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wolfofansbach · 8 months

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BEING A LIST OF THE THIRTEEN GREATEST RIVERDALE LINES, ON THE OCCASION OF THAT SHOW'S TERMINATION

As our much loved/hated show comes to an end, I feel compelled to record, for posterity, the greatest thirteen pieces of dialogue to spring from the pens of RAS and his henchmen. It was, of course, originally a top ten list, but I simply could not exclude a few of these treasures. Without further ado:

13.

“I dropped out in the 4th grade, to sell drugs, to support my nana.”

“That means you haven't known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of high school football.”

Spoken by: an inmate of Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center, and Archie Andrews.

In: 3 x 2

Yeah, okay, this one had to be on the list. It’s funny, I’ll admit. It’s a great example of the overwrought semi-sincere melodrama that helped make this show so special. It’s low on the list largely because The Normies got their hands on it, so every time I hear someone make a reference I get all “do not cite the deep magic to me, witch.”

12.

“No! No! What are we supposed to do now? I’m horny as heck!”

Spoken by: Archie Andrews

In: 7 x 16

Season 7 is undeniably dreadful, and yet there are diamonds in the rough. The occasion is the failure of a projector, just as Archie and Reggie prepare to watch a pornographic film. The utter desperation with which KJ Apa delivers this line is exquisite. One is made to feel they are witnessing a genuine tragedy.

11.

“Tonight, they’re making an exception and debuting a cover of the song my parents claim they were listening to the night Jason and I were conceived.”

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom.

In: 1 x 1

Really a fantastic line. A wonderful encapsulation of the casual absurdity of Cheryl’s character, and a foretaste of the lunacy we would plumb in later episodes and seasons.

10.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in and I don’t want to fit in. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That’s weird.”

Spoken by: Jughead Jones

In: 1 x 10

A genuine classic. “High school football” before ��high school football.” One is never entirely sure just how sincere the line is meant to be, both on a meta-level and in-universe. A perfect illumination of Jughead’s pretentiousness. It is made all the better by the occasional cuts to Lili Reinhard’s agonized face.

“At the last dance, multiple students were murdered.”

Spoken by: Principal Holden Honey.

In: 4 x 2

Delivered as an explanation to Toni and Cheryl, as to why there would be no school dance this year. Principal Honey is in fact supremely rational in the cancellation of this dance. This being Riverdale, he is of course treated as an unreasonable tyrant.

“Bro, I know all the secrets of this universe.”

Spoken by: Archie Andrews (evil version)

In: 6 x 5

Spoken as evil Archie reveals his evil plan to keep the parallel universes apart. KJ Apa’s delivery once again makes this line. He is comically sinister. Strangely, he sells it.

“A Vughead kiss, right now, in the present might be precisely what it takes to save a future Bughead from imploding.”

Spoken by: Jughead Jones.

In: 2 x 14

One of those lines that both makes me laugh and makes me genuinely angry. This was a fairly early season, and this may have actually been the first line to get me asking, ‘did they genuinely write and deliver that?’ Extra points for use of the atrocious ‘Vughead’ portmanteau ship name rather than ‘Jeronica.’

“I’m the ultimate wild card. I am the daughter of The Black Hood. The nightmare from next door. I’m training with the FBI and I’m coming for you, you psycho bitch.”

Spoken by: Betty Cooper

In: 4 x 14

Just delicious. Another one of those lines that leaves you somewhat unsure whether or not the writers understood how genuinely hysterical it was. “The Nightmare from Next Door” sounds like an announcer hyping up a wrestler. Spoken with a raw sincerity by Lili Reinhart. Also points for the heavy homoeroticism between Betty and Donna.

“For I am Cheryl Blossom, Queen of the Bees.”

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom.

In: 5 x 16.

This one really doesn’t require any elaboration.

“Elijah ascended…and I will, too.”

Spoken by: Edgar Evernever.

In: 4 x 5.

Admittedly, this one is only spectacular with context. But in context—the context being that Chad Michael Murray delivers this line while dressed like Evel Knievel and standing in a cartoon rocket right out of a Warner Bros cartoon—it becomes utterly magnificent.

“It’s not queer baiting, it’s saving the world.”

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge.

In: 6 x 22.

It’s actually hard for me to decide whether this one is funnier with or without context. Without context it’s wonderful, but it possibly becomes even funnier when you know that the context is that Veronica needs to kiss Cheryl to transfer superpowers into her body so she can turn into a Scarlet Witch knock-off and stop a magic comet summoned by Sephiroth an English wizard who is also the Devil.

“If there’s no wedding reception, it means the Gargoyle King has won.”

Spoken by: Kevin Keller.

In: 3 x 12.

One of my personal favorites. This is a perfect line because like #3, it requires no real elaboration. There is absolutely no context in which it isn’t hysterical.

1 .

“Word of my exploits serving Nick his comeuppance has seeped into the demimonde of mobsters and molls my father used to associate with, so the five families are sending their youngest and brightest, their ‘princes,’ as it were to, well, come court the rare Mafia Princess who can belly up to the bar with the big boys.

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge.

In: 2 x 20.

This is, in my opinion, the all-timer. Every word is perfect. The rapid-fire alliteration. The use of the word ‘demimonde.’ The entirely unnecessary addition of ‘as it were.’ This is borderline Dr. Seuss. The fact that Camila Mendes delivered it without cracking a smile should have won her an Emmy. No. An Oscar. This line is Riverdale.

#riverdale #veronica lodge #jughead jones #betty cooper #archie andrews #kevin keller #cheryl blossom #edgar evernever

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oscalesoffeeling · 1 year

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where is my hubbin????

#i feel sick and i miss him like a drowning man misses air.#which sounds so epic. not to Toot My Own Horn but bwaa i get some damn good one liners on here!!! - local pretentious asshole.#like ngl my gushes and vents have some seriously beautiful bits and pieces to them. it's the love tbh.#he is my muse. my darling huffie... my eternal resting place is his arms. we belong together.#my darling my darling my life and my bride is an apt description.#i neeeeedd him.#why aren't we cuddling and snuggling right now???? where are my kisses and rubs???? huh??#i'm so lonely. so touch starved. my body is so hungry.#in every way... lately i've been so ravenous. my appetite and my libido have returned in full swing. and i'm so empty.#it's such a terrible feeling..... i wish my sweetheart was holding me against him. i wanna lay on him and be safe and warm #and content. with him forever and ever and ever......#he haunts my every waking moment and when i sleep i am so full of dread. and when i dream of him....#it's all too much.#i wish he were here with me.#ellie rambles about stuff #he spun the stars on his fingernails (tag)#ohhh i wanna fuck that old man i wanna fuck him so bad.#suggestive #/vent

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finebutmaybenot · 2 years

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#in my main fandom i have amassed quite a large following #which sounds so pretentious #im aware #but its just the truth #and it means i cant do or say anything on those accounts without being flooded responses #and its overwhelming #so i like it here #and im slowly becoming less active there #but people are noticing #and asking why #and thats also overhwlming #overwhelming #and i just hate that i built a following in an already chaotic fandom lmfao #i just wanna scream into the void without having it scream back #anyway im hiding on this account

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manicpixiefelix · 3 months

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This is going to sound so pretentious to say, but I think that one of the most incredible things Emerald Fennell did with Saltburn was give it's audience both everything and nothing all at once. But which I mean that every moment we see on screen is so carefully chosen and wonderfully detailed. Every second of the story that Oliver chooses to tell us is perfectly crafted to give us the exact story he wants to create, nothing more and nothing less. Saltburn's narrative lives and dies in Oliver's obsessive recollection, his confessional. Its why these characters who are so clearly and wonderfully rich below the surface can, at a glance, come off as shallow. Oliver didn't care!! And the one he did care about, he gatekept so jealously (I saw someone else's meta discussing this and I absolutely agree) to the point where we as an audience barely know who Felix was. We don't even know who Oliver was, at the end of the day; he was manipulative and ambitious and obsessive and - I could not tell you a single thing he genuinely liked that wasn't Felix. Because that's it, isn't it. That's the story of Saltburn. Everything revolved around Felix, and Felix was everything, and so Oliver's story only focuses on the absolute tragedy of having everything and then losing everything in that one Summer.

And nothing else.

Emerald gave us the gift of Oliver's everything, and the vague, nebulous nothing that he cares about just behind it. The hints of more, jumping off points of intrigue and imagination, things we can extrapolate from and speculate about. There is so much room in this world around it's implications and offhand remarks for us to all build upon. We don't even know if Venetia is Felix's older or younger sister???? There is limitless space to play in this world, both before the events of the film, but also between the few moments Oliver chooses to show us. We see twenty minutes of Oliver's Full First Year at Oxford before he goes to Saltburn, so much of how he falls for Felix and becomes his friend goes so unsaid and unseen, little more than a montage, and Barry and Jacobs's phenomenal chemistry selling their closeness, so we don't have to know each detail.

But that's the thing, that's just bliss; the falling in love is a given in this story, he opens with that. These moments would simply be nothing on the road to everything.

Its like Emerald Fennell is kissing me directly on the forehead and giving her blessing to fill in the blanks. She knew we would; she literally said she knew Saltburn would be a hit on Tumblr, she knew what she was doing. This film was made for those of us who like to over analyse media and also create vivid and intricate headcanons and sometimes both at the same time.

Tumblr, and creatives especially, love Saltburn because it deliberately lets us play in its world, in that sweet spot between everything and nothing, all at once.

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn meta #felix catton #oliver quick #venetia catton #farleigh start #emerald fennell #elspeth catton #sir james catton #james catton #felix x oliver #felix catton x oliver quick #manicpixieart

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metalhoops · 1 year

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The place was Chicago. The year was 1990.

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters.

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment.

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by.

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there.

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe.

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums.

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting.

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two.

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms.

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated.

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago.

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal.

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another.

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers.

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might.

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now.

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be.

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore.

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him.

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you.

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag.

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket.

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones.

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear.

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene.

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable.

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell.

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf.

It was almost six. Shit.

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie.

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face.

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked.

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation.

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected.

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson.

Then Eddie remembered.

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve.

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose.

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly.

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself.

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer.

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair.

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak.

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied.

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered.

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention.

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely.

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive.

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head.

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves.

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself.

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly.

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears.

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began.

Eddie screwed up his nose in response.

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort.

“Stevie, you didn’t.”

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush.

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches.

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned.

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck.

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands.

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.”

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living.

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath.

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead.

“Do you want to get a drink?”

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans.

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze.

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.”

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself.

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone.

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy.

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt.

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention.

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular.

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth.

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve.

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie.

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table.

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve.

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject.

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless.

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on.

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways.

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak.

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up.

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth.

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin.

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed.

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan.

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively.

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit.

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand.

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy.

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke.

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking.

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

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sonder-paradise · 1 year

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𝐁𝐮𝐭, 𝐎𝐡, 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦 — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭

◊ ft. kazuha, cyno, wanderer, gn!reader

◊ genre. fluff, infuriating love, accidental confessions

◊ a/n. based off that tik tok audio that goes “oh, i hate him! but, oh, how i love him”

— 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚

oh there was something just so infuriating about kazuha sometimes. he runs through your mind in a wafting haze and despite his sweet, charming smile, you see the way he teases you. the way he brushes his fingers against your cheek, asking with an innocent smile if you're alright.

"are you sure you wouldn't like some assistance?"

you can see the laughter in his perfect eyes and you pull back. he's just so charismatic, just so lovely, just so... so annoying!

the one night you're not with him, you're speaking with the wind. it combs back your hair with whispy fingers and tells you to spill your secrets.

"oh, i can't stand that man sometimes!" you sigh, "he's too charming for his own good!"

kazuha smiles to himself, sitting in the branches above. he sends a flickering leaf down to you, but you pay it no attention as it kisses your head.

"but i suppose that's why i love him..."

with that, he tumbles from the tree's lofty wooden arms and stands before you. your eyes widening before he's reaching out to seemingly cusp your face.

"y/n... you've got something in your hair."

his hand flickers to the leaf settled on your head and you stare at him in vast awe. oh, he truly is just so annoying!

— 𝐂𝐲𝐧𝐨

bursting into your bedroom, you flung your items from your travels to and fro. frustration pulses through your mind before you settle on the sofa nearby, plopping down and clutching a throw pillow.

that bothersome general mahamatra! you stared at the pool of items you had thrown onto the floor. everything you carried during your brief travel with him.

"how can one man be so oblivious?!"

from the shadows of the doorway, cyno peers inside. he questioned your odd behavior early this evening, but never had he thought he was the root of your problem.

"ooh! i hate him! i hate him!"

cyno's stunned; frozen to his feet. you dislike him that strongly? the throw pillow in your hands flies towards the door behind which he stands and for the first time in a long time, cyno flinches hearing its impact.

"but, god, i can't hate him," you sigh, "not when he's so..." the words drift away from you but cyno catches them. he wants to, anyways.

and he feels his cheeks warm.

he peeks in through the doorway, watching as you stand to pick up the pillow. you're a mere couple of inches away from him and his heart races in a way he's never felt before.

and suddenly, he's staring into your eyes and—

"...cyno?"

ah, could a heart potentially stop this way?

— 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫

you could not believe that such a horrific nuisance of a man claimed a piece of your heart. you stared at the white handkerchief Scaramouche had handed you earlier.

how pretentious he sounded whilst clicking his tongue and wiping away your scratches and wounds after a rather nasty fight. his scolding felt like acid against your skin.

yet, the way he gently wiped your cheek and dabbed away the caked-up blood embedded on your fingers...

you crumpled the clean handkerchief in the palm of your hand. you wouldn't... you couldn't...

frowning, you held the handkerchief to your face, trying not to remember the way he stroked back your hair just so he could get a better look at you.

"fuck...!"

"what's got you in such a shitty mood?"

the very man you were cursing arrived at your side, smirking somewhat at your rather erratic behavior.

"what're you doing here?" you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at him.

"i'm here for you."

your eyes widened, your breath got caught in the back of your throat, your mouth opened and you—

"Not literally you though. Just to get back my handkerchief."

This little...!

Taglist: @xo-cuteplosion-xo @planetxiao @nonsense-corner @ireallylikehamsters @eccedentesiast-sapphic @rebeccka @the-lost-anime-dad @lettucecabbage-kun @irethepotato @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @niverine @ajaxstar @plinkuro @shizunxie @kiraisastay @lilia-sspouse @straymoon96 @coquettemaiden @leweird @ash-astrophel @uchihaeirin @lemontum @willburzone @rocambolescomargot @fpyura @cerisearan @rosemary108233 @abvolat @thenightsflower @sammybeefangirls @goldenglow149 @aestellia @killmewithafanfic

#[🖋] writing #genshin x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara x reader #cyno x y/n #cyno x reader #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x you #kazuha x y/n #cyno x you #cyno x gender neutral reader #wanderer genshin #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff

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feralgirlfeelings · 10 days

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★ what kind of music each love & deepspace boy would listen to! ★

hcs of zayne, rafayel, and xavier's music taste ♫꒰･◡･๑꒱

pairing: lnds boys x reader

warnings: none

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

zayne:

he listens to classical music 90% of the time. it's not because he particularly likes it, but he just got used it after listening to classical music to focus while studying 12 hours a day as a med student. now, in pavlovian fashion, he'll play it while performing surgeries to really get him in the zone. the other 10% is, surprisingly, cutesy kpop girl group songs. think "russian roulette" by red velvet, "magnetic" by illit, and "only" by leehi. he doesn't go out of his way to find these songs, but he'll hear them in passing and get one stuck in his head. he's one of those people that'll get hooked and listen to a song over and over again, especially while he's working out or when he needs an energy boost. he's embarrassed about it, so he'll try to hide it from you, only listening to music with his earbuds in. but there's been times where you catch him:

"zayne, i didn't know you were into red velvet," you stifle a giggle. you hold his phone up to him, the song "russian roulette" on the lock screen. he crosses his arms, ears turning pink, "what's so funny about that? ...it's catchy." "nothing! i just didn't expect that from you," you laugh. you hand him his phone back, "i can teach you the dance, i know it by heart," you tease. "hmm," he raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face. "i'd like to see that."

xavier:

he likes a few different genres of music, but he tends to like classic rock and alternative the most. some of his favourite songs are "little dark age" by mgmt, "eyes without a face" by billy idol, and "let it happen" by tame impala. he doesn't like to explore new music often and will usually just stick to what he already likes. he'll often blast music through his through his earbuds when he's fighting wanderers alone or when he's trying to stay awake. he's had a lot of time on earth, so his taste spans a lot of different music eras. there's been a few times when he's complained about how he "just doesn't get music nowadays." sometimes he'll show you a super old song and be surprised that you've never heard of it before:

xavier hands you an earbud, the other one in his ear. he shows you a song on his phone that you don't recognize. after a few seconds of listening, you shake your head, "i don't know this one." "really?" xavier looks at you shocked. "this song was huge in the 80s." you hand him back his earbud, "see that's why i don't know it, i'm not 40," you tease. "they just don't make music like this anymore," he sighs. you laugh, "xavier, that makes you sounds so old!' he smiles back at you, "i think those songs are just timeless."

rafayel:

he's into artsy stuff. he's one of those people who listens to a song or album multiples times to dissect and analyze every part of it, appreciating it as an art form. some of his favourite songs include "my love mine all mine" and "washing machine heart" by mitski, as well as "movement" by hozier. he plays music while working on paintings, because apparently, "listening to complex music helps with the artistic process." he also experiences sound-to-colour synesthesia, which explains why the music helps him paint. he has a really pretty singing voice and will often hum or sing his favourite songs, but will get shy when you ask him to sing for you. despite his usual pretentious music taste, he'll occasionally get hooked on some generic top 40s song, like something by drake.

rafayel had been humming the same song over and over again while working on a painting of you. you couldn't help but close your eyes and focus on the melody, "what song is that?" you ask. he pauses from humming, his concentration on his painting unwavering, "my love mine all mine by mitski." "it's nice, i've never heard of it before," you reply. "i'm not surprised, i have spectacular taste, you know," he boasts. you stare at him blankly, "wasn't your top song last year passionfruit?" holding back a laugh. his ears and cheeks turn bright red, "those are never accurate anyways."

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne #xavier #rafayel #lnds #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #lnds xavier #lnds rafayel #lnds zayne #love and deepspace x reader

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blasphemecel · 3 months

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Michael Kaiser — Language Barrier

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 0.9k TYPE: Humor, Bad flirting WARNING(S): tw BOTCHED GERMAN (because I was always on that damn phone in german class) NOTE(S): Translations for whatever the hell I was trying to say at the bottom

Unlike what most people might assume, football is not your favorite game.

Well, you did come to Blue Lock to play football, and yeah, you do like it, maybe at times to the point of lunacy. But this turned out to be some grand orchestration with the purpose of showing you a much more fulfilling game to play — taking out your earbuds whenever Kaiser approaches you with his superiority complex drivel. Not like it stops him from talking to you (or, more accurately, talking at you), but you take great satisfaction in not having to listen to him. Especially since he always makes that cute displeased expression before you turn to walk away from him, much like a disgruntled cat.

You kind of wonder what crap he says about you behind your back sometimes, but it’s imperative for your image to hide your curiosity. He is a loser. You’re playing the game, and you’re winning, and he’s losing because you’re getting under his skin. (Just an example of your daily affirmations.)

Today, a new opportunity for entertainment presents itself. When you approach Kaiser before practice to get some shit talk out of the way, you notice that, for some reason, he isn’t wearing his pair either. Not like he needs them since his ass doesn’t have any friends other than Ness, who speaks the same language as him, but still. Does he think he can beat you at your own game, which you made up in your head? Over your dead body.

“Shithead,” you greet with a smile.

“Ich kann dich nicht verstehen.” He points at his ear in confusion.

“I see you had time to put on your clown makeup this morning.”

“Du kannst mich auch nicht verstehen. Was ist das Ziel?”

“Anyway, so,” you say, despite not catching a single word that came out of his mouth, but you want to give off the impression of dismissing him. “What should I talk about? I didn’t think this through.”

He grins back at you, apparently undeterred by the insufficient communication going on. “Du hörst gerne zu, wenn ich für dich Deutsch spreche. Ist das richtig?”

“Why do you look so slimy when you smile? Seriously, your face is disturbing.”

“Gestehst du dir endlich deine Gefühle für mich ein?”

“And you know what else? I was the one who wiped my snot on your jersey a few days ago, not Isagi.”

“Es ist ok, wenn du schüchtern bist. Du kannst es mir später noch einmal sagen. Vergiss Yoichi. Mit mir zu spielen, würde dir viel besser stehen.”

You know you’re the one who brought him up, but Kaiser is so obsessed with Isagi, and you can’t even blame him for the fascination. He’s always talking about devouring people and ruining their dreams and how happy it makes him or whatever while on the field, but the moment you stop playing, he starts acting all friendly. If your frontal lobe wasn’t eroding more and more the longer you stay in this football prison, there’s a slight possibility you might’ve found him weird.

“Aber ich kann zusehen, wie du verärgerst werden, wenn ich deine Schüsse abblocke, also ist es mir so oder egal,” he says, looking smug. “Ich liebe alle Gesichter, die du machst.”

Irritated by the sound of Kaiser’s voice, you take this up as a challenge to say more words than he did. On principle, you can turn any occasion into a competition. “The worst thing about you is that you’re a pretentious theater kid. ‘Ooh, look at me, I’ve got this shitty tattoo ‘cause I’m beautiful like a rose! Get it? And the thorns signify my awful personality, which is repellent to the general population. Get it? It shows I contain multitudes. Do you GET it yet?’”

Kaiser takes one of your hands between his, leaving it sandwiched, and stares at you as if he is trying to spontaneously make himself sparkle. To distract yourself from the urge to punch him, since you don’t want to be put in timeout, you mentally debate if German sounds like goofy gibberish to you only because you cannot understand it. “Deine Leidenschaft lässt mein Herz rasen. Und ich rufe diese Gefühle hervor? Wie schmeichelnd.”

You don’t know why, but you’re getting the feeling he said something sarcastic and annoying just now.

“You think you’re so much better than everyone else, with your Skype-colored eyes-”

Kaiser ignores the way you wretch your palm out of his hold and interrupts you with a mocking raise of his eyebrows. “Skype? Es ist unmöglich, dass du es noch benutzt… Willst du aus Kontaktdaten tauschen?”

You bet he’s talking mad shit about you right now. Actually, he doesn’t seem bothered by you at all, so you need to step it up. It’s dead serious. As serious as cholera.

“Hey, Kaiser.” This is a phrase so bare bones, he doesn’t need any fancy Mikage-brand translator to understand you.

He blinks at you in mild surprise, self-approving demeanor making way for a tamer, perhaps more neutral facial expression, and then he asks, “Ja?” as if it’s the only German word you know and he’s being accommodating. But you’re not going to deny or confirm this assumption.

You beam at him, then avert your eyes somewhere up to the ceiling while running over it in your head again, of course dragging out the suspense. Maybe this is your wishful imagination at play, but you think he’s kind of sweating. Then finally — finally! — you announce, “Sucken deezen Nutschen, Bozo.”

“Shithead,” he calls you. With a glare at that!

It lights up your whole world.

___

Translations:

Ich kann dich nicht verstehen = I can’t understand you

Du kannst mich auch nicht verstehen. Was ist das Ziel? = You can’t understand me either. What’s the point/what’s the objective?

Du hörst gerne zu, wenn ich für dich Deutsch spreche. Ist das richtig? = You like listening to me speak German for you. Is that it?

Gestehst du dir endlich deine Gefühle für mich ein? = Are you finally confessing your feelings/affections for me?

Es ist ok, wenn du schüchtern bist. Du kannst es mir später noch einmal sagen. Vergiss Yoichi. Mit mir zu spielen, würde dir viel besser stehen = It’s ok if you’re shy, you can tell me again later. Forget about Yoichi. Playing with me would suit you much better

Aber ich kann zusehen, wie du verärgerst werden, wenn ich deine Schüsse abblocke, also ist es mir so oder egal = But I get to watch you get mad when I block your shots, so I don’t care either way

Ich liebe alle Gesichter, die du machst = I just love all the faces you make

Deine Leidenschaft lässt mein Herz rasen. Und ich rufe diese Gefühle hervor? Wie schmeichelnd = Your passion is making my heart race. And I’m causing all of this emotion? How flattering

Skype? Es ist unmöglich, dass du es noch benutzt… Willst du aus Kontaktdaten tauschen? = Skype? There’s no way you still use that… Wanna exchange contact information?

#bllk x reader #bllk x you #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #yall I domt like what this man is doing oto my brain chemistry

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king-craftsman · 3 months

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Black And White

"Ugh why the hell are people even into this kinda stuff?"

Scott couldn't believe what he was seeing. He swore, what was even the point of all these algorithms if they were going to continue recommending stuff he wasn't into? This must have been the tenth "What I'd Wear In The 1950's" video he had blocked.

He decided to put on some music instead as he thought to himself.

He just didn't get it.

He knew that these people didn't want to genuinely live in the past, that it was all about an appreciation for the design, the outfit, the aesthetic. But even that angle just came across less ignorant and more pretentious. Who the hell would wanna even pretend to live in the 50's?

There was no internet, no vaccines, no nothing. The only part about it that Scott liked were the movies, he had to admit there was something about them that were so alluring and it wasn't some gripping plot or enthralling mystery that got to him.

It was the men.

All dressed up with their slick hair and expensive suits, the trenchcoats and hats, suspenders and suit vests, the shiny shoes and cigarette smoke trailing from the full lips. Scott never realised it but he couldn't believe how turned on he was feeling thinking about that.

That's because just a few moments ago, he wasn't turned on by any of that.

In fact Scott used to hate old films, even ones from the 80's barely interested him.

But in his venting, he hadn't clicked out the YouTube window, he instead switched tabs and left the autoplay on, where a calm and jazzy 1950s tune played and the more it played, the more Scott's head suddenly began to fill with how much he loved those noir movies.

He hadn't even noticed that his hand on the mouse had began to change, not only growing larger but growing lighter, almost too light as his pale skin shimmered slightly like it was underneath a film reel. But oddly enough the sleeve of his shirt began to darken and not just because it was turning into the sleeve of an expensive suit jacket, but as if his hand was draining of all colour, as it turned black and white.

That's when Scott realised.

"The fuck?!" He quickly tried to control his hand, but there was nothing he could do. It shimmered and flickered like it was in another realm world as the sound of running film filled the room. Scott couldn't move his hand as it went and clicked on the tab with the music and suddenly moved to turn the volume to its max.

Sweet jazz music filled the room as the changes were progressing faster, the drainage of colour spreading down toward his arms now which were suddenly beginning to grow thicker, causing the new suit jacket to become tighter.

Scott wanted to use his other hand to reach up and turn his whole computer off. But the moment he reached out, he spluttered and coughed as smoke trailed down his throat. He felt something in his mouth, tasting bitter and dark as his free hand reached to take it out, only to see what it was, a lit cigarette.

"O-Oh fuck that feels good," Scott spoke, a sudden Transatlantic accent overtaking his voice, turning it deeper and more authoritative. His own voice managed to carry so much weight that it seemed to swell his throat, like it needed more room to work with as his neck thickened slightly, beginning to look more befitting for a larger and taller body.

More and more of Scott was turning monochrome, spreading over hands that looked more manly and large by the minute as one of the hands forced him to be unable to stop the music. The other brought the cigarette closer and closer to his growing fuller lips.

"N-No please don't...make me..." But then the cigarette met those lips finalizing their change and as he sucked in more of the smoke, he could feel like the aura of the transformation was coming in hot, making him change from the inside out.

He remembered growing up in the late 20's, memories flashing of older looking city streets, fancy cars and men constantly in suits. He remembered his first case and the thought of it all made his cock swell as he grew more and more manly and muscular beneath his three-piece suit.

His visage had the most remarkable change. His soft jaw began to sharpen as his face grew more angular. Eyes turned from a dull brown to sparkling blue, more focused and attentive as his nose elongated with a slight tilt at the very tip. His lips had become fuller and his hair, once somewhat shaggy and greasy was retreating back into his scalp to become something more refined, turning short and slicked back with pomade.

As Scott's cock throbbed, his home changed. His computer become a record player, still playing those jazzy blues on loop. His doctorate degree turned into a painting whilst shelves of comic books and fantasy novels transformed into mysteries and non-fiction. All before finally his smartphone on his desk, his last saving grace to stop this change and call for help flattened and expanded, turning black and white into a big broadsheet newspaper with the date on the front, reading the year.

1955.

And with that, Scott realised too late what was happening before he felt his cock throb and come in his pants, again and again and again...The pleasure ricocheting throughout his new body, like the added muscle mass gave it more space for the pleasure to fill, for the orgasm to sweep over him as Scott forgot all about his old life for the time being.

He was no longer just Scott.

He was Scott Flynn, the hotshot detective in town who could make any man or woman swoon.

By the time the new Scott stirred from the pleasure, he blinked and almost knocked the newspaper off his desk. He looked down, seeing a cigarette in an ashtray and some case files for him to look over, before there was a knock at the door.

"Gosh I must have dozed off," Scott murmured to himself, for some reason he blinked in surprise, as if he wasn't used to his voice.

He looked at the clock. Near midnight.

If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought his dreams were real and he was stuck living out some noir film for a few days. After all, a knock at the door so late at night, wasn't that how all those noir pictures started?

Either way, he wasn't gonna refuse the call and stood up, dusting himself off and ready to help out on the next case.

After all, what else was a handsome detective like him supposed to do? It was as simple as black and white.

For a whole library of hot stories like this, be sure to check out The Craftsman on Patreon.

#male transformation #stepfordization

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