him the honest truth, but he’s arrested by how bright blue they are. Zuko forgets how to form sentences. The customer’s tanned skin makes his eyes look even bluer, the little blue beads in the single braid that comes down into his face tying the whole package together. He has laugh lines.

“Uh—what?”

The customer’s smile falters, just a bit. “The boba? Is it good? I mean, my sister says it’s great, but who can trust a little sister’s taste?” He winks, bringing Zuko into the joke. Zuko thinks about Azula’s taste in, well, anything, and finds himself nodding along.

“Yeah. Yeah, I understand. Uh, a lot of people say it’s good. Like, uh, it’s ordered a lot? Instead of regular tea?” Zuko does not know why he’s asking his customer these statements, but Zuko also doesn’t know why he isn’t just telling him that the boba fucking sucks and to try something else. Maybe it’s because the customer is still smiling, even though by now he’s sure to have gotten a proper look at Zuko’s marred face. Maybe it’s because his hair, the rest of it that’s not in the little braid but is instead in a wolftail, looks so soft…

Maybe Zuko is a bit preoccupied.

“Well, that’s good enough for me! How about I get a small black milk boba tea and let you know what I think?”

Zuko nods numbly, tells him how much it is, and exchanges currency. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t look at the till to do it, but the customer doesn’t say anything about incorrect change so maybe he’s done it right. Zuko makes the tea with shaking fingers. When he finishes, he turns and sees the customer leaning against the counter, looking down at his phone. He looks up, as if he knew Zuko was looking at him, and flashes that smile again. Zuko passes over the tea and their fingers brush.

“Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”

Zuko watches as the customer walks to a table near the windows, pulls out a laptop (how long had he been wearing a messenger bag?) and gets to work. Zuko, unfortunately, finds it hard to get back to work for the rest of his shift.

***

Zuko’s off the next few days and he spends his free time reading. Mostly Wikipedia articles, but if pressed Zuko would defend his habits as educational to the last breath. Besides, it isn’t as if he is just reading them for fun, not that anyone asked. He’s editing. The nature of Wikipedia is such that anyone, even idiots, can create a page. It is a beautiful idea in theory, but in practice it gives Zuko a headache. He doesn’t edit every inaccurate page that he comes across (he’d get nothing else done) but he does look through pages he considers himself an expert on. Species of turtle, types of candle wax, the furnace manufacturing industry—well. There are plenty of things to keep him occupied until his next shift. He very pointedly does not think about the blue-eyed bombshell from the other day who stayed in the shop for several hours, long after he had finished his tea. He also doesn’t think about how, after finishing the tea, the blue-eyed customer had looked up and unerringly found Zuko’s eyes to give him a big, hammy thumbs up with another grin. He doesn’t think about how he’d fumbled the teacup that had been in his hand and blushed furiously, thanking the gods the cup had been empty. He doesn’t think about how, though he didn’t look back at the customer’s table ever again, he could feel the man’s eyes on him. He really doesn’t think about that.

Instead, he thinks about how someone has changed all the mentions of “tortoises” to “turtles” as he viciously changes them back. Honestly, if there weren’t a difference why would there be two separate words?

His next shift is an early one. 7am. Zuko doesn’t mind; he tends to rise early anyway. He comes in a few minutes before his shift starts, unlocking the door and bringing down chairs from their upside-down position on tables. He can hear Uncle in the back, counting change.

“Zuko, is that you?”

Zuko sighs. “Yes Uncle. Were you expecting someone else?”

Uncle Iroh’s chuckle can be heard clearly in the front room. “No, no, just glad you are here. Today is going to be a great day!” Uncle comes through the door to the back, tying his apron around his generous belly. Zuko still doesn’t understand why Uncle, the owner of this shop, insists on working when he could easily just hire someone to take his place. He’s asked a few times, wondering why his uncle doesn’t take an early (or, honestly, past due) retirement, but Uncle always gives him the same answer. He grins, slaps Zuko on the back, and says, “Can’t leave all the fun to the young!” before busying himself with some part of the tea process. Zuko doesn’t understand it, but he’s long learned not to question it. He grabs his own apron and gets behind the counter, taking the glass jars of tea out from the cabinets to display them next to the till. Uncle is insistent that people see the tea before it’s brewed, so they know exactly what they are getting. Zuko doesn’t get it. He looks in the jars and sees different shades of dried leaf, which doesn’t help him choose which one he’ll hate least. But Uncle is the boss, so.

The morning goes quickly, a rush hitting a half hour after they open and holding steady until around nine. Perks of being located near the college campus, the best of which being that students in the early morning are dead-eyed and silent. They take their caffeine and go, without much small talk. Zuko decides to take his break after the rush, knowing another one will start up again in an hour or so. Uncle had decided pretty early on that tea was much better with a snack, and so had added café food to the menu. Oatmeal, avocado toast, and smoothie bowls are part of the Jasmine Dragon’s repertoire, among other tasty things, which brings more people in for lunch than they’d get just serving tea. A blessing and a curse, Zuko thinks. A blessing, because more customers mean more tips. A curse because…well, customers. Zuko throws together a sandwich and starts to head to the back. Uncle always says he’s welcome to eat in the dining room, where the seats are more comfortable, but Zuko prefers not to be seen while he eats. Usually, Uncle leaves it just at that. Today, however, he pushes Zuko a little more.

“Are you sure, nephew? I chose these couches myself for their comfort! I think you will enjoy your lunch a bit better if you sit out here today.” Uncle has an odd twinkle in his eye as he says this, one Zuko doesn’t have the energy to parse through. He looks at the clock, then back at Uncle, and realizes if he wants to have any food at all it’s better to just give in now. Zuko shrugs and heads to the dining room instead, taking an armchair close to the back. The room is, thankfully, empty for now. Not knowing how long that will last, Zuko starts to take a bite of his sandwich when the bell over the door rings. He sighs, moving to get up, but Uncle waves him off and heads towards the till to take care of the customer. Grateful, Zuko sinks back into the armchair, eyes drifting to the newcomer in case they try to give Uncle any trouble. As his eyes find him, Zuko freezes. It’s. The blue-eyed man.

Zuko does not drop his sandwich.

The man walks to the counter, familiar grin on his face, and greets Uncle like they’re old friends. Zuko watches, confused, as they immediately launch into a hushed conversation too quiet for him to make out. He does catch Uncle attempting to subtly point in his direction, though, and feels his ears go red. Better not to worry about it, Zuko thinks, and hunches deeper into his armchair to nibble on his sandwich. Not worrying about it, he keeps his eye on the customer.

Eventually, after it seems the man has finally ordered, the customer moves down the counter away from Uncle, and Iroh starts his tea. Instead of looking at his phone like he did last time, the man looks directly at Zuko and makes a beeline for his corner. Zuko eats a bit faster.

“Hey! You on break?”

Zuko wishes he hadn’t eaten so fast. “Mmph? Uhk, er—”

The other man’s eyes fill with concern and he puts his hands up, palms out. “Whoa, whoa sorry! I should’ve waited, take your time!” He watches Zuko swallow with a soft smile, getting comfortable in a nearby armchair. Zuko tries to tone down his impression of a human tomato.

“I—fuck—hi. Hello. Again.”

The customer’s smile stays soft, but a light comes into his eyes. “Hello. Again. Name’s Sokka,” and he reaches a hand out to shake, “what’s yours?”

Zuko definitely drops his sandwich now (onto the table, thank fuck) and quickly meets the man’s—Sokka’s—hand with his own. Sokka’s hand is pleasantly cool. “Uh, I’m Zuko.”

“Zuko. Cool.” Sokka keeps looking at him, and smiling at him, and should Zuko let go now? Or is it okay, since Sokka hasn’t let go either? Zuko wracks his brain for the last time he shook anyone’s hand and how long the shake lasted and comes up maddeningly blank. Has Zuko shaken anyone else’s hand before?

Sokka’s smile grows. He slowly removes his hand from Zuko’s grip, fingers lingering. Zuko has just enough presence of mind to bring his hand back to his lap, and not leave it dangling in midair like an idiot. It’s a near thing, though.

“Uh, so. What were you and Uncle talking about?” Zuko asks, the first thing that comes to mind.

“Oh! That’s your uncle?” Sokka looks over his shoulder for a second, then looks back. “Oh, uh, nothing? Would you believe nothing? We were just shooting the breeze, you know, real casual small talk.” Sokka does not sound very convincing, but he also doesn’t sound like he’s going to change his story so Zuko doesn’t push it.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, he’s, uh, he’s good at that. Small talk.” Unlike me oh gods strike me down now.

“He seems like a good guy!” The nervous look leaves Sokka’s eyes, which is just as well because that means they’re not shifting all over the place and are firmly planted on Zuko’s face. “Must be nice to have such a nice uncle to work for. All the free boba you want! What a dream.”

Zuko’s eyes widen and he coughs. “Uh yeah. All the…the free b-boba…I’d want. Because it’s so good. Who doesn’t like boba? You like it, right?”

Before Sokka can answer, Uncle comes to their little corner with Sokka’s order: same as the other day, black milk tea with boba. This time, though, it’s a much bigger serving. Sokka’s eyes light up when he sees it, and he thanks Uncle profusely as he stabs into the drink’s seal. Zuko tries to hide his grimace, his question thoroughly answered. He looks at Uncle, intending on asking if he should get back to work, but Uncle just gives him a wink and walks off without saying anything. Flustered, Zuko stays put. Between slurps of tea, Sokka begins to ask him about himself and, helpless, Zuko answers. He makes sure to keep his eyes on Sokka’s face, rather than the abomination he’s inhaling, but really that’s not much better. Looking at Sokka makes Zuko feel like he’s on fire. Every time Sokka asks him something his tongue trips over itself trying to provide the best, most accurate answer. He’s sure he looks like a buffoon but Sokka never comments, just keeps smiling at him and encouraging him to answer. He just wants to know and Zuko doesn’t get it.

“Uh, so. What about you? You were working on something the other day…what was it?” Immediately Zuko wants to take it back, sure he’s asked something too personal, maybe the guy doesn’t want to talk about his work, honestly Zuko just think sometimes—

“Oh! I’m glad you asked, I’ve been meaning to bounce some ideas off someone!” Sokka’s eyes light up like he’s been given another boba as he launches into an explanation of his work. He’s a PhD student apparently, trying to hammer out a decent thesis proposal for his dissertation on medieval war tactics. War isn’t really Zuko’s interest, but he does know a bit about medieval history so he offers advice when he can. He’s sure it’s not very helpful, but Sokka seems to take it all very seriously, even pausing for a moment to bring his laptop out and take some notes. Zuko doesn’t have the heart to tell him most of his information was collected from his Wikipedia hunts. Before Zuko knows it, the lunch rush has come and gone and evening is swiftly approaching. When he finally notices a clock he swears, standing up quickly.

“Oh shit, I should go back to work! Oh man, I left Uncle all alone, I—” He looks around frantically hoping to catch his uncle’s eye.

Sokka stands too, seemingly also unconscious of the time. “Oh wow, yeah it’s later than I thought. I’ve got to go, Katara’s gonna kill me…” He quickly packs up his things, having over time brought out papers and folders along with his laptop, haphazardly shoving things back into his messenger bag. “This was good, though! I really liked talking to you. Until next time?” Sokka shoots Zuko a hopeful look as he puts his items away. Zuko blinks a few times, still in Red Alert mode, but takes a second to look back at Sokka. And nods.

“Yeah. Next time.”

***

Next time is apparently the very next day. Zuko isn’t scheduled but Uncle calls him in last minute, as Jin, one of the other employees of the Jasmine Dragon, apparently called in sick. Zuko isn’t planning on doing anything but sweep through Wikipedia so he agrees, taking a quick shower before heading over and arriving with his hair still a bit damp. Uncle gives him a wide smile when he sees him arrive, which Zuko returns, albeit in a more subdued manner, before he spots Jin behind him. His eyes narrow.

“Uncle. I thought you said Jin called in sick.”

“Ah, nephew, you see….” His uncle has the good grace to blush. “She had called in sick, but it seems she felt a bit better and decided to come in anyway!”

“Uncle, you called me twenty minutes ago. Did she get sick and better within the span of half an hour?”

Uncle shrugs, unperturbed by being called out in an obvious lie. “Who is to say, nephew? Illnesses come and go, sometimes. Since you are here already, why don’t I make it up to you? You go sit in your corner and I’ll bring you some tea!” Uncle has that look in his eye, the one Zuko knows means he’s been caught in something he can’t see yet, which doesn’t make any sense….

It’s then that Zuko looks to “his” corner. And sees Sokka sitting in the same chair as yesterday, tapping away on his laptop.

“Uncle! Did you--?” Zuko doesn’t even know how to finish the sentence, but one look at the conniving old man tells him all he needs to know. Zuko groans. “I’m going home, Uncle.”

“No, no! Why go home if you are already here? You may as well relax your poor feet and have some good conversation while you are at it. Go, go sit and I will bring you and your…companion some tea and pastries.” Uncle makes a shooing motion and Zuko finds his feet have decided to make their own decisions, choosing to carry him over to Sokka. Sokka seems to know he’s there because when he gets close, Sokka turns to greet him.

“Zuko! I didn’t know you were working today! Good to see you.” He indicates the chair opposite him, snug in the corner. “Join me?”

Zuko nods numbly and goes to sit. “I wasn’t working today. Uncle called me in, said Jin called out sick…but she’s not sick. She’s right over there.” He points to where Jin is laughing with Uncle about something. He hopes to the gods it’s not him.

“Hmm. Sick but not sick huh? Well, I guess it’s my lucky day then,” Sokka says, beaming a smile at Zuko. Zuko feels warm down to his toes and musters a small smile back.

“Yeah, I guess.” Zuko scratches the back of his neck, feeling the weight of conversation-making drop onto his shoulders. How do people do this?

Thankfully, Sokka seems to feel no such weight and launches right into a story about his sister and their roommate, a blind girl named Toph who sounds like a handful. Sokka doesn’t look like Zuko’s one-word answers bother him, seemingly content to talk about whatever, switching topics on a whim. It’s…comforting. When Sokka wants something from Zuko, he asks. He doesn’t push and doesn’t stray into awkward territory. He doesn’t’ ask about the scar. At one point, Zuko looks down and sees there’s tea in front of both of them, the usual for Sokka and a smaller version of the same for him along with two croissants. He didn’t even notice Uncle coming by. He doesn’t say anything about the cup of boba in front of him, choosing to pretend he doesn’t see it.

“Oh! Can I get your opinion on something?” Sokka asks, his laptop now out. He looks a little nervous, typing at some keys.

“Yeah, sure, I guess. What is it?” Zuko doesn’t know what Sokka could possibly want his opinion on, but he can’t possibly say no.

“Well, it’s this paragraph. I think I’m describing the reign of this king right, but the way you said it yesterday made so much more sense…” Sokka lifts his laptop to hand it over to Zuko, and Zuko doesn’t understand because he could just slide it over and—oh. Sokka’s fingers brush against Zuko’s in the handoff, and Zuko has no more complaints. He takes the laptop, feeling his face heat up, and tries not to fumble it as he turns it around.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, let me read it.” He does, half his mind on the highlighted paragraph and the other half on how nice Sokka’s fingers had felt on his. “This seems right. If anything I’d just, well…” He turns on track changes and does a few minor edits, hands it back. Hopes Sokka’s fingers will touch his again and is not disappointed. Sokka’s ears seem a bit red but otherwise he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, great! Yeah, see that’s what I meant, you just are so good at that. The words, I mean.”

Zuko looks at him like there’s worms coming out of his eyes. Him? Good with words? What planet is Sokka from? He doesn’t say anything though, just shrugging.

The day passes the same as the one before, Sokka alternating between asking Zuko questions and working on his thesis proposal. Zuko tells him about his love of turtles, and his Wikipedia obsession, though he refrains from calling it an “obsession” and refers to it as “an academic obligation.” Sokka nods as if this makes sense. Zuko finds the courage to ask Sokka a bit too, about his sister (Katara, a bit of a pain but the way Sokka talks about her Zuko knows he loves her), his roommate Toph (exactly as much of a handful as that story made her sound like), his parents (dead mom, Zuko regrets asking, and great dad, Zuko really regrets asking) and his school program. Occasionally Zuko will catch Sokka looking at him in a way he can’t read, like Sokka is puzzling something out. When Zuko catches him, he raises his one eyebrow in question but Sokka shakes his head and goes back to his laptop. Zuko leaves it at that.

When it’s time for the Jasmine Dragon to close, neither are ready for it.

“Time sure flies, huh?” Sokka asks, looking genuinely bewildered at the position of the sun. “I should be getting back.”

“Yeah, me too.” Zuko stands, instinctively clearing the table. “This was. Nice. I’m…glad I came in today.”

Sokka gives him a soft smile, pausing in putting his laptop and papers away. “I’m glad too.”

***

For the next week, Zuko is working every day. When asked why he signed up for seven days in a row, Zuko shrugs.

“Rent is coming up.”

His Uncle, who is very familiar with his nephew’s finances, smiles and says nothing.

And if Zuko’s breaks are spent in the corner of the dining room with a certain blue-eyed regular, well. It’s nobody’s business but his.

He makes sure he doesn’t go over time, feeling guilty about the work he skipped last time, but when he goes back behind the till Sokka doesn’t leave. In fact, he just moves tables, sitting in a chair closer to the counter, angled towards Zuko. Zuko doesn’t know why, but he isn’t complaining. It’s much easier to watch Sokka this way.

The man really was beautiful. Zuko’s never been very good at describing people, wrinkling his nose at the labels people use for body parts. All he knew was that something about Sokka called to him, somewhere deep down, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Or if there was anything to do. Sokka was a customer, after all! He came for his (disgusting) tea and a quiet place to work. And, apparently, to talk to Zuko, sometimes. But that didn’t mean anything. Still. For seven days, Sokka came in and ordered his boba, they chatted during Zuko’s breaks, and Zuko watched him work when he had to go back behind the till. He might have dropped a mug or two. But who was counting? Apparently not Uncle, who only gives him mysterious looks whenever it happens and sweeps up the glass without comment. He also seems to be oddly occupied in the back of the shop, leaving Zuko at the front. Alone. On days when Uncle is not in the shop, but Jin or Piandao are working instead, they also seem to make themselves…scarce, unless there’s a rush. Zuko doesn’t question it, as it leaves him more chances to watch Sokka unobserved.

Somewhere in the middle of the week, Sokka starts coming up to the counter after the lunch rush to ask Zuko some more questions. Mostly about his proposal, but sometimes not. He always goes back to his chair when a customer comes in, ever courteous of Zuko’s job, but Zuko kind of wishes he wouldn’t. Zuko would much rather explain to Sokka his disinterest in organized sports than watch a customer stare at the menu above Zuko’s head for five minutes, just to give a fake laugh and ask what Zuko thinks they should get. Zuko really wishes they would stop asking his opinion on tea.

By the end of the week, Zuko desperately needs a break. All his clothes, even his non-work ones, reek of tea. He doesn’t know how, but they do, and he’s tired. His feet hurt. He thinks he’ll do something violent if he has to make small talk with another customer. But he looks over at Sokka and thinking about the prospect of not seeing him for a few days fills him with panic. Maybe he could come in anyway? But, surely that’d be obvious, right? Maybe he can ask Uncle to loudly call him on the phone…

It’s nearing closing time and Zuko is still thinking about what to do. Sokka’s still there, which isn’t unusual. He hasn’t left before closing time all week. He gets up, stretches, and starts packing his things away. Also not unusual. What is unusual is that, instead of giving Zuko a wave and heading out, he walks up to the counter.

“Hey.”

“…hey?” Zuko’s mind switches from thinking about how to see Sokka in the next few days to how to deal with the Sokka in front of him. “Want a tea for the road?”

“Well, actually…” Sokka brings a hand up to tug at his braid, biting his bottom lip. Zuko tries not to track this motion and utterly fails. “I was wondering. You, uh. You’ve been working a lot this week, haven’t you?”

Zuko blinks. Sokka had noticed? “Uh, yeah. I’m supposed to be off a couple days soon.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, that makes sense, cool. Would…would tomorrow be one of those days?”

“Maybe? It, uh, could be? Why?”

Sokka tugs a final time at his braid before planting both hands on the counter. “Wellyousaidyoulikedturtlesright?”

Zuko frowns. “What?”

Sokka takes a deep breath. “Well. You said you liked. Turtles, right?”

Zuko nods slowly. “Yeah…?”

“Okay. Okay, so, I’m planning on going to the aquarium tomorrow. I have a free day from—” he gestures to the messenger bag on his shoulder, as if that explains anything at all, “—and was wondering if you wanted to join me?”

Zuko’s eyes widen. “Oh, like. You and me? At the aquarium?”

Sokka seems to gain his equilibrium in the face of Zuko’s awkwardness and grins. “Yeah, you and me. Like a date?” As confident as Sokka suddenly looks, Zuko can tell he’s a little nervous. Zuko rushes to reassure him.

“Yes! Yes. I would. I would like that. A date.”

“Great! Meet here at 2?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Sokka leaves and Zuko allows himself a solitary fist pump.

***

The next day, Zuko comes in to find Sokka already out front, holding two cups.

“I thought I’d get us some boba for the trip over! Here,” and he hands one to Zuko. Zuko looks at it like it’s going to bite him. Sokka doesn’t notice, having already popped the seal on his and taking a big slurp. Zuko watches the boba balls go up the straw with dread.

“Come on, man, no need to be shy. Don’t even think you have to pay me back, just go ahead and enjoy!”

Zuko’s eye twitches but, as if on autopilot, he stabs into his drink. Takes a few sips. He tries his best, but a ball of boba gets stuck in his straw and he has no choice but to bring it all the way up. The moment it touches his tongue he makes the loudest retching sound, dropping his drink onto the pavement and launching the ball from his mouth to land on Sokka’s shirt.

Sokka, for his part, is in hysterics.

He laughs at him the whole way to the aquarium, and a bit more while they’re there for good measure. In fact, he doesn’t stop laughing until Zuko kisses him, right next to the turtle tank.

fin

#zukka #zuko #sokka #atla #fanfic #my work #AAAAAAAAAA i barely read over this so i hope it's okay??#im not gonna berate myself in the tags but that's only due to sheer force of will ok #also thank u hurricanezukka for ur really nice messages on the snippet i posts i freaked the heck out when i read them #and was thinking about ur comments when i kept writing #so thanks

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