#(though most of it will be on my main <3 and elsewhere^^)

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

Today is the day!!! Happy Public School Arc anime premiere day!!!

<3

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 1 of 3

summary: it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you weren’t supposed to be your brother’s best friend’s mate, especially when that best friend is the same male who’s acted like you don’t exist for the last two centuries.

warnings: angst, very brief mentions of violence and abuse, azriel is oblivious and reader is angry, not much pining in this part mainly just angsty

A single band of golden thread, stretched from your soul, reaching out into an abyss. There was seemingly no end to the thread, no definite stop, just a shadowy mess that sent the thread into a disarray as it reached for your mate. 

Your mate. The male who had spoken maybe a full sentence to you a handful of times in the last few centuries. The male who was best friends with your brother, and acted as if you didn’t even exist.

Even in your younger years in Windhaven, it seemed Azriel didn’t even know you were there. Like you were a ghost, invisible to him in every sense of the word. 

Azriel didn’t ever really speak to anyone, though, so it wasn’t like you were an exception, he treated you like most everyone else. But you never had been able to shake the fact that he would nearly sprint out of a room if you were the only one in it, or that he would refuse to look you in the eyes when you spoke at dinner. It was like he couldn’t even stand the thought of being in the same vicinity of you, like he couldn’t stomach talking to you. 

And you were now bound to him, for the rest of eternity.

The bond had snapped for you immediately upon seeing the state of Azriel when they returned from Hybern without Feyre, when the entirety of their plan had gone up in flames, with Azriel in the main path of destruction. 

Seeing him in so much pain tugged at your heart, nearly ripping it out of your chest when you saw how ruined his wings were. It affected you so much that you ran out of the room when they first arrived, partially because of how much it hurt you to see him like that, and partially because of how distraught the bond snapping into place had immediately made you feel. You couldn’t bear to see your mate in so much pain, and you knew you didn’t trust yourself to be around when they inevitably put him into more pain while healing him. 

You kept to yourself for weeks after their arrival, only speaking to Rhysand and your brother when need be. 

Rhys was the first one to find out about your dilemma.

He called you into his study weeks later to talk about a mission, one he needed you specifically on for your daemati skills. While he explained the details, he could tell your mind was elsewhere, so much so that you couldn’t even stop him from getting past the pure obsidian wall you’d built up in your mind, the wall you never let anyone break down until that moment. 

Rhysand had given you a hesitant look when he stopped explaining the tasks in order to peer into your mind and capture your attention. He didn’t want to pry, only to get your mind focused by scaling his talon down the obsidian wall, which to his surprise collapsed before he could even attempt to breach it. But you nodded when he silently asked to see what had been keeping you so on edge, what had stopped you from helping Madja out with taking care of Azriel when they returned from Hybern, what had stopped you from engaging in conversation at dinner as of late.

A vision of a golden thread shrouded in black and gray shadows was sent to Rhys’ mind, along with a memory of exactly the moment you had been struck with the bond. 

“Have you told him?” he implored, though he seemed to already know the answer. 

You couldn’t even speak at that point, only shaking your head in response as tears brimmed your eyes when you thought of how fucked up it was to be bonded to someone who’d barely acknowledged you in the hundreds of years you’d known him. 

Rhys gave you a sympathetic look then, knowing the feeling of an unrequited bond all too well. 

You promised him about a thousand times that you wouldn’t let him find out, that you wouldn’t let the agony and sadness get in the way of the mission. You could prove yourself worthy and able to go on without thinking about how you might never get an accepted bond, you assured him that you could. He was still unsure when he agreed to let you go on the mission, but it was miniscule enough that any lapses in judgment wouldn’t be detrimental, so he agreed.

And you proved yourself, just like you said you would. You proved yourself over and over again with Rhysand’s missions, building up your mental shields stronger than they ever had been before. So strong, that the High Lord himself had a hard time cracking through them. 

You became a shell of what you were before seeing your mate in that near-death state, but you didn’t care. You needed to distract yourself in any way, shape or form that you could in order to forget about him, to forget that he’d never even taken a second glance in your direction. 

It got to the point where you became so shut off from reality that even Cassian, your brother known for paying no mind to female emotions, started to notice. 

You caught Cassian giving you inquisitive stares a handful of times during training and at dinners when your attitude was exceptionally reserved and demure, but never thought he would actually say anything to you. 

That was until he finally snapped, on the first dinner with Feyre back in Velaris, which just so happened to be the first dinner that Azriel joined in the weeks after Hybern.

You nearly fell out of your seat when you saw him in all his glory. There he was, standing at the end of the table, as beautiful as ever. He was almost fully healed, aside from a few scars littered over the membrane of his wings. 

Excited chatter filled the room as he entered, everyone falling into their rightful place in the Inner Circle, along with the newest members, Nesta and Elain. Though you were one of the longest standing members of Rhysand’s Inner Circle, you felt the most out of place in that moment.

The wine you’d been sipping churned in your stomach as you eyed the shadowsinger, who was sitting quietly across the table from you. You couldn’t handle it, knowing that he was your mate and he had no clue. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him finding out, of him potentially rejecting the bond. 

After a moment of silently wallowing in your self pity, you felt that familiar talon scrape along your mental shield. Rhys was requesting access to your mind, likely to give you some insight about this unrequited feeling based on his own experience. 

You rejected his request instead of letting him in, shooting him a quick glance before standing up abruptly, quietly excusing yourself with the reasoning that you weren’t feeling well. 

You rushed up the stairs, toward your bedroom all the while feeling like you were drowning. You needed air, fresh air, now. It was in that moment that you thanked the Cauldron for Rhysand putting you in the bedroom with a large balcony, one perfect for moments like this. 

Little did you know, your brother had stalked up the stairs behind you, worried after seeing the panic-stricken look on your face before bolting from the room.

You didn’t bother to close your bedroom door behind you, leaving Cassian the perfect opportunity to come in to check on you. You were out on the balcony in an instant, nearly gasping for air as the cool night breeze hit your face. 

“Hey,” Cassian called behind you, standing awkwardly in the middle of your bedroom. “You alright?”

“I don’t want to talk right now, Cass.” you retort quickly, shooting a glare in his direction before leaning over the metal railing as he furrows his brow. “I obviously don’t feel great at the moment.”

“Yeah, no shit. But that doesn’t warrant you snapping at me when all I’m doing is coming to check on you,” he presses, taking a step onto the balcony to stand by you. “It doesn’t warrant you ignoring me for fucking weeks now.” 

“What do you want me to say, Cassian?” you snap, throwing your hands up in defeat. “I—I don’t really know what kind of explanation you need from me, I just haven’t been in a talking mood these last few weeks.”

“Oh, bullshit.” he says, shaking his head at you. “I see you chatting with Rhys and Mor all the fucking time. You’re only shutting me out. What the fuck did I do?”

You take a moment to look up at your brother, finally seeing the hurt sketched across his features as he pleads with you, trying desperately to get through to you. 

“You didn’t do anything.” you sigh, letting your guard down as you realize how much you’d hurt your twin in the last few weeks. “I—I just am going through some shit right now.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow as a relieved but hesitant smile passes over his face. “I’m always here to lend an ear.”

“Are you sure?” you say, voice cracking as you internally accept that you’re about to change everything in Cassian’s life with four simple words. 

“Positive.” Cassian says, smile still on his face as he grips your shoulder to reassure you.

“Azriel is my mate.” you say bluntly, watching in silent terror as your brother’s face falls and so does his hand from your shoulder. “And he has no idea.”

——————————————————————

That was almost two years ago. 

Cassian took the news quite well, and became your biggest supporter when it came to dealing with the hardships of an unrequited mating bond. Even as he dealt with his own unrequited bond for a short amount of time, he still made sure to make it known that he still cared for and understood the pain you were going through. 

And now that the war against Hybern had been won, you could focus all your energy into training and missions Rhys would send you on. 

Rhysand knew you preferred to be sent on solo missions, that you worked better alone without anyone disrupting your focus. But, there were some missions that couldn’t be done alone. 

“You–This is a joke, right?” you say with a laugh, narrowing your eyes at the High Lord who sat across the desk in his office, raising his eyebrow at you as you laugh. “I work alone, Rhys.”

“I know you work best alone, but sometimes I can’t send you alone,” Rhys starts, giving you a sharp glare as you start to stand from your chair, “I can’t send you alone, not on this one.” 

“Why?” you pressed, pushing off the arms of your chair to move closer to the desk. “You haven’t even told me what I’m doing or where I’ll be going yet, so why should I even agree to it without knowing?”

The look the High Lord was giving you made you uneasy, turning your stomach in knots, but you persisted. You needed him to stop treating you like you were made of glass, like you would break, like you hadn’t been training with Cassian since you could stand. 

“I’m not a child anymore, Rhys.” you snapped, hands balling into fists as they pressed against the oak of his large desk. “I can handle whatever it is, without Azriel babysitting me.”

“I really don’t know–”

“Are you trying to torture me?” you interject, a pained expression crossing over your face, one of betrayal at the feeling of one of your longest friends trying to put you in such an uncomfortable position when he knows exactly what you’ve been dealing with over the last two years. “Are you trying to make me suffer, do you want me to –”

“I need you to go to Windhaven.” Rhys finally commanded, voice wavering slightly as he brought up the place you once called home, the place he knew would send you regressing into a lesser version of yourself. “I need you to go there, with Azriel.”

The mention of Windhaven sent a shiver down your spine, wings twitching in fear as you thought about the horrors you endured in your final years at the camp. Your sharp gaze flickered for a split second, mind running back to that cabin, to the flash of wings and clawing hands, to the male who did irreparable damage to your soul, to the moment you swore you’d never let a male hurt you again. With a shake of your head, you block the thoughts out, pressing that black obsidian wall back up to prevent yourself from breaking. 

“I’ll be fine on my own.” you say, putting your stern persona back into place, trying to make it seem as though you’re unbothered. 

“I need to send him with you, someone needs to watch your back.” he insists while shaking his head as his gaze softens, trying to get you to break from your hardened facade. 

“What about Cass?” you retort, shaking your head.

“He’ll be in Spring, he’s got business with Tamlin and Eris to attend to for me.” he quickly replies, shaking his own head. “Please, I need you to do this.” 

“I–I can’t.”

“Is the thought of being alone with me for two days that bad?” a voice comes from behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

Your mate, just the person you didn’t want to see right now. 

You whip around quickly at the sound of his voice, brow furrowed as you see him standing in the doorway. It takes everything in you not to sigh at the sight of him, at how damn good he looked, just standing there. You cursed yourself internally, wishing you could think about anything else besides how much you pined for him. Still, you had an image to uphold, an image of distaste for the beautiful shadowsinger standing in front of you.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, shadowsinger.” you snap, shooting a glare in his direction that sends a pang of guilt running down the one-sided bond. 

“I’m sorry?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you, his face the poster child for cool composure as your rage boils in front of him. 

“You can barely stand to be in the same room for me for more than five minutes,” you state, crossing your arms matter-of-factly. “You quite literally leave any space in the house when I’m the only other person around.”

The thought of your mate, the one who was supposed to be at your side for all of eternity, leaving the room any time you entered made your blood boil and chest ache. You ached for him, you ached to feel his touch, to be loved by him. But he didn’t care about you, didn’t care if you lived or died. 

Seeing the anger in your eyes made Azriel stop in his tracks, something unfamiliar tugging at his heart as you seethed. There was a gnawing feeling in his chest as he thought about the last five hundred years, how he never paid you any mind. 

The truth was, he avoided you with every bit of willpower he had in order to restrain himself. He couldn’t be around you for more than a few moments without your overpowering scent filling his nose feeding his desire to tear you apart. Every time he was with you alone, he wanted to tear down any walls that he had and just have at you, to have you as his. He wanted you carnally, he wanted all of you, all of the time.

But that wasn’t the kind of male he was. He would never do such a thing to Cassian, his best friend. He couldn’t let himself have you just to fulfill his deepest desires, you deserved so much more than to be some one night fling. You deserved to be loved and cared for, to be protected at all costs. 

So he had ignored you, for almost five fucking centuries, because he thought he couldn’t give you what you deserved. He pushed out any thought he had about you, pushed away the urge to pursue you in any way, and pushed you away in the process. He knew you well from watching from afar, but to you it seemed as though you were the last thought in his mind, when in reality, you were the only thought in his mind at all times. 

“That’s not–” Azriel started, but the words fell on his lips as he watched your own pull into a frown, an expression that was much more broken than the anger that had crossed over your face when he snuck in. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought, you prick.” you said weakly, finally letting your emotions get the better of you. As tears pricked your eyes, you turned to Rhys once more. “I will not be going anywhere with him. I will be going by myself, or not at all. I am strong enough to do this on my own and I’m tired of being treated like a child in this court.” 

Rhys only stared at you as you stalked towards the desk once again, watching as your hands shook with pain. He showed no change in emotion as you spoke, fully in High Lord mode instead of the Rhysand you knew and loved. 

“I will be in my room, packing. When you’re done being a stubborn male and realize that I can do whatever the hell it is you need me to do, I’ll be waiting for further instructions.” you state, trying to choke back the tears that are threatening to flow onto the wood in front of your hands. 

The High Lord nods firmly in response, and you turn on your heels. Azriel is still standing in the doorway, but you don’t dare to look at him. You push past the shadowsinger, swiping your cheeks hastily as tears fall down them. As you pass, your wing brushes his in the lightest of touches. You swallow a gasp as they touch, a shockwave flowing through your wing and going straight to your heart. 

Azriel turns to gaze at you with wide eyes and you immediately know he felt it too. He felt the shock, the electricity between your wings, but not in the way you did. Not down the one-sided, golden bond that stretched toward him. 

Confusion spread over his face as he looked at you, but you turned away and rushed towards your room before he could fully process what happened. 

The rest of your afternoon was spent alone in your room, laying on your bed for most of the night as you stared up at the ceiling. You cursed yourself internally over and over again, wishing there were some way to change everything, some way to make you forget that you even had a mate. 

Over and over again, you told yourself how you weren’t worthy of the immeasurable love that came with a mate, how you would never be good enough for Azriel. 

It had always been like that for you, though. The feeling of inadequacy was a daily occurrence for you, it wasn’t a secret. Cassian knew it, and so did Rhysand, so you’re sure Azriel did too. You worked day in and day out trying to prove that you were worthy to your brother and the High Lord and everyone around you, regardless of the pain you put yourself in.

Rhysand knew you too well, and knew that you were all too serious about going on the mission by yourself, or at least without Azriel. After you left his office, he’d tried to speak to Cassian about accompanying you, but it was of no use, he was preoccupied. He didn’t want you to go by yourself, he knew you’d be scared just by being in Windhaven again, but he also knew that you being the one to go on this mission was the only hope. 

Your untraceable daemati skills were an impeccable weapon that couldn’t be replaced by Azriel’s shadows or Cassian’s brute force. Even the High Lord himself didn’t have daemati powers as stealthful as yours, so you were the best option when it came to figuring out who was trying to rebel. 

After much contemplation, Rhys eventually sent a concise and firm message to your mind.

I need you in Windhaven by dinner tonight, Devlon will be expecting you to be there. There are a few Illyrians that I need you to check in on while you’re there, Cass told me there are talks of rebellion led by Cormac and Bavlard. he explained, you should only need to be there for tonight to gather enough information, but plan to stay until tomorrow evening in case we need more intel. You’ll stay in the cabin as usual, I’ll be in contact regularly to check on you, since you’ll be on your own this time.

The last sentence had a smile flickering on your lips, happy that Rhysand was finally taking you seriously as a member of his Inner Circle and trusting you enough to send you on missions by yourself. Luckily, you were already packed so it didn’t take much for you to get ready to go. 

In less than an hour, you were dressed in your fighting leathers and on the balcony of your room. You waste no time in flying from the house, large wings spreading for the first time in what feels like forever as you make for the sky.

The breeze against your skin makes you sigh with joy, trying to enjoy the twinge of happiness that flying gives you as you make your way towards the place you once called home, the place you now call hell.

taglist: @paleidiot @tothestarsandwhateverend @impossibelle

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 12/12)

AHHH !! friends, we've come to the end of my first fully done series, and she's not perfect in a lot of ways but she's mine and I'm so happy and thankful to have shared it with you lovely folks

i hope I've done them justice, enjoy <3

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you decide to visit eddie for a chat

contains: enemies to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, smut, oral (m receiving), mentions of anal, mentions of death (readers relative), sexual themes, angst, heavy mutual pining, fluff, and eddie being so head over heels that it's hot <3

word count: 10.6k

| previous part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

“So, from the new album— Wasting Love.”

Over time, Eddie’s learned that he can’t stand interviews— especially interviews with questions aimed towards nothing but tabloid gossip and headlines. The first big interview that Corroded Coffin booked was exciting because— well, it was their first one! Maybe the questions weren’t as intricate and thought-out as the ones they gave David Bowie on TV, but it was something.

That excitement wore off quickly, though, and unfortunately, interviews are one of the top ways to spread publicity so— “Wasting love,” Eddie huffs, tipping his hips forward as he shifts on the couch. He’s bored out of his mind, aching to leave and be done with the shitty questions about his love life or the people he hangs around or whatever. He taps the heel of his foot into the ground, lips twisting as he chews at the inside of his cheek, “What about it, man?” Eddie asks.

The rest of the band is in the fucking clouds— why would they answer a question about a song entirely unrelated to them? Plus, Eddie’s 99.9% sure they did a few lines without him, which, fucking assholes.

The interviewer shrugs, “Well, why didn’t it make it to the final cut? And what’s it about? Tell us more about that track.”

What a bullshit fucking question. 

Wasting Love is one of the most, if not the most, straightforward songs Eddie’s ever fucking written. The only reason why he’s asking about this is because, well, there’s been rumors of Eddie and his most recent love affair— none of which are true, but Eddie doesn’t bother to come out and tell the truth because what’s the point? What’s the point in telling the truth if it will get twisted anyway?

Either way, Eddie shrugs, blinking behind his dark sunglasses, “I mean…” He purses his lips and tips his head side to side as if thinking, “Kinda self-explanatory with the lyrics, man.” He finally responds.

And in the background, Eddie can see Richie practically constructing his next ‘I know you hate it, but it’s good publicity’ lecture. So, Eddie relents— “It’s about… meaningless sex basically. And it didn’t make the cut because it was a shitty song.”

It wasn’t, actually, Eddie thinks it was a great fucking song, but the intentions behind it— not quite so.

“I think the fans would disagree on that.” The interviewer jokes.

Jeff takes a deep breath and shifts in his seat, “I mean, part of it was because it just didn’t flow with the essence of the album.” He adds, and Eddie mentally thanks him for taking over and so easily diverting the topic to something else. For the rest of the interview, Eddie’s mind is elsewhere, thinking about everything outside of this room, thinking about what he’ll eat later, thinking about the show tonight, thinking about you.

Yeah, you haven’t left his fucking mind in the past six months you’ve been apart from one another. It’s been six months, and Corroded Coffin has released two albums and started their second leg of tour since he last saw you— and you’re still all he thinks about.

You’re still in his dreams, still dancing behind his eyelids when he shuts his eyes, still vomiting all over his fucking journal when he writes. It’s madness, really. Eddie can’t remember the last time he was this hung up on someone— he wasn’t even this distraught when Chrissy left him.

Sure when he and Chrissy ended, he wallowed in it for a month or two, but it wasn’t long before he got fixed on uppers and groupies. Chrissy was heartbreaking in the sense that she was his first love, his first real relationship— but this… this is different. Eddie doesn’t know why it’s different, can’t really pinpoint where the colors change, and the memories start to jab at his chest differently, but he feels it.

He feels it when he’s sitting backstage before a show, feels it when he steps into a new hotel room every night, feels it when he’s ruffling through his suitcase and comes across that journal that’s been haunting him for ages now, and he definitely feels it when he reads the fifth page in the Rolling Stone magazine where the description of Eddie resides, the one where you’d crafted and molded Eddie into a shape he’d never been able to see before, the one where Eddie first came to terms with the true sight of you and your intentions.

Yeah, it’s fucking bullshit, Eddie thinks.

He doesn’t know how he ended up in this predicament, but by god, he would never fucking recommend it because— fuck, you won’t even talk to him!

And sure, you don’t owe Eddie anything, you don’t owe him a call or a chance to visit or anything of the sort, but Eddie was holding onto that sliver of hope you gave him before you left. 

He asks about you when he can, because, unbeknownst to you, Eddie’s quite familiar with your boss, Anna, and she’s like an annoying older sister to him. Anna tells Eddie how much of an idiot he is occasionally, but she always cracks and tells Eddie that you’ve been good and how you sometimes mention him, but it’s always quick, and nobody ever has room to pry about it. And when Anna tells Eddie about how you crossed paths backstage with a certain red-headed girl and read her to filth, Eddie chuckles and mumbles something along the lines of, “That’s my girl.”

Anna nearly gagged then. 

Still, Eddie only catches glimpses and whispers of you, never really getting the full fix to last him a day, but it’s enough to keep him alive and wanting. 

“Maybe she doesn’t get your calls, man.” Gareth shrugs, leaning into the mirror as he ruffles his hair. It’s been hours since the interview now, and showtime is in… Eddie doesn’t know when because he didn’t listen when Richie was rambling on about tonight’s schedule.

“She gets my calls, dude; Anna said she does,” Eddie grumbles.

“Okay, well, then maybe she’s just, like, over it. I don’t blame her; you're a pain in the ass.”

Eddie kicks his boot into Gareth’s shin, and the boy hisses, tossing a red Rillos wrapper at him. “Ow, asshole. It’s not my fault she hates your music.” He snips. Eddie makes a face, “It’s your music too, dumbass.” 

Gareth scoffs, “Yeah, but you wrote an entire fucking album about her. Our album is literally about her, you know that, right?” And Eddie thinks he should just kick Gareth’s teeth in at this point, maybe that’ll get him to shut up. “How would you know it’s about her if I never told you it was?” Eddie prods.

Gareth rolls his eyes, dark eyeliner casting a shadow on his face as he turns to glare at his friend. “Is there another chick you’ve been fucking that’s got you by the balls that we seem to have forgotten about?” Gareth sarcastically asks. Eddie glares at him, reaching for the cigarettes on the vanity table and sparking up.

He speaks around a cloud of smoke when he answers, “No.”

Gareth makes a face, eyebrows raising in an ‘I rest my case' manner. “And she’s not a chick,” Eddie adds.

Gareth hums with a tight grin, reaching out to poke at his friend's face, causing Eddie to grimace and bat him away, “You’re in love, Munson. Fix it or get over it,�� He says shortly before making his way toward the door. Eddie can hear the dull scream of fans when Gareth opens the door, and Eddie thinks about the tickets he’s sent you every show— prays to whatever false god there is that you decided tonight is the night before he decides hope is useless and you’ve gotten over him. Gareth cuts through Eddie’s thoughts, “Come on, I can hear Richie’s bitching from here.”

Eddie’s mind is never in the game until he steps onto the stage, with bright lights blinding him, screaming fans, and his adrenaline at an all-time high. He comes back to earth then, comes back, and does the fuck out of his job— because this is the best part. The best fucking part, and it’s always been that way.

And it gets better when Eddie scans the crowd, coming down from the first song of the night and finally taking a look at his audience, and there he sees it— he sees you. There you are under flashing lights, drowning in a sea of people with that glint in your eyes. 

Eddie thinks he’s imagining it because, fuck, he’s been dreaming of this for weeks on end; surely his delusion can reach the heights of hallucinations, right? But no, you’re real.

You’re so fucking real. So fucking insanely real beneath Eddie’s fingertips when he reaches out, ignoring the screams and clawing of fans as his fingers loop around your wrists and he says your name.

God, you’re really fucking here.

Eddie looks prettier than you remember when you first see him— curly mane draped over his shoulders and dark tattoos glistening on a bare torso, white lights framing him like he’s some kind of fucking archangel.

He’s gotten thicker in the few months, beefier around his arms and chest, and the long chains and pendants he wears from his neck rest down the valley of his torso, smeared in sweat and sin. You want to drag your tongue across his chest, taste the salt and his cologne, tug the silver cross between your lips, and suck and make him whimper.

His eyeliner is smudged and dark, and his smile when he gets a moment to take in the crowd makes your chest ache. He’s so pretty it hurts. He’s a dream and a nightmare all at once.

You missed him. God, you missed him so much.

His smile falters when he sees you, and you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but his eyebrows pinch like he’s in pain, and you only want to wrap yourself around him and breathe in that scent that’s been haunting for nights on end.

He’s insane for jumping down to the barricade, like, completely-lost-his-fucking-mind, down-in-the-gutter, insane. But you can’t find it in you to protest when he steps up to the fence, reaching out and looping his warm finger around your wrist. “What the fuck?”

Your lips twitch into a smile at his words, but the crowd is getting rowdy with their beloved rockstar so up close and an elbow is being shoved into your side and Eddie moves quicker than you can comprehend, tugging you forward to the very front and motioning you to jump over.

“You’re insane!” You yell over the noise of the crowd. Eddie grins, damp curls dangling over his eyes as he peers down at you, “Unless if you wanna get crushed, be my guest.”

It’s slightly difficult, and there are a lot of gangly limbs and yearning hands reaching out everywhere, but Eddie eventually gets you over the barricade, and you’re gazing up at him with a warm grin when you sway on your feet. You wish you and Eddie could just walk away and have each other like you’ve been imagining for months, but Eddie has a job, and he’s working.

His eyes are blown wide, and his lips are so kissable, and his warm hand is squeezing your hip as he nods toward a security guard. “Keep an eye on this one, Rob,” He shouts over the screaming fans. You’re eyeing Eddie as he steps back toward the stage, sinking his in-ear back into place with a sly grin as he winks, “She’s real sneaky.”

The show is great, as it always is, and Eddie tries to be deft about it, but it’s evident to just about everyone how he practically clings to the side of the stage where you’re standing in front of. It’s cute, you’ll admit, but you feel bad for the fans, so you try to move around a bit.

The last song comes, and the show ends with Eddie and Jeff practically climbing over one another as they shred their guitars and the crowd goes insane when Eddie leans forward to drag his tongue up the side of Jeff’s face, grinning when the other boy rolls his eyes and walks off.

You’re being pulled backstage quicker than you know it, just in time to meet the group as they jog off the smokey stage with big grins on their faces.

Jeff is smothering Naomi in a sweaty hug and smattering kisses all over her face, and you’re glad to see they’re still together. Gareth is twirling his drumstick between his fingers and scanning the room for someone, but you don’t have time to try and figure out who because the one person you’ve been waiting for steps out next, and he’s got the biggest grin on his face as he practically jogs up to you.

You’re smiling and giggling out a greeting as he steps up to you and grasps your face between his hands, “No kisses!” You warn before he can lean in, and Eddie’s too excited to even pout about it. “You’re gonna fucking kill me, you know that?”

You reach up to slink your fingers around his wrists as his thumbs caress the soft skin beneath your eyes, “Got enough life left in you to talk?” You ask. Eddie’s eyes dance across your face, taking you in like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to before he nods. “Always.”

The dressing room seems to be the altar of truth for you and Eddie.

It’s dawning on you that most of the pivotal moments between you and Eddie have been in a dressing room, so it’s not irrational for you to feel a bit uneasy when you step in, and Eddie closes the door.

He’s like a kid in a candy store, trying not to touch what he sees. His eyes are so bright, but you can tell he’s holding himself back from doing and saying the things he wants, and you appreciate that he’s giving you the space, waiting for you to give him your yes or no.

Eddie plops onto the couch in the middle of the room and looks at you with a glint in his eyes. You deeply breathe, shifting in your spot before leaning back against the door, tipping your head as you study him; thighs comfortably spread, inked stories fluttering to life with each rise and fall of his bare torso. He’s a dream.

“I thought you’d be way more upset.”

Eddie’s lips tug like he wants to smile at the sound of your voice, or maybe it’s the sight of you, and he shifts in his seat with a shrug, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips, and when you see him pat himself down, you’re already moving like it’s muscle memory.

You pick up the lighter on the coffee table and walk over to Eddie, sparking the flame as you speak, “You’re allowed to be upset, you know?” You remind him. Eddie’s gaze flickers in color as he looks up at you, and you try to ignore the goosebumps that rise up on your skin when his hand reaches up to rest on your hip, thumb caressing you over the material of your skintight dress. Streams of fire are licking up your spine as he leans forward to burn the end of the paper stick, and your center aches when he gently squeezes the fat of your hip. All throughout this, Eddie never lets his eyes fall from you.

He mumbles a short thank you once the cigarette lights, leaning back to rest against the seat as he looks up at you. You fight the urge to comb your fingers through his hair or do something dumb like climb into his lap. No doubt talking would fly out the window then.

You gently toss the lighter onto the coffee table and sit on the loveseat across from the pinnacle of your thoughts from the last six months. Eddie speaks around a cloud of smoke, “Do you want me to be upset?” He asks.

You shrug, trying your hardest not to break beneath his unwavering eye. “I don’t know.” 

Eddie smiles then, and the strings of your heart play a symphony to the notes of his voice when he speaks, “I was for a little bit,” He admits, tapping ash onto the carpet, “But then Wayne told me to get my head out of my ass.”

You huff out a laugh at that, and Eddie grins. “How is he?” You ask. Eddie tips his head back and forth like he’s thinking, “Same old man as before. Think he’s got a girlfriend now. He’s being an asshole about the details, though.” He rolls his eyes, and you snort. You’re happy to hear Wayne has a person for himself now; if anyone deserves it, it’s him.

You shift, like you can’t seem to get comfortable enough, and you know you’re stalling, and you can see Eddie fighting to not call you out, so you try to ease into it; “Is that when you stopped calling?” You ask.

Eddie stiffens under the question, and you know the answer. He grimaces and runs a hand over his face with a soft groan, “Fuck,” he curses, “Fuck, yeah, it was.” He answers. “I’m sorry, I’m a fuckin’ hothead. I had made it a goal to call every night and then—” “I upset you.”

Eddie’s eyes are soft, and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes on his, “It wasn’t fair what I did, Eddie; I’m sorry—”

Eddie shakes his head, briefly shutting his eyes as he waves you off, “Nah, fuck that. You don’t need to apologize—” “But I do. I told you I wanted space, and then a week later, I’m plastered on a fucking cover with Baine fucking Carter.” 

Baine Carter is a well-known songwriter within the industry. He’s got tracks spread all over the top charts, and he has a way of talking that can make just about anyone fall into a trance until you realize most of what he’s saying is just made-up bullshit. In hindsight, Baine wasn’t much different than most people in the music industry— it was a moment of weakness and pure vodka-weighted thinking. And, of course, it’s the moment when cameras find you.

“Kinda my fault too,” Eddie shrugs, “Camera’s wouldn’t have found you if I didn’t have press riding me.” And he’s right, but shitty press isn’t his fault, so how much of that can you really blame him for?

Eddie snickers at the memory of you painted on the cover of several magazines, “Think you’ve got a type, sweetheart.” He teases. Your face screws up in defense, and you scoff, “What does that mean?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, “Come on, you’re gonna tell me you didn’t say my name when he—” “We didn’t do anything— firstly— and even if I did say your name, I would never in a million years admit it.” You point out with a raised eyebrow. 

Eddie smirks with a playful glint in his eye and he deeply breathes as he ashes his cigarette and rises to his feet. “I don’t care that you hooked up with Bain fucking Carter,” Eddie softly admits with a hint of a mocking grin, “Did it deeply wound me to the point where I almost thought I was gonna die? Yes.” He jokingly says, to which you want to roll your eyes at, but he’s stalking over to you like he’s some lion on the prowl, and all you can muster is a small huff with a mumbled, “You’re dramatic.”

Eddie stands in front of you and leans over to press his palms onto each side of your seat, leaning down until his face hovers above yours, “I’m kinda known for it, darling.” He winks.

Your core stirs at the proximity, and you can feel his breath against your top lip. “I will admit, though,” Eddie lets his hand drop to round over your bare knee, callused fingertips caressing your soft skin, “It gave me a huge ego boost seeing you with a literal replica of me.” He snickers, fingers dancing into the inside of your thigh. You huff, a playful glint in your eyes as you run your tongue across your teeth, “Yeah, I imagine your head couldn’t fit through the door for at least a month, huh?”

Eddie shrugs, “Depends. Which head we talking about, honey?”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes when he gently squeezes at the warm skin of your thigh. You tip your head lower, holding your gaze on Eddie as you lowly speak, “I’m not having sex with you tonight, Eddie.”

Brown eyes flash with a familiar look you’d missed before they drop to your lips. “What about a kiss? Just one.” He presses. Your eyes narrow, “I doubt you could ever do just one.” 

“You’ll never know if you never try.” His lips twitch up into a sly grin, taunting you and pushing you until your brain is just a muddled mess of yes, no, yes, no, yes, n— fuck it.

It’s like a sigh of relief to have Eddie’s lips on yours after such a long time. Weeks of nights and days spent trying to remember how it felt having his plump lips pressed onto yours, how he tasted, how warm his tongue was when it slunk into your mouth. None of those times you’d try to remember, none of those phantom feelings that would breeze through your body could ever amount to how it actually feels— it’s as if you’re seeing color for the first time.

It’s a fucking kiss, that’s for sure.

It’s long, and it takes you both a second to relearn the kinks and maneuvers you both favor, but then it’s as if time never passed between your bodies— you’re moving like one unit, like every second of your lives has built up to this moment.

Unfortunately, air is a necessity to living, so you’re pulling away sooner than you’d wanted to. Eddie’s other hand is digging into the cushion beneath you, and you can practically hear his thoughts spinning as he wills himself to pull back. You shiver as his fingers squeeze your thigh one last time before slipping away. 

“How's that for a kiss?”

Brown eyes with pools of liquid gold, you missed the searing pain it gave you each time you reached out and touched. You purse your lips, tasting him on your tongue as you tip your head in thought— menthol and whiskey. “Care to answer a few questions? Pick up on our game?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, breath tickling your nose as he snickers with a glint in his eyes. He studies you for a moment, like you might pull out and say never mind, but you only raise an eyebrow as you await an answer. “Your place or mine, honey?” He drawls.

You preen at the open door he’s lent you, “It’s your city, isn’t it?”

You don’t take the same car with Eddie to his place.

It’s not that you didn’t want to take the same car, but something about that look in Eddie’s eyes said that he absolutely wouldn’t be behaving on that car ride, and you immediately suggested separate vehicles. You’re unsure if you trust yourself to hold your promise in a confined space with Eddie… or maybe you don’t trust him… or— yeah, it’s both of you. Eddie wasn’t ecstatic about it, but you don’t care because you swear to god you aren’t going to fuck Eddie before you talk— like, really talk.

There are things that you both need to say, uncover, and express feelings about, and god forbid you get dicknotized before the words can come out correctly.

Eddie’s home is everything you thought it would be: chaotic in taste, lively, musical, whimsical, and all things that scream Eddie. The entryway is open and vast, with a clear view into the living room, where you can see a sunken living room build with guitars and papers strewn about. 

Eddie’s ushering you further into his home before you can look deeper into the entrance, but you don’t mind because his living area is like an artist's wet dream. There are comfy couches, red, cream, and colors alike, and there’s a rug in the middle that looks like a psychedelic trip of dark colors, and along one of the walls is a long shelf of endless records.

“I moved in like a year ago, so it’s not perfect, but… this is me,” Eddie says. You hadn’t been paying attention, but now that he walks into your line of vision, you can see his shoes are off, and his loose blouse is fully open. He looks like a fantasy; lean body dripped in expensive clothes and clinking jewelry, shoulders broad and sculpted beneath his wavy hair. Fuck.

You slip your shoes off and let your feet sink into his home's fluffy, deep red carpet, never once dropping your gaze from him as you walk over to the couch. “It’s beautiful, Eddie. It’s very you.”

You sink into his couch, turning so you can face him with your arms crossed over the back of the sofa as you watch him pick a record and set it up. Through the surround system of his home, the familiar riff to Tommy Bolin’s Shake The Devil rings. You watch Eddie sink a hand into his hair, shaking out his messy curls before pausing. The guitar is loud and you’re leaning forward when he snaps his head to dramatically look over his shoulder. You stifle a laugh, intrigued to see where he’s going with this— and you hate to admit that you begin enjoying the show when he turns around, fingers crafted and messily playing an air guitar to the track.

His stomach and chest flex with each of his moves, the buckle and button to his jeans open to flash you a dangerously low view of his happy trail leading to sinful places. He’s walking sex; head tilted back as he shreds the imaginary guitar, hips moving with the song as he walks toward you. He sinks to his knees in front of you, and with his living room being sunken and him still being on the higher level, you’re just in line with the view of his spread legs, crotch on full display. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he gazes at you, switching to air drums before the words kick in. You can’t hide the smile that graces your lips as he dramatically sings along, leaning forward until his face is just inches in front of yours, ringed fingers reaching to cup your face. Standing face to face with the devil, huh?

Your hands have a mind of their own apparently because they reach out and coast up Eddie’s jean-clad thighs, nails scratching up against the material until your fingers hook into the belt loops of his jeans. You lean forward on your knees, sharing a breath with the pretty boy, and you smile. Eddie groans low in his throat, the breakdown of the song blasting in both your ears and your heart racing. His teeth dig into his lips like he’s trying to physically hold himself back, and you softly laugh. “Laughin’ at my misery?” He asks.

You shrug, “Maybe. You look fuckin’ hot.”

Eddie groans again, eyes rolling back into his head before he dives forward, nuzzling his face into your neck and faking a bite as you squeal. “Can’t say shit like that to me, princess. Wanna fuck the shit out of you.” His teeth drag against your pulse, and you squirm with a louder squeal, causing him to tumble forward, collapsing onto the couch with you, and your limbs mix like one big painting as he dramatically grunts on impact. He shifts until he’s laid on his back, head resting in your lap as he peers up at you.

“You staying the night?” He asks.

You snort, brushing a strand of hair from his face, “Didn’t I tell you we’re not having sex?” You remind him. Eddie huffs and digs his head into your lap as he shuffles in his spot, “Did I ask for sex just now?” He challenges. You raise an unconvinced eyebrow, “So, you want me to spend the night just to spend the night?”

Eddie’s eyes gleam as he looks up at you, “It’s been my dream.”

You roll your eyes, playfully shoving him off you with a huff, “Get me a drink, and I’ll think about it?”

Eddie hops up as if second nature, padding over to the stereo and turning it down just enough to hear you as he talks over his shoulder, “Sure thing, honey; what would you like?”

Honey, honey, honey.

You want to drown in it.

You’re not listening as Eddie lists off the drinks he has, busy swirling in sticky, sweet, golden lakes and admiring the shift of Eddie’s hips and ass beneath his jeans. “Surprise me.” You respond.

“Copy that, madam.”

He doesn’t go far because there’s a built-in bar on the other side of the room, so you have the perfect view of him working his magic, mixing liquor and dropping ice cubes into a crystal glass. When he finishes making your drink, he turns and walks over to you with this glint in his eyes, and you feel your body heat under his gaze. “This one's on the house,” He says with a wink, handing you the drink. You thank him, taking the glass as he sits back onto the couch, sinking into the plush cushions and watching you gently sip before pulling a sour face.

He laughs, “Too strong?” He asks. You grimace with a shake of your head, smacking your lips, “No, no, it’s good. Thank you.”

Your legs are kicked up on the couch, and Eddie finds his fingers slinking around your bare ankle, gently squeezing, “Want something comfy?” He asks.

God, he’s relentless.

You laugh, “You really want me to stay,” You tease. Eddie sinks like he’s letting all inhibitions go as he answers, “Desperately.”

He can tell you’re cracking, and you have to hide your grin behind the glass as you shake your head in disbelief at yourself, “Fine. Go, before I change my mind.”

And Eddie’s sprinting up, holding his jeans up from falling as he jogs up the stairs with a happy cheer.

A half-hour passes, and you find yourself sitting on Eddie’s comfy living room floor, dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt of his because, in Eddie’s words, ‘there’s no need for pants in a home setting, sweetheart.’ You think he just wants easy access and an eyeful of your bare legs.

Eddie’s licking up the crease of a blunt and your body is warm with whiskey and the shrill of a jazzy melody from the radio. He’s so pretty, leaned over the glass coffee table, bare shoulders flexing, curly hair draping as a curtain as he works. He clicks his tongue when he’s done, and you raise an eyebrow, pressing your bare toes into his thigh when he scoots closer. “Up for a smoke?” He asks.

You don’t smoke much, not that you don’t enjoy a nice high, but you find yourself more appreciative of your highs when they’re spaced out and random. You nod, and Eddie grins, “Atta girl. Here, honorary first hit,” He passes the blunt to you, and you snicker, grasping it between two fingers and holding it up to your lips. Eddie helps you with a lighter, leaning forward to burn the end of the paper, and you take one good drag before pulling the bunt away, rolling the smoke into your lungs to settle as best as you can handle before you sputter out in a small coughing fit.

Your eyes water, and Eddie grins as you pass it to him, leaning forward to kiss your temple, “That was good, baby.”

You watch as he takes a hit of his own, huffing out a few coughs of his own, and jesus christ, why do rockstars always smoke devious shit? It’s strong, whatever Eddie has you smoking, and it only takes you three hits before you already feel a buzz coming, and Eddie looks so pretty with low eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Ready to play our game?” He rasps out.

“Mm.” You agree, reaching out to take another hit.

“Did you listen to the albums?”

I can't destroy what isn't there

Deliver me into my fate

If I'm alone I cannot hate

I don't deserve to have you

Oh my smile was taken long ago

If I can change I hope I never know

God, did you listen to the albums? Sure, you have it ingrained into your fucking mind, and it burns.

You smile, slowly blinking because, of course, that’s Eddie’s first question. You breathe out clouds of fairy dust as you speak, “Yes, I did. Did you read the magazine?” You ask.

Eddie nods, leaning back against the couch, extending his legs out as he eyes you, “I did. Which song did you like best?”

“Mm, the one with the drums.” You smile.

Eddie laughs, and you pass the blunt back to him before leaning back on the opposite couch, toes almost touching when you extend your legs across the carpet. “You’re a kiss-up, you know that?” He gestures to you, to which you only shrug.

Eddie crawls across the living room, and you fight the urge to reach out and thread your fingers through his hair as he plops himself right next to you, leaning against the couch as well. Your thighs are touching, and you can feel the warmth of him, and the smell of weed is wafting through the air, and you just want to nuzzle into Eddie’s chest and never leave.

“Miss me?” You teasingly ask. You can hear the slight smile in Eddie’s voice as he responds, “Negative. You?”

You snort, “Negative.”

You shuffle to lean against Eddie, and he can’t seem to help it when he reaches out to push your hair back gently. “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” You ask.

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch in confusion, no doubt lost by what you mean, considering he already has his lifetime job figured out, “What do you mean?”

You sigh, wriggling as you fight the urge to wrap your body around him, “I mean,” You shrug, “Well, you’re not gonna do this forever, right? Like, at some point, you’re going to have to throw in the towel, age, and whatnot,” You dismissively wave, “What will you do then?”

Eddie pauses and thinks for a moment, and if you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin on yours, you would think he vanished into thin air. “I, uh…. Well, you’ll think it’s stupid.” He mumbles.

You frown, turning your head to look at him, “I won’t. Tell me. Please?”

He looks at you with these soft, fond eyes before nodding, “I wanna start a music school in Hawkins— maybe, like, a creative arts school, you know, something for the weirdos. Not just music geeks.” He admits. His tone is so soft, maybe the softest you’ve ever heard, and he’s fiddling with his rings like he’s nervous, and it’s the cutest sight you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not really celebrated there. Creativity, I mean.” He adds.

You stay quiet, allowing him to speak, “Everybody just lives to work dead-end jobs. Being creative is like… a sin or something, I don’t know. I just want to give the kids somewhere where they’ll feel… safe. Seen. Something I never got for myself.”

It’s… it’s fucking brilliant. It’s so brilliant it makes your chest ache, and you decide that you would do just about anything to make sure Eddie’s dreams of a music school come true.

“I told you it’s stupid. No one ever thinks it’s good.” He mumbles after a moment with your silence. You frown and shake your head, sitting up straight to look at him. “No. No, Eddie, it’s amazing…It’s fucking amazing, and you should do it. You have to do it.”

“You’re just playing nice.”

“No, seriously. Fuck whoever said it wasn’t a good idea, it’s brilliant.” You press on, and you want to lean in and pepper kisses all over his face because— seriously, who the fuck told him it was a shitty idea?

“I grew up in a small town too, and— shit, it was not fun wanting to be something other than a nurse or a teacher. Got a lot of shit trying to ‘reach for the stars’,” You huff out a laugh. Eddie’s eyes are so gentle as they gaze at you that you almost melt. “I would’ve appreciated something like that. Munson’s School of Arts.”

Eddie snorts at that, pink lacing with yours as a smile spreads across your lips, “Not bad actually, I might name it that.”

It’s a back and forth of that for a while, silly questions amongst genuine ones until you find yourselves sat next to each other, arms pressed together, bodies yearning to wrap around each other as you fiddle with the strings of Eddie’s carpet. And there’s something, you know. Eddie feels something that he’s not telling you, and it’s killing you because it’s what you need to hear before you take the plunge. “Are you angry with me?” You softly ask.

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, and the blunt was snuffed out a while ago, so he’s not taking a drag but instead just stalling. “I mean,” he pauses, “I already told you, Birdie. What’s the point in going back on it?”

You frown, glancing at him, “Because I want you to tell me how you feel, Eddie.” You respond.

Eddie’s silent again for a longer moment, and you want to whine when he shifts away to sit in front of you. He folds his legs up, resting his elbows over his knees as he sits face to face with you, “Do you want me to be angry with you?” He steadily asks.

Your blink, “I— no?” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow, and you huff, “Honestly, a little bit, yes. It’s okay to be angry with me, Eddie; that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Eddie’s demeanor is unwavering as he blinks at you, but his tone is accusing, “Do you want me to be angry with you so you can feel justified?”

And, ouch.

That’s not the truth at all. Or maybe it’s some truth, but in your true feelings, that’s not what you mean. It’s only a fleeting thought because you’re human, after all, right?

“That’s not fair,” You frown with a small shake of your head. Eddie raises another eyebrow, and you tilt your head, “I’m only trying to be as transparent as possible, Eddie. That was the main issue.” You remind him.

Eddie turns to the coffee table, grabs your forgotten glass of Jack Daniels, and takes a swig for himself. “You wouldn’t tell me how you felt, and I was always left in the dark.” You say.

“And I’m telling you right now that I’m not angry.” He’s teetering on the edge of irritated now, and you tilt your head. “I listened to the album, Eddie. I listened to the song; you’re seriously gonna tell me you’re not angry?” 

Eddie can only glance at you then, and your frown deepens. “That’s… different.”

“How, Eddie? It’s about me—” “Yeah, because you fucking walked out on me on closing night,” Eddie exclaims. “How was I supposed to feel?”

Your chest tightens as you look into the eyes of your dreams, lyrics swirling in your mind because you’ve fucking memorized every word. You listened to it until you felt sick, dizzy with a whirlwind of regrets and what-ifs.

You sold me out to save yourself

And I won't listen to your shame

You ran away, you're all the same

Angels lie to keep control

Your chest aches when the lyrics echo in your mind.

“I just want you to be honest with me. If I made you feel that way—” “No, that’s not—” Eddie shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose, and cringes like it's painful. “That’s not it at all— fuck.” He puts the glass down and scoots back over to you; knees pressed into the fluffy carpet beside your thighs as he leans in and cups your face, eyes darting over your pretty features. “I was angry, and I was a shithead, and I had people talking in my ear and— shit. Please don’t think you ever blame yourself for that, please.”

Your fingers are cold, but Eddie’s wrists are warm beneath your fingertips as you frown up at him, “Just tell me how far out you are, Eds.”

Eddie looks at you with soft eyes, a callused thumb running under the delicate skin beneath your eye. He leans forward, pressing his lips against your forehead, and you preen, nuzzling forward and sinking into his warmth and scent that you’ve missed for so long.

“Not far,” He responds, lips brushing over your skin. “You?”

You hum, body reeling as Eddie slinks his arms around you, “Not far.”

Forty minutes and another blunt later, and Eddie’s floating in the fucking sky.

Eddie can’t believe it really, having you in front of him, next to him, limbs pressed to limbs with your laugh ringing in his ears— Eddie thinks this is some sick, realistic dream.

It’s tender, the space you’ve both created. You’re both fragile and reactive in the best way, like a healing exposed nerve, and Eddie will be forever in your debt for how patient you are with him. He’s not good at talking about real shit, but he’s trying to fix that, and you make it easier because you push him in the way he needs to be— you encourage him to say what he feels even if he’s afraid he might end up shooting himself in the foot and chasing you away again because— ‘It’s the only way things will get better.’

But you’ve always been patient. You were patient six months ago, and you’re patient now. You know exactly what you want, and you’re firm in what you say and feel, and it makes Eddie feel safe.

He’s never had this kind of thing— he’s never had a relationship where someone talks and leaves room for him to speak as well— two-way communication or whatever the fuck Robin says. It’s different, and it’s good, and Eddie thinks he must have shit taste if it’s taken him this long to realize it.

Chrissy never really cared for what Eddie wanted or preferred, or how something she did would make him feel. Eddie, at the time, didn’t think much of it and was more than happy to ride along with her ‘low maintenance’ nature, but it only cut him off from growth more than anything.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore because Chrissy is in the past, and you— you’re so pretty standing on Eddie’s couch in just his shirt with a blunt hanging between your fingers. You’ve just returned from changing the record— Surrealistic Pillow; Eddie knew the second you dropped the needle and watched you spin around with a shit-eating grin. 

“Hippie shit,” Eddie mutters as you hop down from his couch. Your eyes narrow, “Hey,” you nudge your foot against his thigh, “Don’t be an asshole. It was on your shelf anyway.”

Eddie slinks his hand around your calf, blinking up at you as you stand over him. You reach down, the burning blunt standing between your fingers, and Eddie happily parts his lips to let you slip the tip in. Burning sativa licks up the sides of Eddie’s brain, and he melts when your other hand sinks into his hair, gently pressing his bangs back as his eyes flutter. You hum, and Eddie’s lips tip into a smile as the smoke churns in his chest. Your knuckles curl into his roots, and Eddie could fucking cum right now, no questions asked.

He’s harder than a rock, and he’s not ashamed when he sinks his hand down the open fly on his jeans to palm himself, lowly groaning as he tips his head up, playfully blowing clouds of smoke up your shirt and grinning when you squeal. He chuckles, hand slinking further up your leg to grip the fat of your thigh as he tilts his head to nip his teeth at the inside of your knee.

He turns to let his chin rest on your thigh, blinking up at you with hazy eyes, “Let me in, baby.” He pleads.

You sink to your knees until you’re face to face, and Eddie’s hands glide under your shirt, warm and itching to explore as he feels the flutter of your lungs beneath his fingertips. “No funny business, Munson.” You remind him, swatting him away when his fingers prod at the cup of your bra. Eddie grins, brain fuzzy and warm, and he can’t stop himself from leaning forward and planting a quick kiss against your lips.

“I have something for you.” He says. Your eyebrows raise, and Eddie smiles, standing up with a grunt and shaking out his stiff limbs. “Don’t move,” He points to you before padding off.

The gift Eddie has for you has been with him since the fourth week he knew you. He’s been holding onto it for so long because he’s been a coward and didn’t know how to form the words ‘I’m sorry’ with his tongue— but now, Eddie’s riding on a high, and he needs you and wants you all the time and there’s no better time than now, right?

He’s holding the gift behind his back when he steps into the living room, and he smiles at the sight of you laid out on his floor, eyes closed as you sink into the music. You’re on cloud nine, Eddie can tell.

He drops to his knees over you, pressing his free hand into the floor beside your head, and his hair creates a curtain over you when you look up at him. “You look… tempting, to say the least.”

Your eyes playfully narrow at Eddie, and you squirm beneath him, “What’re you hiding behind your back?”

There are tears in your eyes as you blink down at the gift in your hands, and you know Eddie must think you’re insane for crying over a book— a journal at that. It’s a pale yellow colored leather, with two leather straps that are tied into a neat bow, and in the corner, your name is stamped in tiny cursive gold letters— your real name. 

It’s a replica of your old journal, the one that had gotten ruined when you tore the pages out to prove a point. But you don’t understand— “How did you get this?” You ask in a soft voice.

Eddie grins, reaching out to thumb at your bottom lip, eyes soft as he watches your eyes dance over the journal. “Called in a favor from Michigan.” He jokingly says. Your chest aches, and you frown when you look up at him, fingers tight around the binding of your gift, “You talked to him?”

Eddie snickers, “Yeah. Got a lot of shit from him first, I’ll tell you that,” He pauses and scratches at the back of his neck, “He told me he hates my music.”

You laugh at that, body warm with adoration because, yeah, that sounds like your grandfather. You sniffle, wiping under your eyes, “How did you know?” You ask.

Eddie shrugs as he sits next to you, “The cover of your journal had his name on it, so I kind of pieced it together since you share a last name.”

You don’t know what to think, what to say. It’s the kindest thing Eddie (or anyone) has ever done for you. Your grandfather had been in the business of handmaking journals for as long as you can remember; he was part of the reason why you took such a liking to journalism. He had a brief history in journalism himself, and he would sit and go through his best works with you when you struggled to fall asleep— he helped you see the world through the lens of an artist, and you never looked back.

You’re elated as you run your hands over the pages, imagining what the phone call between Eddie and your grandfather was like. You wish you could’ve been there to hear it; you wish you could’ve brought Eddie to meet him in person because even though your grandfather acted tough and mighty, he had the softest heart you’ve ever known, and he would’ve adored Eddie.

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head as you put the journal on the coffee table. You huff, turning to clamber onto Eddie’s lap, glaring at him as your hands dig into his shoulders, “I hate you so much.”

Eddie grins at you, and you drop your head to his chest, snuggling further into him when he wraps his arms around you. You grumble against his chest, turning your head to speak, “You’re making it so hard.” You complain.

You feel the rumble of Eddie’s voice in his chest as he hums, “Hm?”

Eddie shifts beneath you, and you sigh, turning your head up to nuzzle against the base of his throat. Your teeth drag across his skin, red lines left in their wake before you let your tongue coast up his pulsing vein, mouth kissing and suckling at what you can reach— and Eddie whimpers.

“You know…It’s past midnight.”

“Fffuck–”

Eddie’s dead.

He’s gone. Six feet under. In the next life, body turned back to dust, never coming back, dead. This must be the seventh circle of heaven— is that a thing? Or is that only hell?

Either way, Eddie’s on an entirely different plane of heaven as you press your body against his, knees tightening around his waist as he pulls you close and smears his lips against yours. He can feel the heat of your core through his pants, and his hips have a mind of their own when they buck up into you.

Your fingers are blind and eager when they wriggle through the tight space between you and Eddie, but it sends shivers up Eddie’s spine when you drag your nails down the soft skin of his lower pelvis.

Eddie’s lips part against yours, and he’s licking into your mouth, tongue flicking at your top lip as you shakily moan. “What happened to no sex tonight?” He lowly teases. His hands sink beneath your shit, squeezing at your hips and guiding the roll of your hips.

“Shut up, Eddie.” You whine, fingertips digging into his shoulders when he rubs against your covered clit. Eddie smiles, watching as your face twists in pleasure, and his chest nearly bursts because you’re so fucking pretty.

“You want me?” He asks.

Your lips twitch into a smile, and your hands slide down his arms to rest over his wrists that flex as they work you back and forth over his crotch. “Yeah,” You breathe, tipping your head down to hover your lips over Eddie’s, “I do. I want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s tongue runs over his lips, and he catches your bottom lip, and you lick out to catch his tongue before pressing your lips together. Eddie uses one hand to cup your face, “You’re not curious where my dick’s been while we were apart?” He teases.

And if you weren’t practically humping Eddie right now and thinking straight, you probably would’ve choked Eddie out or something— but you only mewl and grind down harder. “Not funny.”

Eddie hums, fingers dancing across the band of your panties before dipping past the barrier. He feels like a pirate who’s finally found the hidden treasure, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to ground himself because, Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking wet.

His cock feels strangled and achy in his jeans, and he imagines how good it’ll feel to sink his cock into you as he swirls a gentle finger around your entrance. “For the record,” He drawls, watching your lips part when he dips his finger into you, “It’s been nowhere. My dick, I mean.”

You breathlessly laugh, hips wriggling, your pussy eager for more. “Been beating it with my fist for the last six months, so. Just want you to know— it’s only you, baby.”

You mewl, leaning forward to press your forehead against Eddie’s as you grind against him, shivering when he finally sinks a finger into you, drawing out to circle your clit with sticky arousal before sinking back in with two fingers.

You’re sharing each breath, taking each other in and out; Eddie watches with low eyes as your face twists in pleasure.

“Take it off,” He grumbles, “Take your shirt off.”

You’re moving like it’s second nature. Shaky hands reaching down to loop around the loose shirt, dragging it up and over your body— and Eddie’s head tips back with a groan. “Jesus fuck,” He curses, one hand busy working you as the other reaches down to palm your breast, “When did you take your bra off, you fuckin’ minx?”

You whimper against Eddie’s lips when he kisses you, the force of his eagerness pushing you back. Eddie keeps pressing you back, shuffling and moving around so he can press you down onto your back and hover over you. “Wanna taste you. Let me taste you.” He begs.

You shake your head, lips messily smearing against his, “No. No, you said—” god, Eddie can’t stop fucking kissing you, “You said you’ll let me have you next time, Eds.” You whine.

Fuck, you’re so fucking cute. You’re a goddamn dream pouting up at Eddie, grinding against his fingers as he ticks them up against your walls. “Yeah? You want me?” Eddie breathlessly asks. Your lips are pouty and swollen as you nod, “Already told you I did.” You say.

It takes everything in Eddie to pull away from you, and he thinks he’s gonna marry you when you reach out for him. Thinks he wants to just whisk you away and live on the side of a secluded mountain or some shit. Thinks he wants you to be the mother of his kids when you smile up at him as he rises to his feet, gazing down at you over the apple of his cheeks as he removes his jeans. You’re so pretty, hair spread out beneath you, tits on full display, tummy fluttering with each drag and push of your breaths. You’re lightly dragging the tip of your finger down your stomach, a teasing glint in your eyes as Eddie throws his hair into the shittest bun known to man, and fuck, you’re dipping your hand between your thighs.

Yeah. This is heaven, and you’re god.

Eddie thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life on his knees worshipping you.

Eddie’s body is warm when he crawls back over you, his body now bare, save for the chains that dangle from his neck. One cross, one guitar pick, one pentagram. They’re cold when they drag up the valley of your chest, and your body perks up with chills.

You slink your arms around Eddie’s shoulders, titling your head up to kiss him as your fingers curl into his messily tied hair. “Give me what I want, Eds.” You softly say against his lips. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

Eddie curses, rutting his cock against the inside of your thigh, and he nods, “Yeah. Fuck. Okay, yeah. Just lay here and look pretty, baby.”

The lasting effects of the three blunts you’d shared with Eddie are swirling through your body, and you feel like you’re on cloud nine as Eddie straddles your hips. He’s the prettiest sight to ever reach your eyes, toned arms, and chest working in tandem as he reaches down to wrap a fist around his cock— and god; you forgot how pretty his cock was. The tip is ruddy and flushed, and your core twists when he angles himself up, and you see the piercing beneath his tip. You definitely hadn’t forgotten about that little detail these past months.

Eddie’s chest is rising and falling quickly and stray pieces of hair cling to his lips when he licks them. You watch with wide, eager eyes as Eddie strokes himself, ringed fingers running against the soft skin of his shaft, pretty hisses curling through his teeth when he thumbs the slit of his tip.

“Quit teasing,” You whine, squirming beneath him. Eddie grins, breathlessly panting as he looks at you, “So impatient.” He mumbles, shifting further up your body until the inside of his thighs press against the side of your tits. You can feel the cool drag of his rings against your sternum, and it sends licks of fire through your core. “My baby’s so impatient, hm?” He taps his cock against your chest, and your frown, fingers digging into his thighs.

“Lucky you’re cute.”

Eddie’s then shuffling and moving around so you’re both comfortably positioned as he kneels over your face, pretty cock glistening above your lips. You open your mouth and let your tongue hang out, ready for Eddie to feed his cock to you, and he chuckles, tapping his swollen tip against your tongue before dragging it to tease you. 

It’s good. It’s so good. The taste of him, the feel of him, the pretty noises he makes. You can feel the cold barbell dragging across your tongue with each slow thrust he gives you, and you can’t wait to feel it inside you again. You’ve been dreaming about it for weeks on end now.

He pulls out with a slick pop, tapping his tip against your lips as he hums, “Ready? Gonna give you what you want now.”

You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He’s thrusting in and out of your mouth at a mind-numbing and thigh-clenching rate for just under five minutes before he starts to break. You can feel it in the stutter of his hips, the twitch of his cock on your tongue, the shuddered moans and grunts. You reach up to drag your nails down the soft skin of his stomach, and Eddie whimpers for the second time, and you think it might be your favorite sound— you want more.

He’s pulling out with a curse, squeezing at his tip, and you’re such a fucking tease; you lean forward to kitten lick at his aching tip and hum when he hisses. He shuffles back just enough to lean forward and press a messy kiss to your lips, humming at the taste of himself on your tongue.

“Fuck me, Eddie. Please. Want it so bad it hurts.”

“Jesus fuck— turn around.”

You’re shaking, and Eddie’s touch feels like fire as he helps you flip over to lean on all fours. His hands coast up your back and into your hair, and you push your body back into him, ass pressing against his wet cock as you moan when his fingers curl into your hair.

His other hand smooths over your ass, heavily slapping it once before gripping the warm skin as he speaks beside your ear, “Wanna fuck your ass one day, hm? Gonna let me? Say you’ll let me.” “Oh my god,” You roll your eyes with a smile, tipping your head to the side when Eddie kisses your neck before nipping at your ear. You can feel the curve of his smile against your skin, and it makes your chest flutter as he pulls you up to press your back against his chest.

He’s reaching down between you to grasp his cock and paint it against your wet cunt, and you lose your breath. “Come on. Say you’ll let me fuck your pretty ass.” He practically begs.

You moan when he slips his head in, teasing you with what he knows you want. Your head rolls back to rest against his shoulder, and he hums, slinking his other hand up to cup your throat as he continues teasing himself in and out of your pussy.

You smile, lazy and high and blissed out, “No.”

Eddie groans at that, fingers tightening around your throat as he sinks in deeper. “Not even a finger?”

You push your fingers through his hair, his curly strands nothing but a tangled mess within his hair tie. Your legs tremble as you wriggle back into him, but your voice is steady as you speak, “Fuck me first, and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Eddie takes that as a challenge, apparently, because next thing you know, he’s slamming into you and pressing in to the fucking hilt— all big and pierced and toe curling to the point where your moans turn flat, and all you can do is lace your fingers through his that rest on your hip and hold on for dear fucking life.

He’s pressing you face-first into the carpet, making sure your cheek rests against the couch pillow that had been thrown aside earlier. His fingers are clenched around yours, digging into your hip as you whine and moan into his floor, sobbing out his name with each groundbreaking thrust he gives you.

It’s all-consuming; the way Eddie’s fucking you, the filthy words slipping from his mouth, the lingering effects of weed— god, you feel like an exploding star.

Supernova shit or something like that.

Eddie’s cursing and spilling dirty words of encouragement when you come, leaning over to press his chest against your back and coo into your ear.

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Keep squeezing me like that, baby. You’re so good.”

“Y’sound so pretty when you’re coming on my cock.”

You’re breathless and quivering, and a pitiful whine slips from you when Eddie pulls out, but you can feel him as he wraps his hand around his cock and finishes off, pretty moans pressed into the skin on the back of your neck. The feeling of his sticky release dripping onto your ass makes you want to go at it again already.

He’s peppering kisses across your neck and shoulders, and your body slumps onto the ground in exhaustion, but you smile when he presses his lips to yours.

“So, was that good enough? Have I been granted access to the holy grail?”

You glare at Eddie from where his chin is hooked over your shoulder. He raises a suggestive eyebrow, and you huff. “I’ll tell you what,” You start, shifting and purposely rubbing your ass back against his sensitive cock, smiling when he hisses.

“Make up for the last six months first, and I might be able to cut you a deal.”

“Now you’re just stringing me along.”

You hum, “Oh, like you did with me some months ago?”

Eddie pauses at that, eyes narrowing at you, and you think— fuck, maybe that was too soon. But then a smile cracks across his face, “Touché.”

He sighs and sits up, peeling himself from your sticky skin before gently patting your hip. “Ass up, baby. Got a lot of making up to do, and we’re on a tight schedule.”

And you think to yourself, with the scent of Eddie whirling around you and his touch all over you and his pretty voice in your ear, that yeah, you can work through this together. Even if the process will tear you to shreds all over again.

After all, that’s the price of falling for a rockstar, isn’t it?

————

the end.

————

a/n: HOLY SHIT GUYS

if you've made it to the end of this long-winded (and incredibly late, I'm so sorry) ending to this story i can not thank you enough. these two have been so fun to write and i don't plan to leave them completely in the dust so they're not gone forever, but thank you so much to everyone who read and shared and commented. this story has allowed me to meet the most beautiful, kind, funny, and loving people I've ever had the pleasure of talking to and that will be my biggest takeaway from this journey🥹

the biggest thank yous to my pretty mutuals who have been here the whole way, ilysm and want to shrink you guys and put you in my pocket <3

anyway, i'll shut up now, i hope i was able to do these two justice with their ending!! i love and appreciate all kinds of feedback, and as always, thank you for reading, ily <3

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @ye0nvibezzn @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@daddyhetfield @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @nabiiturner @catherinnn

@mossiswriting @kellsck @joannamuns9n @siriuslysmoking @mysteris-things @amazingori @honey-eyed-munson @saintlike78 @eddieslooneymoonie @alexa4040 @yujyujj

[bokettochild]

Ketto's Update Thoughts - SE Basement 1

So, in all honesty, there's not all that much to talk about here, as most of the update was fighting and, well, I'm sure there is a lot to be said about the fighting styles of the boys and the game references and consistency of style, but I never played SkSw or TwiPri, so I can't speak for anything on their fighting styles, other than they both look like badasses!

That said, this update does further confirm that Twilight is that one guy who talks about home and his friends whenever given the chance. We're seen how a lot of the rest are cagey about talking about people they know, or even are unclear about it themselves (Wild), or perhaps only bring up things for the express purpose of confusing the rest and then not saying more (Time). Between this and the Sunset arc, we can see that Twi's probably more of a blabbermouth about home than the rest.

Warriors has heard enough to be able to name people, accurately at that, off the top of his head. And sure, this could partially be the uncannily good memory of most Links, or even an army-taught proficiency for remembering names, but the fact remains that anyone else actually knows anything about Twi's home, I doubt the same could really be said of the rest, except for Time, who's home they've been to.

This update opens with Twilight asking about Sky's home though.

These two tend to really get along, which is fun to see, but also really sweet. Where Warriors and Twilight have a sort of good-natured harshness to them, and Twilight obviously looks up to and respects Time (who clearly loves him like his own), Sky is more Twilight's age and, while they're very different, they're also very similar.

Sky is also open to talking about home- no suprise, especially after Miss Her, where we see he deals with homesickness and thus also talks about his family/friends around the rest too, although we don't know how much. I like though that Twilight is, of course, asking about Sky's stead, and also, finally, bringing up his own skyward experiences! (Although Sky does NOT look impressed, LOL)

(Poor dear looks more shocked than anything LOL)

Sky, my darling with the best one-liners, I adore you.

Back on topic though- it's nice to see these two comparing experiences and talking about their homes/friends. It's just those first two pages, but it's good to see. I mean, we all know Twilight's got probably the best chemistry with any of his brothers, getting along with all of them to an extent and always in such wholesome ways (unless you're Warriors), but his and Sky's shared moments are always especially wholesome to me <3

Now, plot wise, there's not a lot to comment on here.

I do think that the comment Twilight made about the light getting better might be an indicator that the torch Legend and Hyrule lit might have been a trigger for the lights in other chambers, but it also very well might have been a trigger for something else. Based off my knowledge of old Zelda dungeons though, if it is a control for the lights, than it is entirely plausible that, after a set time, it will need to be lit again and all the lights elsewhere will go out. This could be interesting to see, especially in a battle scenario. We've seen the boys go up against a few foes now, but darkness seems to be the main goal, albeit in the form of a Shadow, so having them fight IN the dark might be interesting.

I am curious to see if the two sides of the dungeon mirror each other. Sometimes that is the case, and sometimes not, but if it does, than that means that Twilight and Sky are bound to run across Wild and Warriors, just like the Downfall Duo and Age Bookends ran into each other and split off again. I'm curious, in that case, how that interaction will go, because we've seen Twilight around both Wars and Sky at the same time before (Sunset arc), but not with Wild in the mix. After what we saw before they split off, I feel like there would be some exchanging of glances at the least, what with Wild's current impression of Warriors still being more on the unfavorable side.

Who can say though; dungeons are tricky, especially Downfall Dungeons, which this seems to take a lot of cues from (although it might just seem that way to me because I've only played Downfall games).

Anyways, that's all I've got! The boys were total badasses and proved their skill, proved Twilight can hold his own (two against one, hot dog!) but also that Sky was definitely the best choice, as he's not all distracted and fussy over Twi during their fight, and thus able to focus on his foe better.

I'll leave the sword-fighting analysis for the experts though, LOL

[melithril]

[Adar] Warrior Of My Heart

♫ - I Adore You - Miley Cyrus

main masterlist | blog playlist

TW: mentions of abuse (not aimed at reader).

This was a request on AO3, it's quite angsty but comfort too, hopefully you all enjoy it! <3

Today, you had not stopped. From the moment you had woken up, it had been quite the busy day. Errands to run, people to see, you were certain that you had not sat down for several hours. Your feet were begging for rest, and you were counting down the minutes until you could sit at the dinner table with Adar. 

Your lover was what got you through most days. The days when you felt terrible, or the days where the world seemed to turn too fast, you knew that at the end of it all he would be waiting for you. You knew that there was always the night, when you could curl up together and forget the days gone by. 

As you walked, your brain ran to thoughts of Adar. Of how much you cared for him, how you could not wait to be with him again. You had not been lovers for too long, but your whole heart was his in every way.

After what felt like an eternity, you reached you front door and pushed it open, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as you did so. Closing the wooden door as quietly as possible, your eyes scanned the room for Adar. You were being a little more silent than normal, in case he was dealing with any important business or simply resting. He never did enough of the latter, as much as you encouraged him. To your surprise, you found him settled on the chair in front of the fire, glass in hand and eyes focused on the flames before him.

"Adar?" you called out, though he did not move. You knew he could hear you, the distance was not so far that your voice would be drowned out. Narrowing your eyes, you took off your cloak and set it on the hook, making your way over to the uruk with concern.

"My love, is everything okay?"

As your hand took his free one, Adar glanced at you, a sad smile on his face. He had zoned out, and that was why you had gotten no response. Sighing, you pressed a kiss to the side of his head and sat beside him. This happened quite often, he would get too far into his own head and could not find the way out. 

"My light, why do you stay?" Adar questioned, eyes still glued to the crackling fire. You placed a hand on his thigh, still keeping your other hand firmly entwined into his own. 

You knew what this was about. Adar had so many fears when it came to your relationship. He didn't think he was good enough for you, he thought there was so much out there you could be doing. Adar never felt worthy of your presence, your time. He was appreciative that you stayed, that much was true, never would he take you for granted. But, it still bothered him that he never felt good enough to be loved.

You inquired anyway, hoping that questioning him would make him talk, and after that perhaps Adar could hopefully begin healing again.

"What is this about, Adar?"

A small sigh came from the man, as his eyes now looked down to his lap and away from the fire. The pause was long and lasted a while, but you did not push. You gave him all of the time and space he needed to start to get his thoughts out.

"I am no good for you, starlight. I am beyond that which you deserve; I fear I cannot and will not be able to give you what you seek from me." Adar's voice was shaky, a rather rare moment of complete vulnerability. "My past, Morgoth.. everything he has done to me, I grow more aware each day of the fact I am too far past love."

Adar had briefly told you of Morgoth's abuse of him and others, and you never pressed to know more. You knew he was abused badly, that he and everybody else was thought of less than dirt on a shoe.It hurt you to think anyone could have treated Adar so badly.

"It would seem I am far more broken than I first thought. He ruined me, mind and body," Adar continued, taking a sip of whatever was in his glass. "You should not be here, my star. You should  be elsewhere with someone else. A man a thousand times better for you than me lies beyond those walls and I would encourage you to seek him out. I cannot be who you want me to be, I am not strong enough for that. You deserve the world and I am too gone for that, now."

Simply put, your heart broke. You had yet to tell Adar you loved him, fearing it may have been too early to say such a thing, but in this moment, you knew for certain that what you felt was so real. A stray tear fell from his eye and you reached up to wipe it away. His free hand stopped you, letting it cascade down his scarred face. 

"No, you are too pure to touch something so dirty."

That word hurt. Dirty. You felt your heart shatter at that; you knew why he may feel as such, but you were focused on clearing those ideals from his mind. That was the last straw for you, and you broke your hand free of his light grasp and pulled his face towards you. Locking his lips into a chaste kiss, you felt his body relax, whether intentional or not.

"Adar," you began, pulling away but remaining close to him. "You have no idea how I feel for you. I care not of your past, it does not define you as a person. What does define you is how strong you have been to overcome these things. Morgoth was wrong for what he did to you, but now this is a new life. In defiance of everything, you are here. For me, that is enough."

His eyes met yours, sparkling with the strength of a thousand stars. You knew he needed you right now, and he needed reassurance. It was so few and far between that Adar was so open, and you took your chance to tell him exactly how you felt.

"My love, you are everything I could want. Do not doubt that, even for a second. I understand why, and I know you did not mean what you said. You know you are good enough for me, and I know you are the man I love to fall asleep with. There are no arms but yours I wish to be held by, no lips I would rather kiss. Adar, with all I have in me, I love you."

His expression turned into one of shock. You could see his brain turning, and you had wondered if he had ever been told at all that he was loved. 

"You love me?" his voice innocent, and you nodded in response. "I cannot see why, nor do I understand. I am not someone you should love."

"Perhaps not to others. What may be broken to one, is treasure to another. I care for you so deeply, Adar. What defines my love for you is who you choose to be in the face of all that has happened and all that stands before you. You truly are beautiful."

Your hand came to rest on his upper arm, rubbing gentle motions to comfort him. Adar all but fell into your arms, pressing his head against your chest. Your heartbeat always calmed him, and you softly hummed, running your fingers through his hair.

"Now, you listen to me," you spoke low into his ear, not disturbing him from his position. "I cannot change your past, nor can I predict the future and what it may bring. But, what I can do is keep every bad thought in your mind at bay. I promise you I will do all I can within my power to show you how loved and cared for that you are. To show you that you are a person worthy of love. To me, you are my world. I swear by the powers at be that I will protect you with all I have in my soul."

Adar's arms tightened around your midsection as he lay, tears falling fast. All you wanted was to take his pain away, to help distract him from his head. He didn't respond, and you didn't expect him to. You didn't want him to.

Adar's mind had cleared somewhat, the dark thoughts kept at bay by the shining light that was you. Confusion set in him as to why you would stay still, but he was so thankful to you for doing so. Adar made a vow to himself with everything in him to love you exactly as you deserved. To give you as much as he could. 

In your own mind, you had promised yourself the same thing. Whatever may come, you would be there with him, at the end of it all.

"Warrior of my heart," Adar rasped, eyes closing as he lay on your chest. Sleep overtook him as your last words whispered out to him.

"To the end of time, my love." 

Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated and my requests are open! x

[ask-encore-kinger]

Welcome To Encore Kinger's Blog!

Greetings and salutations! I'm the official VA for Kinger in the TADC Encore project, and after a while of debating it, I've finally decided to open up a blog for Kinger! (Done by the main showrunner thank you Liz fr)

Just like all the other blogs, this one has rules too, so here they are:

1: I am not Sean Chiplock, and I never will be, so anything said in the asks will be entirely non-canon unless it is a fact presented to us that we've seen already (Such as Queenie being his wife). Also the things that Kinger says here might contradict with future episodes of the show, I cannot control this, so if it happens, just cut me some slack.

2: I'm going to make it clear right now, I don't personally ship Kinger with anyone from the show. However if you want to see content based on that you can send in asks regarding it. Just know that I won't try to imply it when it's not mentioned, besides referring to Queenie as his wife who has abstracted.

3: I'm ok with answering just about anything, but that doesn't mean I'll entertain every single ask. I have my own ideas for Kinger's thoughts and feelings so if you're looking for a specific answer, be careful about how you put together your ask.

4: I'm going to try and keep Kinger as close to canon as I can, so I won't be doing anything wildly out of context. And for reference, he will be doing most asks within his fortress, so it'll be dark enough for him to remain sane and collected. Though sometimes I might have him do it elsewhere and be a bit crazy.

5: And of course, please keep the asks appropriate and respectful to both Kinger and I. No explicit NSFW topics, though being suggestive is fine since both Kinger and I are adults. Please also don't bother using slurs or graphic triggering topics, as those will not be tolerated. I am not afraid to delete an ask if you try it anyway.

I can't wait to interact with you all through here and be a silly chess man. Thanks for reading the rules!

[too-antigonish]

Endeavour and Fascism

There's a thread of history running through Endeavour that's been on my mind a lot recently. It's a somewhat unified arc that runs through 3 episodes: Coda, Colours, and Raga. I was curious to learn more and did some research.

It's probably nothing new for folks in the UK, but for most of us in the US, it's not something we learned about in school.

So here goes...long post...

S3E4: Coda

We get the first glimpse in in Coda when Thursday comforts Trewlove with the offer of a cigarette as she copes with the murder of a fellow officer:

THURSDAY: All right? TREWLOVE: They just shot him. Like it was nothing. THURSDAY: Here. For the nerves. Keep the pack. Stick 'em behind your notebook and nobody'll know. TREWLOVE: Thanks. THURSDAY: Tip my old governor gave me. Sergeant Vimes. Cable Street. “No Pasarán!” All right? Let’s have that jacket buttoned up, then. TREWLOVE: Sir.

It's such a little exchange, but it delights me in so many ways. There's the sweetness of the interaction between Thursday and Trewlove. There's the irony in hindsight of his "thoughtfulness" in helpfully encouraging her to smoke. There's the nod to Terry Pratchett's Discworld with the references to both "Sergeant Vimes" and "Cable Street." And finally there's the nod with “No Pasarán!”  to the actual Battle of Cable Street that occurred in the East End of London in 1936.

A nostalgic reference to “No Pasarán!” is actually a bit ironic coming from a former Met officer. As the unfortunate party charged with keeping the two opposing sides "peaceful," the Met faced some of the worst violence on that day. However, Fred Thursday would not have experienced it as a police officer.

We know from the episode Home that he didn't join the police until two years later, in 1938. We find out in Cartouche though, that he did grow up near Shadwell Basin—about a ten minute walk from where the main showdown in the Battle of Cable Street occurred—so there's a good chance that Thursday would have witnessed the events of that day and maybe even participated.

Here's my understanding of what happened: The British Union of Fascists—a group openly aspiring to create a British  state in the style of Hitler's Germany or Mussolini's Italy—attempted to stage a march through the middle of London's East End. Their leader was Oswald Mosley, a horrible but charismatic minor aristocrat with a Hitler-wannabe-mustache, his own cadre of paramilitary "Blackshirts," and—unbeknownst to him—a major problem in his ranks with deep infiltration by Special Branch. 

Why the East End? It was the poorest area of the city and thus home to the most recent immigrants—in particular, the UK's largest Jewish population—many of whom had escaped rising persecution elsewhere in Europe. At the same time, the East End was also home to the Londoners hit hardest by the rising unemployment of the 1930s.

Mosley's rhetoric had finally become openly and unapologetically anti-Semitic in 1935 and the idea that Jewish immigrants were the ones responsible for stealing jobs from the "native" British was a simplistic explanation offered by the BUF that unfortunately resonated with many East Enders. So ultimately, the East End was home to both the main target and the BUF and some of its biggest supporters.

In October of 1936, Mosley planned for his Blackshirts and their supporters to march through the heart of the East End. Determined to both defend themselves from threats of violence and stop the march from passing through their community, Jewish leaders and others mobilized, successfully recruiting thousands of their East End neighbors and others allies to assist.

© Jewish East End Celebration Society

On the day of the march, despite a massive police escort, the BUF was turned back repeatedly. The slogan of the day, borrowed from the Republican fighters in the Spanish Civil War was, "They shall not pass" or "No Pasarán!” 

Eventually, things came to a head at the junction of Cable Street and Christian Street. Multiple barricades were erected and the BUF marchers were pelted with rotted vegetables and the contents of chamber pots. It became a pitched battle at one point. Unable to break through the East End, Mosley was finally forced to relocate his followers to Hyde Park.

© Copyright Jim Osley Detail from a mural painted on the side of the former St George's vestry hall

S5E4: Colours

The Battle of Cable Street was a humiliation for the fascists and for Mosley, a victory for the Jewish community and their allies. Sadly, the happiness was very short-lived. Mosley was able to frame Cable Street in the press as an attack by the left on his right to free speech.

There was an immediate increase in support for the BUF in the greater London area, particularly in the East End, and an increase of violence against Jewish people in the UK.  Oswald Mosley himself travelled  to Germany only two days after Cable Street. There he married socialite Diana Mitford in a secret ceremony at the home of Joseph Goebbels with Hitler attending as the guest of honor. 

Mosley and Mitford CC-BY-2.0

However, the increase in support that occurred right after Cable Street was brief in itself. As the threat of Nazi Germany became more apparent in the UK, the popularity of the BUF declined. Once the war began, the Mosleys were interned under a provision that applied to active Nazi sympathizers.

Post-war, Mosley attempted to once more find a place in politics but fortunately never moved beyond the fringe. He and his wife became prime movers in advancing various Holocaust denial theories and later espoused rather unpleasant opinions on topics such as the forced repatriation of immigrants and mixed-race marriages.

If this all sounds familiar, it's because it all crops up in the storyline of Colours where the character of Charity Mudford, Lady Bayswater is a stand-in for Diana Mitford.  RL's dialogue very much captures the sheer banality of the real Diana Mitford's  evil:

BAYSWATER: I can't change the past. If Winston hadn't been so eager for office, all the unpleasantness might have been avoided. My husband had Hitler's ear. We could have persuaded him. Softened his resolve. He wasn't immune to reason.  THURSDAY: Charming conversationalist, no doubt. BAYSWATER: Actually, he was a very good mimic. Terribly witty. MORSE: Sir, is it time for that telephone call? To the station? I can take it from here. THURSDAY: The unpleasantness, as you call it, cost me six years of my life, and untold millions a great deal more.

S7E2: Raga

But we're not quite done yet. The BUF had a successor. The National Front was founded by a former member of the BUF who then joined forces with John Tyndall, the leader of the Greater Britain movement which had a big anti-immigration focus.

As with Jewish immigration a generation earlier, heavy South Asian migration to Britain in the 1970s made it an easy target for those seeking to pin all of the nation's economic and social problems on "outsiders."

The National Front eventually came out with an agenda that called for the revocation of citizenship for all non-whites in Britain and forcible repatriation to their "native" countries. NF rallies were frequently accompanied by violence whipped up by the kind of rhetoric we hear in Raga where the character of Gorman serves as a stand-in for Tyndall and his ilk:

THURSDAY: Well, we're very concerned about young Pakistani lads getting knifed on the street. GORMAN: Terrible. But I can't say that I'm surprised. You cram all of these incompatible cultures together on one small island, of course it's gonna lead to blood. And worse. MORSE: Sounds like a threat, Mr. Gorman. GORMAN: It's just an observation. If the police can't keep the streets safe and defend the indigenous population against outsiders, well, no wonder people take it into their own hands. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a seat to win.

If anyone sees anything that I've gotten wrong here, please let me know. This was my first time reading through any source material on this whole topic and it's complicated (and depressing as hell).

I haven't got any pithy, final point to make except to say that there are certain ideas that seem to cycle back with horrible regularity every time certain conditions are in place. They're wrong. They're simplistic. They're hateful. And they need to be stopped every time.

[toomuchracket]

you're the only thing that's going on in my mind (d word matty x reader smut)

cocky mean d word matty post-show on glasgow night 1 because i left that gig Fucked Up (see below pic that i took). canon, so girly is pregnant at this point. he goes a bit simpy at the end, but... fork found in kitchen. VERY slutty. enjoy! <3

“what the fuck are you two doing here?” matty's voice - loud, so as to be heard over the people outro - and face are aghast as he exits b stage to find you and mrs mac, the two of you standing in front of the security line at the back. “couldn't believe my eyes when i saw you lurking from up there.”

“well, we do work here,” comes the reply from beside you. 

you laugh, leaning back to stretch slightly before cradling your bump. “and the baby wanted to be up close and personal for the final song. she’s her father's daughter, after all.”

“jesus christ,” matty shakes his head, but the little smile on his face is unmissable. he steps close to you so ross and adam can get out, pressing a quick kiss to the bump before pulling you into his bare chest. “wasn't just the baba that wanted to see me there, though, was it?”

“hmm?” you look up at your boyfriend, a smirk on his pretty face.

“don't act clueless, sweetheart,” matty slings an arm around your shoulders as you both start walking back to the main stage, leaning to speak in your ear. “saw the way you were looking at me the whole time. and the way you crossed your legs when i opened my shirt - that was for you, by the way. wanted to see how you'd react.”

you can feel your cheeks burning. “was it… a good reaction?”

matty laughs, not unkindly, and kisses your cheek. “oh, baby, you're such a fucking sub,” he coos in your ear. “of course it was a good reaction; the sexiest woman in the world’s all turned on and needy for me. s'hot as fuck.”

“you're hot as fuck.”

“too fucking right,” your boyfriend holds out his free hand and brushes it against some of the waiting palms of the crowd, still leaning in to talk to you. “look at them, how excited they are, how happy. look what i fucking did to them, did for them. me.”

“no one else,” you all but breathe, shuffling even closer to him. “just you.”

matty hums, leading you through behind the stage and pulling you into a darkened alcove. his lips are on yours almost immediately, tongue slipping into your mouth and making you whine. “you're fucking desperate for me, aren't you, princess?”

fuck.

“yeah,” you whimper against him. “want you to fuck me.”

matty groans into your mouth, pulling back to hold your jaw. he smirks. “nah.”

you blanch. “what?”

“you don't understand? fuck's sake,” matty rolls his eyes. “no. i don't want to fuck you right now.”

“but…” you feel your lip trembling.

“good girls don’t say but, do they?”

you blink, looking sheepishly at the ground. “no, daddy. m'sorry.”

“that's better,” matty strokes your cheek. “now, instead of us running off because you're needy, i want us to go and celebrate with everyone, because i think i deserve to be celebrated - you agree, don’t you?”

you nod.

“good girl,” matty smiles, a smile that widens when you perk up at the praise. “if you're good enough at the afterparty, then i'll fuck you. understand?”

you nod again.

“words, princess.”

“yes, daddy. i understand.”

matty kisses you again. “let's go, then, gorgeous.”

and thus begins the most tedious ninety minutes of your life.

it wouldn't actually be a bad night if you weren't so worked up, you think - everyone's in good spirits, pleased with how well the show went, and the room is soundtracked by a cacophony of laughs and excited tones. you try your best to get involved in the conversations with your friends, all of them interjecting with their favourite moments of the show, but your focus is so elsewhere that you end up just sitting back and nursing your soda and lime.

elsewhere being your boyfriend, working his way around the conversations in the room and soaking up the compliments like a cat in a patch of sunlight. he's too busy preening to have made a dent in his pint, but he's as animated as he is when he's tipsy; there's a permanent smirk etched on his face as he incessantly talks, and the combination of that and his almost-unbuttoned shirt has you clenching. you don't want to look away from him at all, but god knows what else might happen if he catches you staring at him so openly, so lustfully, teeth biting your straw to beyond the point of use just to stay sane. best to keep your head down every time he turns his in your direction.

it shoots straight up when he speaks from right beside you, though, squatting to take your hand and talk to you. “fancy some air, darling?”

finally.

“yes please,” you reply, biting your tongue to stop yourself grinning too widely.

matty knows how excited you are, though. as soon as you get into the empty hallway, he pulls you in for a sweet hug, but the relief you feel from him touching you is somewhat overshadowed by the way he laughs in your ear.

“what is it?” you lean back just enough to look at him, your brow furrowed.

“you're just so fucking needy,” matty shakes his head, still giggling. “you thought i was getting you alone so we could get each other off, didn't you?”

“i- no.”

“well, good. because that's not what's happening.”

you feel your shoulders slump slightly. “okay.”

“i'll tell you why, but i need to ask you something serious first,” one of his hands caresses the bump. “you're not tired, are you? or sore at all?”

“no, i'm alright.”

matty tuts. “so why are you sitting in there moping, princess?”

your jaw drops. “i am not fucking moping.”

“less of the backchat,” your boyfriend says sternly. “and yes, you are, sitting there looking at the floor and not talking to anybody. told you to be good, remember?”

“i am being good!”

“what did i just say, princess?” matty holds your jaw; not painfully, but firmly enough that you can't look away from him. he looks fuming. “keep answering back like that, and you won't cum for a week. you're already on thin fucking ice as it is, after the way you acted in there. sitting silently just waiting for me to stop celebrating my night so i can fuck you - what a brat you are. a needy little brat.”

you'd be lying if you said his words didn't send a burst of heat straight between your legs. but still, you're curious as to where matty's newfound dominance has come from. “why are you being so mean to me tonight?”

he smirks. “because, darling, you asked me to. remember?”

oh, fuck. a memory crosses your mind, hazy with post-sex fog, matty's jaw dropping when you shyly say you wouldn't mind him being meaner in bed with you, whenever he felt up to it. “ah…”

“you do remember!,” matty looks satisfied. “that's good, because i'm feeling very selfish tonight. in the mood to be… worshipped, i'd say. have someone else do all the work. how's that sound, princess?”

“so good,” you whine. and it does - you'd do anything to touch him right now. “i'll do it now, daddy, if s’what you want.”

“bet you fucking would, gorgeous,” matty's hands trail down your body, across the bump, and back up over your tits. “so desperate for daddy to fill you up again, even though i've already done it. never enough for you, is it?”

you shake your head. “never. need you all the time.”

“greedy girl,” matty grins. “but it's actually hot that you need me so much. just wish you were better behaved about it.”

you nod. “i will be, daddy, promise.”

“prove it,” his thumb pulls your lower lip down. “take what i give you, and you'll get what you want if you keep being good while i finish my pint, yeah?”

“yes, daddy.”

“there's my girl,” matty smiles, and you glow. “now - open.”

you oblige, dropping your jaw so your boyfriend can spit into your open mouth; he opens his to tell you to swallow, but you've already done it before he takes a breath to speak. he groans, rubbing his thumb over your lips and smiling when you suck the tip. “that's more like it. good.”

“thank you, daddy.”

“you're welcome, princess,” matty presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling you into a hug and murmuring in your ear. “colours still apply tonight, sweetheart, as always - you want to stop at any point, just say the word. you're alright now, though, aren't you?”

“yeah. all green here,” you whisper into matty's ear in return. “i love you.”

“i love you, too,” a kiss to your cheek, and matty leans back. the smirk has reappeared on his pretty face. “m'excited to fucking ruin you later.”

“please.”

your boyfriend kisses you again, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it to release. “half an hour. best behaviour, you hear me?”

you nod enthusiastically. “i hear you, daddy.”

“alright. let's go back in, then.”

matty takes your hand and leads you back into the room of your friends, helping you to get comfy on one of the sofas before slotting in beside you. he's as self-assured as he was earlier, but your attraction to that is more manageable now that he's actually touching you - a hand on your thigh, lazily drawing patterns into your trouser leg - and you know you only have to endure another thirty minutes until he takes you back to the hotel.

as it turns out, that time flies by, so much so that you're almost surprised by matty leaning in to tell you it's time to go. you nod, and he kisses your head before standing and helping you up.

“is that the two of you on your way?” mrs mac jumps up to hug you, patting the bump affectionately. “take it easy tonight, love. s'been a long day.”

“yeah, i will,” you smile. liar.

“take care of her, healy.”

“oh, i will,” matty smiles. not a lie. “night, everyone.”

after the chorus of well done agains and goodbyes dies down, matty leads you to the waiting car. the journey back is quick, and quiet, the only sounds the humming of the engine and the noises from the late-night glasgow revellers you pass. in fact, aside from thanking the driver, matty's silent the whole time until you get into the room; only once the door closes behind you does he speak, leaning down to whisper in your ear as he takes your coat from you. “colour?”

“green.”

“good. in that case - clothes off, on the bed, legs open. now. and don't even think about touching yourself.”

you're actually thankful of the order, because you're so wet that your underwear is starting to become uncomfortable. with a “yes, daddy” and a sloppy kiss, you practically sprint to the bedroom of the suite, kicking off your trainers as soon as you open the door and pulling down your jumpsuit so quickly you wouldn't be surprised if you ripped it. you chuck it onto the chair in the corner of the room, and your lingerie follows suit before you climb onto the bed as instructed, waiting as patiently as possible for matty.

he wanders in a couple of minutes later, can of coke in hand, and leans against the doorframe. the shirt he was wearing has disappeared, and you can't quite decide if you'd rather look at his chest or his smirking face. “can see how fucking wet you are from here, princess. jesus,” matty says, wandering over to you and looking hungrily at your soaked cunt. without warning, he brings his hand down harshly onto it; you yelp, and feel another gush to your core. matty giggles and repeats the motion, and the same thing happens. “you little slut, liking when i slap your pussy. dirty, dirty girl.”

slightly sickeningly, you don't think you've ever been so turned on in your life. all you can do is whimper as your boyfriend continues to slap your cunt, the noises turning to cries whenever he makes contact with your clit, and then to little mewls as he drags his fingers up and down your slit with a “so messy, princess, i think we need to clean you up.”

sighing with relief, you spread your legs even wider so that matty can comfortably get his head between them - you're surprised (and disappointed), then, when he holds a hand out and says “get up, and follow me”. but you oblige, of course, like the good girl you know you are despite what matty says and thinks. when he nudges you into the shower and takes the rest of his clothes off, you perk up slightly, and even more so when he removes the showerhead from the wall and kneels. “spread your pussy for me.”

fuck.

you oblige, but you must look terrified, because matty's eyes fill with concern. he strokes your thigh comfortingly. “colour, sweetheart?”

taking a deep breath, you reply in a shaky voice. “green.”

he doesn't seem convinced. “you're sure?”

“yeah. honest.”

“well, alright,” he presses a kiss to your thigh. “hold onto me if you need, yeah?”

“okay, daddy. thank you.”

“of course,” matty sits back on his knees. his face changes again. “now… let me clean my dirty girl up.”

aiming the showerhead at the floor, he reaches up to turn the water on, testing it with his free hand and adjusting the temperature dial accordingly. suddenly, with no warning, warm streams of water hit your clit; your jaw drops, and it takes everything in you to stop your legs doing the same. “oh my god.”

“tell me how it feels.”

“it's - shit - so fucking good, daddy,” you pant, eyes rolling back with pleasure, jaw shaking slightly. matty turns the water pressure up a notch, and you gasp. “fuck!”

matty hums. “d'you wanna cum?”

“yeah.”

“well, too bad,” all of a sudden, the water stops. you wail at the loss of stimulation on your clit, and matty scoffs. “what are you being like that for? thought you wanted me to fill you up again. you're telling me you don't want to cum on my dick?”

your legs nearly give out. “no, i do,” you whimper. “please, daddy, need you inside me.”

“hmm,” matty tilts his head, squinting at you. he sighs. “alright. you're doing all the work, mind you,” he stands and takes your hand again, before leading you to stand in front of the sink. “come on, princess. hands on the counter - wanna look at myself while you get me off.”

it's infuriating how hot you find your boyfriend’s arrogance - or, it would be, if you could think about anything other than the feeling of him brushing up against your waiting cunt. the desire spilling out of you isn’t helped in the slightest by the way matty’s eyes are locked onto his own reflection, as he moves and flexes and runs his hands through his hair and across his face.

god, he's fucking gorgeous.

and he knows it. “fucking look at me,” matty says - to nobody in particular, given that you're both already staring at his reflection. “no fucking wonder the crowd reacted the way they did tonight,” he laughs, tilting his head and opening his mouth slightly. “could've had any one of them, i reckon. bet everyone wished they could have me, just like this.”

envy draws your cheeks in. the thought of matty fucking someone else in your place sends a bolt of rage into your stomach, firing up your throat and shooting from your lips as a snarl. good girl be damned. “well, they fucking can't.”

matty meets your eyes in the mirror and smirks. “no?”

“no,” you grip the counter so hard your knuckles go white. “you're mine. besides, none of them could fucking take you like i do.”

he laughs. “oh, you're being a bitch. i like it.”

“just being honest, daddy.”

“well, show me how you take it, then,” with one hand, matty lines himself up with your hole; the other weaves itself into your hair, forcing you to keep looking in the mirror. “give me all you've got, you fucking bitch.”

you smile, saccharine. “yes, daddy,” slowly straightening your arms, you moan in harmony with your boyfriend as he fills you up. “fuck.” 

once you've taken a second to get used to the feeling of matty inside you, you bend your arms and pull yourself almost completely off him, before slamming back with no warning and watching in satisfaction as matty's jaw drops. “shit, princess,” he groans, steadying himself against the wall with his free hand as you repeat the movement, over and over. “yeah, you're fucking right - only you, my girl, only you can take me so fucking well. perfect fucking pussy, perfect fucking girl.”

you beam at the praise - matty notices, and laughs. “you like it when i tell you how good you are at taking my dick? little slut. but it's true. fucking built for this, weren't you? for me to fuck you and fill you up? you must be, to be so fucking greedy - already knocked you up and you still want my cum. fucking desperate,” he pulls you by the hair so your back is against his chest, bringing his other hand to your hip to use as leverage to fuck you even faster than you were already moving. “but i fucking love it. i fucking love you.”

“love you so much,” you whine, throwing an arm back and hooking it around matty's neck. “fuck, look at you. so fucking hot.”

“and all yours,” matty whispers in your ear, making you smile. his lips drop to your neck as he speeds up his thrusts, but his eyes never leave your reflection. he groans. “look at you, princess, my beautiful girl. all full of me. and those fucking tits - love them always, but i'm gonna fuckin miss the way they look right now when you're not pregnant anymore.”

“easy fix,” you giggle. “you'll just have to knock me up again.”

even if matty's hips didn't speed up impossibly more at your words, the noise he makes in response is almost enough to get you off. “i'll fucking do it, princess, if that's what you want. i'd do anything for you.”

“make me cum?”

“if you say the magic word.”

“please, daddy?”

he smiles, pressing a kiss to the side of your head and his fingers onto your clit; you moan as soon as they make contact, which only spurs matty on. “do it, then, princess. cum all over my fucking cock.”

your body reacts immediately to his command - all your muscles tighten and release, pleasure flowing through your nervous system and forcing a scream from your throat. matty groans as you grab hold of the counter again, the new angle letting him grab your hips and fuck recklessly into you, the syncopated rhythm a sure sign of his own imminent orgasm. “oh, fuck,” he whines, pulsing heat deep into your cunt and continuing to thrust into you. “fucking take it, princess, take it like the good little cumslut you are,” he stills inside you, still shaking from the aftershocks, resting his head on your shoulder. 

after a minute of mutual heavy breathing, matty looks up, meeting your eyes and beaming at you in the mirror. “i'm fucking knackered. worth it, though.”

“mmm,” you lean on your elbow. “thank you for indulging me, baby.”

“of course,” matty kisses your shoulder. “and you're unbelievably sexy when you're possessive, by the way. i'm getting turned on just thinking about it.”

you put your head in your hands. “oh my god, no, i cannot go for another round right now. i love you, but i need to go to sleep.”

“no, i agree, don’t worry,” your boyfriend laughs. “can you reach the tap, sweetheart?”

“yeah.”

“run that blue washcloth under the water and chuck us it, then, please?” matty inches out of you carefully, taking the flannel from you with a kiss and kneeling behind you with a moan. “christ, i'll never get over this sight.”

you huff out a laugh, hissing when matty gently wipes the flannel over your core with an “i know, baby, i'm sorry”; you perk up a bit when he stands and helps you straighten up, cradling the bump from behind you. “i love you, darling,” he kisses you. “both my darlings, actually. you feeling alright?”

“just sleepy. s'been a long day,” you snuggle into him. “proud of you. grateful for you. love you.”

“back at you, sweetheart.”

[jades-typurriter]

Mascot Mall Haunt

This one is a commission from over a year ago, in which the client's clothing-bound hive mind spooks and seduces the reader into trying them on for a spell. You know my writing: they get horny as fuck about it. Enjoy <3

CW: Plushophilia

Well, you think to yourself, here we are.

You stood in front of an abandoned mall, a few minutes outside your town, just off a quiet highway. You hadn’t gotten out for quite a while, and you decided that you wanted to literally stretch your legs, and metaphorically spread your wings—do something a little more daring, to help you break out of the calm, if a little boring, routine you'd been in for the last few months. You needed some excitement, and urban exploration (a little bit of trespassing, and a little bit of chasing rumors of a ghost in the building), seemed like just the thing to spice up your weekend!

You ducked through a gap in the boarded windows, through a web of bright-yellow CAUTION tape. Forget caution! Caution was for throwing to the wind! You felt quite brave as you strode through the main thoroughfare of the dim building, lit mostly by sun that slipped in through the windows at the outer walls, and skylights the deeper you went in. It had been closed for a few years, but it wasn’t anywhere near as dilapidated as you’d expected. Too many post-apocalyptic movies had shaped your idea of abandoned buildings to be overgrown, perhaps with small animals having weaseled their way into the structure; instead, it was mostly just dusty.

There hadn't been anything you’d describe as “paranormal”, either, and you’d already been through about half of the rooms and storefronts in the mall. Some of them you couldn’t access—they were shuttered with that chain link curtain that some places used for security after closing, and you didn’t bring bolt cutters or anything of the sort to force your way in. You swept your flashlight around those places and, finding nothing interesting, moved right along. Other stores still had some merchandise left in them, apparently not worth the cost of hiring movers to take their stock elsewhere. You pocketed a few things, putting them in your bag and making a note to wash them at home before you used them, but honestly, the leftover goods were one of the creepiest things you had seen so far. Something about a building that was clearly meant to be filled with people, with space everywhere for decoration and signage, instead filled with half-blank walls and undisturbed goods, like everyone had left in the middle of filling the place up and simply never come back.

If you were being honest, it started to make your skin crawl, as you got further and further from the gaps to the outside. The darker the building became, the more and more wrong it felt to be walking around inside it; you really did feel like you were sneaking around after-hours, and you couldn’t shake the sensation that you were being watched. Eventually, you came across a costume shop in one of the far corners of the mall. You'd read about it online, and you’d always wanted to visit, but… indulging in your fascination with plushies and mascot suits was just too embarrassing to do in public, so you’d never gone while the mall was in business. You shine your flashlight ahead of you and, despite the heebie-jeebies, you press on to see what it was that you had idly, hushedly daydreamed about for so long.

You passed between racks and racks of fuzzy, soft-looking, suits, almost each and every one of which you wanted to stop and hug. You didn’t, of course; you assumed that most of the costumes here had gotten musty after several years of disuse. That didn’t stop you from getting a closer look at some of them, though! You recognized some of the characters, though you hadn’t yet seen any of your… well, you wanted to say “favorites”, but admitted to yourself that you meant “crushes”. As you leaned over to examine one more closely, you jumped, startled by a noise behind you. You whipped around, swinging your flashlight with you: nothing. You sighed, shaky, and saw something move out of the corner of your eye. Did something just jostle that suit? Was it an animal? Was it—

You hear footsteps. Not just one pair, but many, many pairs, as though the crowds had returned to the mall all at once. You whirled, watching as mannequins and suits from all over the shop crept closer to you.

“Hello?”

“Who’s this?”

“Ooooh, hiii there!”

Tens and tens of voices, all eerily similar, all speaking over each other, closing in tighter and tighter around you:

“What have we here?”

“Someone’s poking around where they shouldn’t be,” came the voice from one mannequin.

“Nmph, whuh cooh hey wanh?” choked a reply from the mouth of the costume draped across it.

“What… what do you all want?” You squeaked, beginning to panic. “Is this real?!” You brandished your flashlight like a makeshift club, hoping that the bright light, or at least the display of force, might scare them away. You honestly weren't sure what the rules were with ghosts, and you were kicking yourself for not doing a little more research before diving right into this stupid place. 

The public announcement system crackled to life, and another voice buzzed through the broken-down speakers in the ceiling of the store.

“Oh, I think we’re scaring them!” the new voice droned, giving the models some pause. One by one, they all began laughing, almost as if this were some sort of faux-pas that they hadn’t considered.

“Well, we are coming on a bit strong, aren’t we?”

“What a cutie! Poor thing.”

Your face burned with embarrassment. Now the ghosts were mocking you. You definitely didn’t research how to handle that. One of the suits stepped forward, padding across the floor with a sound like a pair of slippers. It was surprisingly coordinated for an empty set of clothes, and you noticed that they didn’t sag the way you expected for fabric hanging on a human frame. The sleeves themselves were like tubes of muscle, supporting their own weight, and the same was true for the pant legs and the trunk of the costume. When it had closed the gap between you and the ring of mannequins, it extended a glove.

“I’m Soot,” the suit tittered.

“...Nice to meet you?” you offered, not wanting to offend the veritable undead army you found yourself surrounded by.

“As if it’s a question. That,” it continued, pointing a mannequin, “is also Soot. As well as them over there,” it continued, pointing at yet another suit, and so on, and so forth.

“Wait, so… Are you all the same person?”

“Mmm,” the costume pondered, “not quite.”

“So you’re a bunch of separate ghosts, then?”

“Hmhmhmm,” Soot laughed, wryly. “Ghosts? You really are cute!” You were starting to feel a little insulted. “Here, why don’t we just show you? As a matter of fact, in the interest of being a good host, you can decide what we’ll demonstrate on.”

“Demonstrate? Are you going to possess something?” You breathed a sigh of relief that they didn’t seem set on using you as a test dummy.

“You could say that.” With barely a wave to the other Soots, they all scattered back throughout the store, pulling seemingly-inert costumes from the racks and bringing them before you in a long line. Just like when you were searching on your own, there were plenty of unfamiliar designs, and a few you recognized, but one made your eyes widen when you saw it: blue and white faux fur studded with white felted spikes. A Lucario suit, in pristine condition, and just about your size—maybe just a size larger. You realized that Soot had been preserving all these clothes. Maybe to live inside them? Either way, you couldn’t believe the luck of a find like that in a place like this!

“It seems as though our guest has made a selection,” intoned the Soot holding the Lucario, voice dripping with anticipation. They must’ve been able to tell how excited you were by your face; you felt your cheeks burn at the idea of embarrassing yourself in front of them any further, but… you didn’t object. A Lucario suit, brought to life by some kind of ghost… it was like something out of a fantasy!

You watched as the other Soots cleared the area, leaving just you, the sole Soot, and the Lucario costume illuminated by your flashlight. More hissing emanated from the speakers overhead. As you turned your beam up to look at them, you saw oily, black tendrils emerging from the mesh, oozing like ink and twisting like smoke. They descended on the Lucario, wrapping it in their hazy embrace, poking and prodding at all the holes and seams in the costume, filling it like fog fills a forest. As it was more and more saturated by the mist, it began to twitch before your eyes, once again moving as though under its own power, rather than driven by a mass of smoke from inside. The see-through fabric of the eyeholes stretched as the pupils focused on you; the locs of fur on the head of the suit waved in the air.

“So you… you aren’t ghosts…” The smile sewn into the muzzle separated with a sound like tearing velcro, and the jaws moved as it replied.

“No, we are much more corporeal than that, dear guest. Ghosts do not… spread,” Soot decided, settling on the right word with a thin smile on their face. “Now, why don’t you join us?”

“JOIN you?!” You jumped, afraid that you had spoken too soon about being a test dummy. “Are you gonna… do you… are you gonna infect me, too?” Soot barked a laugh.

“No, no! ‘Us’ as in… the pronouns you humans use are difficult for a being such as ourselves. I apologize. You simply seemed fond of this new body of ours, and it’s been quite a long time since we’ve had a new plaything.” Indignation welled in your chest at the idea of being passed around as a toy between all these suits (though you couldn’t ignore excitement welling up in you the more you considered the idea). Still! It was disrespectful! Ghost or smoke-virus or no, they couldn’t just decide for you like they had with the suit itself.

“I think I’m gonna have to pass,” you say firmly (but politely. You still don’t want to get turned into another one of Soot’s bodies).

“Are you sure?” They asked, their tone teasing. The costume’s paws reached up and slowly, deliberately unzipped the front of the costume, revealing the velvety, plush interior within—as well as a thin layer of seething, shifting, ash-like particles that you could only assume were part of Soot. The head, meanwhile, floated off the suit’s shoulders, followed by the gloves as they detached from the sleeve. It cast a knowing look at you as it turned away, pointing the neck-hole in your direction; the gloves spread the fabric wider, cruelly tantalizing you. “You sure seemed interested a moment ago. You crossed your arms and bit your lip, starting to breathe more heavily. You turned your eyes away. The more you looked, the more you’d imagine the feeling of being wrapped up in that lovely thing… the more you’d want it.

Finally, you huffed. You already wanted it. It was half of why you came here. Just because you were doing it didn’t mean you were doing it because Soot asked you to, right? Hesitantly, you nodded, and set your flashlight down on top of a nearby rack, pointed in the general direction of the two(?) of you so you could still see. You gingerly reached out to brush the handless sleeves aside to make more room for yourself, kicking off your shoes and twisting yourself around to properly step in. The gloves returned to the wrists of the outfit, gently guiding you; one held your hand to keep you balanced as you slid one foot down the leg and into the Lucario’s footpaw, and the other stretched the chest of the suit open wider, or held a sleeve or leg straight, or whatever else was needed to keep the way clear for you.

It was incredible. it was like a hug that wrapped around your whole body, snug and warm; it was like a thick, heavy blanket pressing gently down on you from all sides. You had always been infatuated with Lucario, and to be even closer than wrapped up in one’s arms—inside one, united with one—was giving you butterflies than it had, even in your fantasies. Even if you had to share it with somebody (somebodies?) else. (You were kidding yourself again; sharing this experience with someone else, sharing a body with another person, was half of what drove you so wild about the idea).

You reached out for the head of the costume, and Soot began to slowly (frustratingly so, and you suspected it was on purpose) float down to your outstretched paws. Man, it was awesome to talk about your paws. You flexed them in the suit, closing and opening them and turning them over, just admiring your own motions as they came closer. Once they were within reach, you pulled them quickly down and stuffed your head into their neck cutout, excitedly wriggling your face through. Soot chuckled at how eager you seemed; you kicked yourself for making yourself blush right before smushing your face into them. You just knew they could feel it.

But you didn’t care! You stepped tentatively around in your new threads, watching the way the ankles squished and stretched under your weight, watching the way the tail swayed with your stride. You looked down and relished the sight of a spike growing out of your chest. You—

“Excuse me, dearest guest,” Soot began. “May we lead for a moment?” Your heart skips a beat at the idea of being moved around by a person you’re currently wearing. You didn’t even think to push back when they moved their legs—your legs—in a rhythm you couldn’t hear, raising your arms as though the two of you were being dipped, or spun. As it turns out, it takes two to tango, but that may not be enough to perform the full routine. Even so, you feel as secure in Soot’s embrace as you would in the arms of a dance partner.

“So,” Soot asked you, gliding to a graceful stop in the center of your makeshift spotlight, “are you enjoying yourself?” You hesitated, grateful that they couldn’t see the smile on your face from inside the costume head. They still thought you were their toy, after all; you didn’t want to give them the gratification of being right.

“You’re a better dancer than I am,” you conceded, dodging the question.

“Oh, how modest! In more ways than one,” they quipped. “I mean, come now, who do you think you’re fooling?” You felt the dust inside the suit begin to shift, and suddenly, you were being caressed from head to toe by Soot, locked in an even tighter, even more intimate embrace. “Who ventures miles away from the nearest fellow human being just to visit a run-down old costume shop like this? Who climbs into one? You were hoping something like this would happen, weren’t you, you cute little thing?”

You crossed your arms, hoping to make yourself seem more aloof, uninterested. You hoped it would be enough to save face.

“I-I was just…” you tried, the teasing making it difficult to keep your voice level. “...doing what you asked. Being, being polite! Haven’t you made a big deal about being a good host? I’m just trying to be a thoughtful guest!”

“Eager to follow instructions? You precious little doll, you,” they retorted, their voice an all-encompassing purr that rattled your body and reverberated between your ears. You felt the flow of the roiling, gooey substance that made up their "body" change again—this time, the pressure, the gentle, grazing touch, concentrated itself right between your legs. You flinched, and despite yourself, you whine; Soot just laughed again.

“Did you forget, doll? You’ve nestled your body so tenderly within ours—how could we not notice how excited you were getting down here?” Their constant writhing made you weak in the knees, but you bit down hard on your lip, determined not to give them a confession (though you couldn’t help but give them another high-pitched, pathetic noise).”Which is it, hmm? Do you like it when we push you around? Or are you just into plushies, so much so that it turns you on to wear one?”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” they continued, cooing so close to your ears they might as well have been talking inside your head. “Let’s give you a taste of both at the same time then, shall we?” They lowered your hands; the suit moved slowly, but firmly enough that you couldn’t resist it. All you could do was watch as the Lucario costume’s paws hovered closer and closer to your crotch; they stopped just shy of touching you, barely half an inch away. “We’ll just leave these riiiiight here,” they said, “and you, my lovely toy, will do all the work.”

“T-the work?”

“You’re going to grind on those big, plush paws, of course! Don’t pretend you’re not desperate for us to touch you more. This is the only way you’re going to get it,” they lilted.

The idea simmered in your brain like water in a boiling pot. In a public place like this? Even if there were no people, it was just so… open. You felt exposed. Embarrassed. And that was before even considering all the other Soots who would… surely be… ogling you, the whole time… It just felt so wrong to even consider! And you couldn’t stand the idea of playing into Soot’s paws like that, but… their paws did look soft… and you were nearly ready to explode after everything they were doing, their inky self swirling around the insides of your thighs, playing over your… your…

You caved. You thrust your hips forward, shoving the flat mound of the Lucario suit’s crotch into its paws, which Soot kept firmly in place for you. You huffed and panted under the hood, almost like a dog yourself; Soot rumbled a low chuckle, looking down at your desperate humping with smug superiority at the same time as you watched their paws with sheer need. 

“Theeeeere we go. Now you’re having as much fun as we are, aren’t you? Of course you are,” they giggled. “Just look at you go… We’ll be doing a lot of that, you know. Watching you.” You were leaking like crazy; soon enough you were going to soak straight through the fabric of the suit and stain up Soot’s—your—paws. “The ‘other’ me’s will want a turn with you, too." You imagine it: all those eyes, all those hands. Cute and inviting mascot paws, all so soft on your skin, and even softer from the inside… You imagined being sandwiched between two costumes, fuzzy, and big enough to smother you between them, Soot's possessive touch strong enough to keep you exactly where they want you.

"I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of our forms," they murmur, almost as if they could read your mind. You almost like the sound of that… Surrounded by Soot, inside and out, as much of a puppet as any one of these fuzzy vessels---intertwined with them, layered together, woven together like the fabric enveloping your whole being. You hump, rut, even harder, leaking more and more the closer Soot allows you toward the edge. "Because we certainly like you. In fact, as well-behaved as you’ve been, I think you’ll turn out to be our new favorite toy…” You couldn't hold on anymore, you…

You couldn't wait for it all to start…

Thank you for reading! If you want to see more of my work, you can check it out here and here!

[fushiglow]

Over the Threshold | art masterpost

In the wildest turn of events, people have created so much beautiful fan art for Over the Threshold that I've run out of characters in the end notes to link them all. So I'm creating a masterpost which I'll link at the end of the fic instead.

Please note I have turned off reblogs on this post to encourage you to share the artists' posts directly (and so I can continue to update it over time)! You can find all art for the fic posted to Tumblr (including some extras!) under the #threshold art tag on my blog, along with all of my navigation tags in my main masterpost. However, this post also includes art posted elsewhere, as well as links to my commentary where I feel it's worthwhile.

Everything is linked chapter by chapter under the cut. Unless specified, the links will keep you on site, with options to view the art on other platforms where available. As always, thank you so much to all the incredible people who've created such amazing pieces inspired by my beloved story. It really means the world ♥

Chapter 1: Introduction

I created a piece of "cover art" to accompany the fic which is a visual representation of the recurrent theme that inspired the title. It relates to the opening of the fic and makes a big comeback in chapter 11. I am a writer before I'm an artist, and I don't even want to tell you how many hours I spent on this piece, but it still means a lot to me.

Chapter 2: Exposition

Suguru listening to Satoru play for the very first time by the wonderful Shana (also available to view on X or Instagram)! This is such an important scene which holds so much weight for me and for the fic, and I'm delighted to be able to share in how Shana imagined this moment. I'm obsessed with Suguru's gorgoeus hair and his soft expression as he looks at Satoru.

Chapter 3: Dissonance

i) The closing moments of this chapter by sweet sweet bean (also available to view on Bluesky). It's the most precious gift to see the performance of Blue brought to life. I get to step outside of the story as though I didn't write it, and it's simply magical to feel like I'm experiencing it for the first time.

ii) An absolutely stunning depiction of Satoru on stage by the incredible kou, complete with an "I love you, Satoru" poster in the crowd. Kou works with traditional media only and the skill on show absolutely astounds me, never mind the knack kou displays for capturing so much personality in a piece. This really brought the K-pop idol, Satoru, to life in my head and I'll treasure it forever!

Chapter 4: Consonance

i) An absolutely stunning imagining of Satoru discovering Suguru's Blue Spring by the wonderful Arina! I really want to talk about how this piece has influenced me and this story, but I need to be patient for a little while longer. Just know that I love it with all my heart.

ii) A gorgeous 'what if?' scenario by the one and only Kim, inspired by the sofa scene! The kiss in chapter 8 is one of the very first scenes I wrote for this story, and I lost my mind when Kim drew an almost exact match for it here. I couldn't tell her how much I was losing my mind about it until I published the chapter over a month later!

iii) A beautiful interpretation of musician Suguru by the incredible falleen! I adore the choices they made with his piercings and tattoos, and Suguru is simply gorgeous in their style. He's the perfect balance of soft and sharp and all the more stunning for it.

iv) Sweaty Satoru with Suguru post-concert by lovely mel! Satoru having absolutely no sense of personal space and simp Suguru letting himself be used as a towel, you will always be famous. They're so cute!

Chapter 5: Leitmotif

i) Satoru confessing to Suguru, captured in an amazing comic by the brilliant Lulu (also available to view on X)! It's so incredibly cinematic to the point that I felt like I was experiencing the scene for the first time as a reader — mindblowing stuff! Lulu really encapsulated the feeling of the world stopping and shrinking for Suguru in this moment and I'm obsessed. Bonus points for a panel of best boy, Fushiguro Megumi!

ii) A gorgeous depiction of Satoru's confession (on X) by the wonderful Anqi! The attention to detail is mindblowing — the infinity earring, the sparkly outfit, the cocksure grin, and my dear blushy Suguru! The collarbones and the dimple and the mullet also happened to change my life. Such beautiful work on every front!

Chapter 6: Prosody

i) Satoru teasing Suguru with his cheeky wordplay (on Instagram) from chapter six by the amazing ghost (also available to view on X)! There is so much to love — the contrast in their expressions, the sparkle to Suguru's eyes, his piercings and tattoos, Satoru's big fluffy hoodie, and the warm soft lighting giving Suguru's home studio this safe, intimate atmosphere.

ii) Our silly boys moments before disaster by the incredible Arina! I'm endlessly grateful that some of my favourite moments in the fic have been forever captured by Arina!

Chapter 7: Metronome

i) The most life-changing depiction of the gate scene (also available to view on Instagram and X) by incredible kymsys! I'm so lucky Kim enjoys drawing my version of them, because this belongs in a gallery if you ask me.

ii) A beautiful interpretation of my most loved line from this chapter by wonderful Arina! Thank you for all the beautiful art, I'm truly blessed!

iii) Inspired by the fic, this beautiful imagining of SatoSugu recording together by Kou sits perfectly with this chapter and Suguru's musings on making music with Satoru. The way Satoru is looking at him, so lost in the music, just kills me.

iv) Satoru looking gorgeous in his bad boy gear, complete with my poor sweet baby Suguru lost in his imagination, both by the incredible bear! They are beautiful in bear's style, I can't stop looking at Suguwu's gorgeous laughter! Read more about what this means to me in my reblog, but this was actually the first fanart posted publicly for this fic before bear left X (good for them!) and it is so special to me because of it. I'm incredibly happy it's back!

v) Satoru in hair and makeup before his shoot (on X) by the incredibly talented bcwrong! When I saw Beca's art, I lost my mind exactly like Suguru did, I swear. Peep the heart on Satoru's Instagram post — I just know it's Suguru staring at his phone and clenching his fist!

Chapter 8: Counterpoint

i) Lovely Lulu brought the last moments of this chapter into reality in the most gorgeous artwork (also available to view on X) and my heart burst out of my chest. Lulu's ability to paint a story and capture emotions is unmatched, I love this piece with everything I am.

ii) Suguru writing Limitless on the engawa (on X) by the lovely AL. This is such a special scene to me and it means the world to see it depicted so beautifully here. I'm very grateful to AL for giving me permission to share it with readers!

Chapter 9: Call and Response

i) In the most dangerous art for the fic yet, sweet bear drew both thirst traps (also available to view on Instagram) from this chapter. They asked everyone to vote for a winner, determined to divide the SatoSugu fandom once and for all. In the end, one (canonically correct) man came out on top, but did you guys have to go so hard on the other guy? Regardless of my dismay, please please take a look, they are both absolutely stunning!

ii) The amazing Sel drew beautiful idol Satoru inspired by Taemin, along with Suguru making heart eyes at the photoshoots while he's waiting for him to come home. Taemin has been a huge source of inspiration for Satoru in this fic, and I've even envisioned Suguru exactly like this many times while writing. It's so fun to imagine producer Sugu dealing with the trials and tribulations of having a pretty idol boyfriend — but also all the fun parts that come with it!

Chapter 10: Ad Libitum

i) After all the chatter about TAEMIN's influence on Satoru in this fic, Lulu drew an unbelievably delicious idol Satoru (also available to view on X) in TAEMIN's 2019 Dream Concert look! I'm in love with him and I'm in love with Lulu.

ii) Lils put together a stunning depiction of the first scene (as well as idol Satoru as the face of Dior Lip Glow Oil. That's my interpretation, but I decided it's canon in this universe, teehee!) which is so meaningful to me in so many ways! The fact that Lils chose to depict their domesticity specifically, as well as the musical stave weaving between their bodies as they lean in? It's such beautiful visual storytelling, I love this piece so much.

iii) The incredible Kim also drew some beautiful studies of Suguru's tattoos from the opening of this chapter. She was originally working on these for our collab on Dolce (an accompanying spicy oneshot that sits after chapter 11), but I absolutely love the domesticity she's captured here. That feels so important to Suguru's character! Also, are we all seeing that treble clef snaking down Suguru's waist in the top second to left image? The way the tendrils almost start to bleed into a stave? Genius.

iv) Giulia drew a blissfully happy SatoSugu (on X) basking in their much deserved success. I just love Suguru's adoring expression as he gazes at Satoru — canon Suguru behaviour! Lots of beautiful little details to notice in this, but make sure to peep the name of the record on the wall!

Chapter 11: Caesura

i) The incredible lils has blessed this fic with her talent yet again, this time with the most breathtaking visual interpretation of this chapter. I wrote about six paragraphs gushing about this piece in my reblog, because I couldn't believe how accurately (and beautifully) it depicted the abstract ideas at play here — as well as my musical composition choices for Blue, which is both amazing and a little uncanny considering no one know what the songs sounds like except for me! Please, please take a look at this incredible piece, it really adds a new dimension to this chapter.

ii) Lovely Giulia captured the devastating final scene from this chapter in the most stunning piece (on Bluesky, also available to view on X). It perfectly encapsulates the new sadness to blue for Suguru in this moment; the blue tone of the backlighting washing over their bodies gives it such melancholy, moody feel. Giulia paid such close attention to the writing and that really shines through in her work, but it also just means a lot to me. I feel incredibly grateful to have such intelligent, thoughtful readers and even more grateful that they feel inspired enough to depict my work in their own medium.

iii) Vinh created a beautiful 'behind the scenes' piece for Sugar (on Bluesky) for the fic's first birthday, and it was such a sweet surprise! I'm obsessed with Satoru's cheeky grin, his tiny waist, his incredible outfit, as well as the contrast with the more muted tone of Suguru's image. From the colour choices to the clothing to the expressions, they're the definition of duality and I think that's lovely as hell.

Chapter 12: Solo (Interlude)

Sel drew another gorgeous idol Satoru inspired by Seonghwa, as well as a stunning piece inspired by the Bite Me choreography (both on Bluesky) referenced in this chapter! Sel posts these artworks as though they're images being shared by the Satoru fansite, "HoneySweetie" and I think that's the neatest damn thing…

Chapter 13: Ostinato

Yet more devastating art by kou, this time of my babies in the final scene of this chapter. The anguish in Suguru's expression and the concern literally shining in Satoru's eyes is just gut-wrenching. Combined with the one-two punch of the plaster on his elbow and the SPIDER LILIES on the wall behind him… Oh… Yeah, it's not fun when you guys do it.

Miscellaneous

i) The most gorgeous Satoru photocards, complete with the teddy bear knees from chapter 8, by my lovely bear once again. The colours are so vibrant, I need these printed out for real! They were also used in...

ii) Suguru taking a cheeky selfie with his Satoru photocards by Lulu in an impromptu collab with bear, I guess! Thank god for Lulu, thank god for bear, and thank god for this trend, I guess?

iii) A bunch of cute Satorus by bear yet again, including the lil chibi I use for Ask Satoru and GGUM Gojo! Yeonjun is Satoru is Yeonjun, we don't make the rules.

iv) Gorgeous Satoru inspired by Jackson Wang by lovely lils! The reference for this artwork was one of the first images I added to my Pinterest board for the fic, so this felt like fate to me! Huge Satoru inspiration in Jackson Wang!

v) More Satorus (and a Suguru) where lils is helping to push the glo puppyjo agenda. Someone (Suguru) pet that cutie!

vi) An idol AU spin off inspired by the fic which also inspired a spin off fic of my own... Lils knows all about K-pop AU 2, she knows that it's her fault when I deliver the most devastating idol AU ending to ever. (Kidding but. Not really.)

vii) A gorgeous video featuring moments from some stellar fics (also available to view on Instagram), including yours truly, by the amazing Lulu yet again! Suguru's being the only face Satoru sees in the crowd, their matching blushes, ahhhhh. This means so much to me. Lulu means so much to me.

Headroom

The amazing bear drew a WHOLE SPREAD of moments from this naughty fic, and you can view two of them on Bluesky and Tumblr respectively! I love bear so much (was that clear already?) and I'm very grateful for the WIPs while I was writing, because they definitely gave me the motivation to get this over the finish line!

Dolce

i) To accompany this very special (and E-rated!) additional scene set after chapter 11, the incredible Kim created this gorgeous piece of Satoru showing Suguru how beautiful he is (also available to view on Instagram and X)!

ii) Sel also drew Satoru looking absolutely drop dead gorgeous on stage (on Bluesky) from the start of the fic, and I'm simply obsessed. The fingers around the mic stand… the sheen on his neck… the sleek black suit… his delicious undercut… ugh, please take a look, I'm in love with him!

A Cappella

Yet more tasty bear art of poor Suguru having his sad wank (on Bluesky) which bear posted to manipulate me into finishing this oneshot when I was shy about posting it. Worth it for this alone, I think!

Phantom Power

This little update to From the Cutting Room Floor was a collab with bean, who produced the most beautiful artwork (also available to view on Bluesky) to accompany the fic. This is a collaboration in the truest sense of the word — the writing inspired the art inspired the writing ad infinitum — and I am in love with what bean created for this very special piece.

Fin ♥

At least for now!

[automatuck9]

Gideon the Ninth

@thoughtfulfangirling Sorry this is late and rambling if you have any specific questions feel free to ask

3/5 stars

Summary:

Overall a very fun read with an interesting world and magic system, dragged down somewhat by a lack of focus and the strange writing of the relationship between the main characters. I would be open to continuing since the 1st book in a series is often the roughest anyway.

Positives:

The magic system- I loved all the variety to the necromancy, and it explained just enough without getting too bogged down in details and the reveal of how people become Lyctors was so, so good, still thinking about it. I love possession stuff and the weird unending half life is perfectly nightmarish.

Harrow- She's such a horrible self hating weirdo who creates most of her own problems, love her and love how the ending can only add to her insane levels of self hatred going forward in a way that didn't seem possible

Vibes/Mystery- It's not a mystery proper and isn't trying to be, but the middle chunk had a lot of the good vibes of a closed circle mystery and that's my jam, so I was all over that. And the reveal made sense and was set up, I'm kicking myself for not catching the past tense of Dulcinea's "I didn't want to die" though I did guess that Protesilaus was the one of the ones in the furnace.

Camilla and Palamedes- I really enjoyed their dynamic and the moment where Gideon lies and says his last words were telling Cam he loved her and she just immediately goes "what no he didn't" made me laugh so much. Absolutely perfect

Good sword fights

Negatives:

I wish there had been a bit more worldbuilding for the Houses. I get the idea of the Ninth, but the whole thing is they're dying anyway, but I just can't quite envision how normal people are living elsewhere in this world, I felt it lessened some of the bite of the politicking between characters when I don't really get their general hierarchies or what the Empire generally wants or what anyone does with their time when they aren't in mystery trials or on a dead cult planet. I don't need a full on Tolkien appendix, but maybe just a couple exposition bits from Abigail, confirmed history nerd, before she gets murdered.

Gideon's relationship with Harrow and the Ninth House and her final sacrifice didn't come together for me in terms of her character (I enjoy how much it will presumably continue to fuck with Harrow though). She starts out quite openly hating Harrow, then with absolutely no extra interaction, she's constantly worried about her and giving her little teasing nicknames. I think the information she gives Palamedes late on how she and Harrow had a weird love/hate toxic thing going back to childhood should have been earlier, because that is just not the feeling I got from the opening chapters. But even with that reveal there doesn't seem to be any proper hate on Canaan House, irritation at best and she immediately no questions is all on board “horribly torture me to pass this test”. And beyond that I wish she had just died at the end to spite the villain or because there was no other way out (which there wasn’t) or something because the way it's framed as her letting go of her hate of the Ninth House? Why? What reason? I like the idea of someone fighting for something bigger despite being mistreated by it like African Americans in the army or something, but what is the greater thing the Ninth stands for? Even the book doesn't know, her last thoughts are dismissing all the things she hates about it but after that it just says "she was Drearbruh" Okay? What exactly is so great about Drearbruh, why are you dying for it? Gideon as a character never came together for me

Miscellaneous:

I mostly got used to the dialogue but some bits still took me out (bingo, they have bingo after 10,000 years?). It seems needlessly distracting, but I did mostly stop noticing and some parts did make me laugh, so I'll call it a net neutral

Okay I know I'm reading a story so seeing the name Gideon on a note is probably important, but I don't get why in universe Gideon immediately clings to it and goes all "why is my name here". Is her name that unique? There's so much writing in this 10,000 year old facility is it that crazy that you'd find your name written somewhere?

I know my negative bullet went on longer, but I did mostly enjoy it.

[thecardmasterblog]

TCM here!

Spoiler for Animator vs animation 11 warning.

..

Even though I'm not exactly active on the fandom, i still come back to finally give my opinion about the new episode title victim

1. It was animated beautifully, i meant in a fundamental sense. Alan showed victim character too well as he technically should. Victim and mitsi relationship was a wholesome yet tragic that add to victim character development

2. You can revive a stick figure Just by naming it the same. At first it does seem off why victim wanted to get rid off alan so bad with the main reason of killing him. But after the episode it was revealed that, it wasn't a one time thing- no it has been going for months. And each time Alan Just kill and revive him over until he finally got out from his laptop and get to the internet.

So technically, the dark lord could be revived if Alan decided to just named another stick. Figure "the dark lord" but as for mitsi. I think Alan can't exactly revive her because she was created by someone else's but i would be glad to be probe otherwise

3. My newly theory for purple and his family. If you pay attention there was a scene between the chaos that you can spot purple,pink,and Navi running together. So what if- the reason Navi so desperate trying to teach purple how to fight is because he's afraid of another tragedy happened and he couldn't save purple and pink? This could be flawed because pink did eventually died and navi leave purple to elsewhere (dead probably? From another battle?) i don't know for sure

4.victim might don't know who's the dark lord is, perhaps he do but doesn't really payed attention to actually hate him the way he hated Chosen. From victim perspective it was The Chosen One and Alan who did most damage to him or people he cared

5. And the green particle in particular catches my attention, because it's to similar to The Second Coming power. I don't think it's a coincidence or anything but this could be a vital hint about TSC true power potential

6. Remember the dark green ish guy? The one that messed up the Minecraft machine killing gold? Well that same character was at the end of the episode when victim uses the 'vr glasses' thingy to see Agent memories. Coincidence? I have no idea

7. What happened to yellow, tco and tsc? Probably still caged somewhere. Perhaps victim will try to either steal their powers to get revenge on Alan, simply torment the characters, trying to replicate their powers and other stuff.

Well i think I'm done with the theory and my opinion, feel free to ask or say anything about it. Sorry if there is any spelling mistake, Have a great day and 'The Card Master' is out

[ppupkit]

how are you doing after the last 3 episodes of arcane

full spoilers for act 3 , long rant ahead ( sorry ദ്ദി (ᵒ̴̶̷᷄﹏ᵒ̴̶̷᷅) ). apologies if this is incoherent i ended up pulling an all nighter to watch act 3 and have had a busy few couple of days so i am a very gleeby little maddie atm..

i'm mostly upset and angry about it because it was just handled so poorly... like it was genuinely so ( ._. )"" i've talked about it elsewhere but i don't even really know what to say. i'm so upset about the way they sidelined the important character arcs and actual plot for timebomb sillies and a goofy over the top mel arc that was extremely rushed and didn't even bring the closure it was meant to about her dad and all of that. also 90% of the act being jayvik and it completely ignoring isha , sevika , and for the most part jinx , caitlyn , and vi... it's so disheartening i'm honestly not taking it well i feel just sort of upset and overall down. arcane has meant so much to me and it feels like all of the characters who i love so much just didn't even matter like i went on this journey with them all for nothing. there's so much more i could and would like to say but this is already getting long and i just feel an overwhelming amount of negative emotions at the moment. i'm going to continue making content for arcane ( mostly focusing around maddie , maddiecait , and maddiecaitvi because autism goes crazy ) but i might need a day or two to gather my thoughts and process everything. this act was super disappointing in every way. like i love mel and for the whole rest of the season was curious about her arc but it went from 0 to 100 so fast and was so campy it just didn't even feel like arcane. i think it's so insane that sevika didn't even speak once and that isha wasn't even mentioned like i just can't get past that. also they rushed caitvi's relationship so badly like we needed to see caitlyn's arc fully wrapped up with her coming to terms with all that she'd done , taking responsibility and apologizing to vi. we didn't get any of that though which is baffling to me..... also the implication of vi being a cop , sevika being on the council , vi just brushing over jinx's death ? it's so out of character. also with maddie , i have mixed feelings. i was hoping she'd do something big and i think i can definitely get behind the idea of her being a spy but it just doesn't line up with what was shown onscreen ? it felt like a major copout idk. i have many maddiecait and maddiecaitvi thoughts that i'll post on my main having to do with it but i'm just REALLY wishing we got to see more of maddie behind the scenes and that she got to be more fleshed out onscreen and not just through implications. like i like timebomb they're cute and all but episode 7 just felt so pointless and wasted like we could've used that time to actually be able to flesh out maddie or focus more on caitlyn / caitvi or on jinx and isha. i just don't see the point at all of that episode and i can't get past them just pretending isha never existed in favor of having a cute little timebomb au episode. : \

[suseagull5914]

20 Fanfic Author Questions

Thanks @anincompletelist @theprinceandagcd and @zwiazdziarka for the tags!

1. How many works on AO3?

333

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

940,591

3. Top 5 fics by Kudos

1. My Soulmate Walks into the Bar

2. Unravel My Latest Mistake (this one was a surprise- thank you all for loving this fic so much!!)

3. Be Mine This Christmas

4. The Beauty Within

5. Royally Yours

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently RWRB actively... But my OUAT WIPs might see the light of day soon, we'll see!

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always!

6. Angstiest Ending?

The only OUAT one I would consider an angsty ending wasn't supposed to end with that chapter, but then people hated it, so it never got continued, so I feel like that doesn't count, so none?

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

Too many to count! I am going to shout out Make This Feel Like Home, though, since I love adoption and found family fics for the "they have somewhere they belong" part of the happy ending! (Ps: thank you @heysweetheart-writes for helping me come up with that idea!)

8. Do you get hate?

Occasionally, yes. Not in awhile, though!

9. Do you write smut?

A DQ attempt or two for @ariestess- at which point I decided it shouldn't happen outside of that fic. Otherwise, you can find T hints of it elsewhere- like my fic for @safe-smuttin, which is happening RIGHT NOW through next week! You'll all have my fic in your hands on a certain bisexual disaster's birthday 😘

10. Do you write crossovers?

AUs, yes. ALL THE TIME. Crossovers... I guess in a way, my LOTR AU could be considered a crossover, because I'll probably be including some of the OG characters (eg: Smeagol)

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, thankfully!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I WISH. While I love any and all art of my fics (shout-out to @noahreids- again, thank you for the amazing Rise of the Brave cover!), to the language geek in me, one of my fics being translated would be the highest honor- so if anyone feels so inclined, I definitely wouldn't say no!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Yeah!! Pieces of one with @a-story-of-love, one with @ariestess, and hoping to do one or two for the RWRB collaboration bingo (and one someday with @onthewaytosomewhere hopefully!) because I miss collaborating with someone, and I haven't gotten to cowrite with anyone for RWRB yet!

14. All time favourite ship?

Please don't make me choose between OQ and firstprince!

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

SO MANY OQ ones 😭 not all of them, though!

16. Writing strengths?

Dialogue and introspection, probably!

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Setting (and descriptions in general), for sure! If anyone has any tips, I won't be offended if you pop in my DMs to share them, because I want to be better at world-building!

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

LOVE IT SO MUCH! I need to use it more, though, like I did in this ficlet!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

OUAT 🍎🏹

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

OMG, I can't do this, especially since I'm including both of my main fandoms in these answers! Going to shout out Pretending for OUAT since I might continue it soon, and I've mentioned most of my favorite firstprince fics already except these two!

I've seen most people do this except maybe @caterpills @sophie1973 @getmehighonmagic @blueeyedgrlwrites @judasofsuburbia and @onthewaytosomewhere, plus @operationlightswan @believingispowerfulmagic @brucethegirl and open tag for anyone who wants to play!

[aroplanes]

My worldbuilding on Volturi guard rank structure

Cadet-Cadetta (feminine)/Cadetto (masculine)

The lowest of the ranks, these Vampires aren't actually part of the Volturi yet, but rather training to join. Someone needs to have been a Vampire for at least 5 years before they are eligible to train as a Cadet. They train almost nonstop for a year with numerous tests thrown their way.

These tests include fighting tests, control around blood tests, taking orders and obedience tests, and tests on how they cope/react with stressful situations. The Cadets remain in the castle for this entire year and they all, usually a group of about 30, share one singular dorm during this year where they hang out/get ready.

These Cadets bear a white cloak and no Volturi pendant. No gift is required for this rank.

Anyone who passes moves on to the next rank.

Transitional-Transitoria (feminine)/Transitorio (masculine)

These Guards share in rooms of about 3 to 5 and have their own common room where they can hang out. Their main duties are cleaning the Castle and helping to dispose of bodies after feedings, and sometimes they may accompany higher ranked guards when punishing a Coven to bulk up the numbers to make it seem more intimidating.

The Guards in this rank spend a lot of their time sparring and training in fighting, as well learning different key languages and Vampire history. However most of them will never see a proper fight or battle, as they are more show Guards than anything else.

These Guards bear a cadet gray cloak, and their Volturi pendants are crafted out of cheap metal and plastic stones. As a result these pendants break easily so a lot of them are made. Guards in this rank must serve for at least 50 years before they apply for promotion and even then most Guards spend 100 years as a Transitional before they are promoted. No gift is required for this rank.

Lower-Inferiore

This is where the vast majority of Guards are placed. The emphasis on cleaning and chores is less pronounced in this rank as they are often sent to deal with minor troublemakers themselves. They continue their fighting training, but the focus on learning new languages is less pronounced as their duties are now more time consuming, and they should have learnt most of the basic required languages whilst in transitional.

These Guards share dorms in about groups of 3, though they aren't required to live in the Castle and can instead apply to live elsewhere so long as they remain within 1000 miles of Volterra. They also have their own common room.

These Guards bear battleship Gray cloaks and their Volturi pendants are crafted out of better quality metal with glass stones. Guards who have reached this rank can no longer get promoted. No gift is required for this rank.

Common-Comune

This rank is almost exactly the same as the Lower Guards, except the Vampires in this rank have gifts. These Vampires due to their gift go straight from Transitional to Common, unless their gift is especially crappy and then they remain in Transitional.

Their duties are almost exactly the same as that of Lower Guards, except their training includes training with their gifts. And they are often sent on more missions. These Guards share rooms in groups of 2 and have their own Common room.

They bear a carbon gray cloak, and their Volturi pendants are crafted from decent quality metal and cheap gems. They have a chance to be promoted to the Elite Guard but it is rare. A gift is required.

Elite-Elite

This is near the top end of the Guard structure, and things such as cleaning the Castle and disposing of bodies don't exist for these Guards. These Guards all get their own rooms with an en-suite bathroom (E.g. Shower, sink, bath, vanity), and only responsible for keeping their own rooms clean. The common room for these Guards is shared with the Royal Guards and is incredibly well furnished with a variety of enrichment items like X-boxes, a mini library, pool table, Tv's and other such things.

These Guards receive much more leisure time as their only responsibility is attending missions and training their gift or fighting skills every so often unless they are being punished.

Their cloak is arsenic gray, and their Volturi pendants are crafted out of real gold or silver (depending on the Guard's preference), and inlaid with expensive gems. These Guards are allowed to make adjustments to their pendants such as having something engraved on the back. A gift is required for this rank (The only exception is Felix.)

Royal-Reale

These are the very, very top end of the Guard's that very few are actually in. They receive their own private rooms with an en-suite bathroom and walk in closet. They have the most leisure time out of all the Guard's due to only having to attend the very important missions.

These Guards are also allowed to leave the Castle/Volterra whenever they want, unless they are under punishment, whilst all lower guards have to receive permission from a King or a Royal Guard to leave, apart from Cadets who can't leave at all. The only stipulation is if a Royal Guard leaves they must remain contactable through a phone, and they must send a message to Aro saying they are leaving, so they can't be accused of desertion.

These Guards receive charcoal cloaks and their Volturi pendants are crafted out of real gold or silver, again depending on preference, and inlaid with expensive, quality gems. They are allowed to have engravings on the back. These Guards are always gifted, and the gifts are always powerful.

[talk-danmei-to-me]

Ranking my Summer of Danmei Results: Favourite Couple

My Answers:

1) Ranwan

It had to be, tbh, favourite danmei and confession. Both things hinge on the main pairing. They've got the perfect blend of shenanigans, angst, smutty payoff (I side stepped into danmei from Japanese and Korean bl). There's also an element to them that is the gift that keeps on giving. Xue Meng's reaction is going to be insane and it's probably the thing I'm most looking forward to in the upcoming volumes. They make each other better, but they also have the capacity to make each other worse and I think thats fascinating.

2) Ximang

The appeal of Yuwu is Ximang. Both are completely fascinating characters and have their own goals. The discussions of class around them also make for super compelling world building. Even though they're not my top pairing, they are the couple that I'm most invested in having a happy ending.

3) Wangxian

My love for Lan Wangji probably puts them above Hualian for me. I love the ride or die, throw away morals vibe Lan Wangji serves when it comes to Wei Wuxian. It's definitely a trope that's guided me when reading future danmeis, though I think it might hit harder elsewhere. Fans of Wangxian will definitely vibe with Ximang and Cezhou I think. (Or maybe that's just me)

4) Hualian

Their lack of angst put them here. They're too perfect in a way because they are so ride or die for each other and have excellent communication skills. They spawned the tag hualian invented love for a reason. The fact their angst came in the form of Hua Cheng accidentally losing his game for a bit. They didn't serve up any angst in the main story, but I can write it in my fanfiction.