#because this story has been evolving in my head for years so its one of those disorganized passion project things

[princekirijo]

Writing Shadow Ops lore is pretty fun actually

[lilfoxay]

So... what if I posted an out-of-context bit of a story from like a year ago that I still haven't finished? Without any warning or explanation? I haven't like... revised it even. And it's bad because I sucked a year ago (just kidding, I'm working on the negative self-talk). It is edgy, it is about angels and shit, I am living my middle school power self-insert fantasies and the only person who can stop me is me when I regret posting this immediately after I hit the button. It's below the cut :P

“Unimportant. Why isn’t their soul out yet?”

“Complications,” Oxy walked forward to stand next to the mortician, as both of them studied me closely. I averted my gaze, and quickly found the floor to be a point of interest. “Their soul fights back.”

“Fights back?”

“Happens very rarely, only with the–”

“Souls of angels,” The room filled with an oppressive silence as all three of us pondered the situation we were in. However, I felt pitifully out of the loop. “Is there any chance we could still try?”

“Yes. But neither of us will like what we see, or what they’ll do to us when they get their memories back.”

“We can handle one bird-brain.”

“I’d be offended, but there’s no time,” The mortician cupped their hands around Oxy’s, and soon they both wore blue, crackling spectral gloves tipped with gleaming claws. “On three,” With a grim nod, Oxy plunged their claws into my chest, and the cold feeling spread throughout my body once more. The mortician stepped up next to Oxy, and both their claws now anchored themselves into a part of me I did not know existed. “One,” Both of them shifted their stance. “Two,” The claws hummed louder, and the otherworldly sparking increased in frequency, leaving the room aglow in a pale blue light. “Three!” With a heave, they both tumbled backward onto the floor, pulling me out of my body as they went. Pulling… us… out of our body. I was bent over the steel table, the claws still embedded deep within my torso. Hands that weren’t mine tried to grip their arms and yanked me free, only to pass through them uselessly. Voices that were never my own cried out from my mouth in a cacophony of shouting and sobbing and begging and suffering. I saw through dozens of eyes. I grasped and tugged desperately at the clothes of those who had rent me from my body with a sickly number of hands to no avail. I towered above them, my head scraping the ceiling of a room that even they could not reach. As they both stood, unflinching as the hands attempted to pull them towards us, I could barely think over the storm of screams in my head.

I could not see my reflection. Oxeleure and the mortician’s eyes remained hidden from my view. The room had no mirrors. The metal on the table before me was dull and dirty, but it was better that way. What little I could see of myself, the reactions and body language of those who stood before me, they were enough.

I was a monster.

And yet they did not hesitate.

“The table! Hurry!” shouted the mortician as they dug their spectral claws into one of my arms.

“No need to tell me twice, I’m not an idiot.” Oxeleure soon followed suit, and with a snarl they dragged me down and onto the table. They fastened the shackles around one set of my arms and my ankles, as the rest of my limbs punched and clawed at them in retaliation.

“Jonas, get in here! Bring the potions!”

“What’s the hurry, I thought you were a profe- holy shit!” All of my eyes stared back at them as I struggled against my binds, my many arms uselessly passing through anything I tried to touch.

“Just shut up and get the potions to the body! I don’t know how long these binds can hold something like this!” Rushing forward with an armful of bottles, Jonas let them fall at my body’s feet as they tilted my head back. Cracking open three of the narrow vials, they balanced them in my mouth and pulled two handfuls of needles from their apron’s pockets. Disembodied golden hands, shining with the same energy as the orbs that had healed me, appeared around them and grasped the needles, urgently opening the rest of the vials and collecting as much of the green liquid as each could hold. I watched as they jabbed the needles into my neck, my arms, my legs, and even a few in my heart. I could see my neck turning pink as the liquid from the bottles in my mouth ran down my throat and seemingly brought my body back to life, without me in it. One of my hands once again tried to go for Oxeleure, grasping at their forearm. This time, it connected. They tried to wrench away from my grip as my other hands lurched greedily towards any hope of freedom.

“Uh, Circe, what does it mean when it stops phasing through objects?” The mortician slowly turned to see, as if scared to confront the reality of the situation.

“Thought you would know that by now like you seem to know everything else. It means we’re running out of time. Prepare to move the spirit,” They deftly dodged my arm’s pathetic attempt to claw at them. “Jonas, is the body ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. About as ready as it’ll ever be,” They turned to the mortician, their eyes glowing suns against the sickly blue hue that filled the room. “Tell me when.” The mortician and Oxeleure dug their claws into the pair of shoulders closest to my head, tensing their muscles in preparation.

“Okay in three, two, one…” The shackles flew open, their runes extinguishing, “NOW!” They both yanked me up from the table, hurling me towards the body as the golden hands injected the rest of the potions into my corpse. Against my will, my many sets of arms braced themselves against the chair and pushed back. The golden hands let the needles clatter to the floor as the blue energy coursed around them. Growing claws of their own, they burrowed deep into my bones and my chest, and I felt my hands slip through the chair as I screamed in agony. With a heave, Jonas, Oxeleure, and the mortician finally shoved my spirit back into my body. The glow from my own soul vanished, as well as the light from the claws and spiritual hands, as they all fell to the floor in exhausted silence.

“Swear to God… if you die after all this shit we just went through…” Jonas growled between gasps. Sharing their sentiment, Oxeleure crawled forward and clasped my leg. It was almost as if the sudden ‘attack’ scared me back to life. I lurched forward, gasping and panting and coughing and living for the first time in days. The mortician recovered the fastest, getting to their feet and dusting off their clothes. I felt firmly rooted in my own body once again, and for the first time, started being able to register the details of my surroundings.

[crushedsweets]

Do you have any headcanons of Lyra and Toby’s relationship?

this has been in my inbox for like over a week by now because this is a big task in my head. i will focus more on the family itself, but obviously the siblings r there.

ROGERS FAMILY HCS UNDER THE CUT... tw for abuse and addiction, of course

ok. WE'RE GETTING PERSONAL HERE. im the eldest daughter of 3 so the way in which i project into older siblings is insane. ive also had an addict father(no where near like frank though let me clarify) so in general . . the story.. makes me feel very...... basically their relationship is very personal to me.

lyra is about 2-3 years older than toby.

frank's dad was in the vietnam war, his grandparents were in wwii, his grandparents in wwi, etc. so he went into military service right after marrying connie. for a long while, he was SUPER military strict. those kids were up, made their bed, and down for chores by 6am everyday. he made them do military time rather than civilian time. he was incredibly traditional, expected a perfectly clean household, a polite soft daughter, a strong bold son, perfect wife. he wanted the 1950s nuclear family model. so toby and lyra grew up in a very clean, strict, traditional household.

in my au, frank wasnt outright abusive until the kids were around 8-11. it was after he developed his addictions and lost his job. the kids really didnt understand what was changing at first, and legitimately were like 'omg dad isnt making us wake up at 5am everyday..... this is so cool'.

theyd start having sleepovers in eachothers room, slacking a bit on chores, going to sleep late, sleeping in. toby didnt develop his tourettes until he was around 7, so lyra and toby would walk home from their elementary school together. sometimes, theyd walk another friend home first, stop at convenience stores to get candy, pet a cat, etc. frank didnt say a thing for the first few months, just drunken grumbles along connies worried 'WHERE HAVE U BEEN'. if they weren't walking around the area, they were in the backyard playing soccer.

eventually the abuse began, and all of those little freedoms were quickly stripped from the kids.

toby developing tourrettes around this time was a painful coincidence, because not only did he experience abuse at home, but awful bullying at school. he was promptly pulled out after completing 3rd grade. he was only 8.

lyra would practically run home from school everyday, as fast as a 12 year old girl with a backpack could manage, just because she spent all 7 hours in school worrying about toby at home. connie had to start working to pay bills, so..

when toby was around 11 and lyra was around 13, toby started kinda just. being more distant. he was kind of a dick to lyra for a period of time, half because of everything he was going through, half because puberty is rough. his room started getting messy, lyra had to start picking up chores he was slacking on , etc. lyra isnt perfect and began to resent toby for this, and eventually, the two were kinda at eachothers throats for like 6 months. which isnt a lot, but for kids, its an eternity.

when franks abuse evolved from ''just'' verbal abuse, to shoves, to slaps, to full on beatings, toby started egging frank on. just to get him off of lyra and connie. obviously he couldnt feel it, and while it sure took a fucking mental toll, it was so much easier to just wait it out rather than listen to the girls cry.

lyra didnt even realize toby was doing this for a while, she just thought it was all part of him going through his little hormonal asshole phase, until one day frank made a fucked up comment about 'youre lucky that boy is always causing trouble. was supposed to be you'. then it kinda clicked and she very quickly tried to fix their relationship back to what it was.

frank eventually scared connie so badly that there'd be periods of time where she'd take the kids in the middle of the night, and run off to either her parents place, or even a random hotel in another city. she'd use cash, force the kids to keep their phones at home, leave literally everything behind and often make the kids pick out new toothbrushes at a random walmart. etc. it would only last a few days each time, and lyra fought so hard to stay strong while her mom cried and toby closed himself off.

she'd try to get toby to come to the hotel pools with her, try to get him to watch tv with her, try to get him to just fucking talk to her. he was often catatonic during these little runaways, once the confusion adrenaline and fear wore off

it wasnt until they went around a month without seeing their father, and frank had some weird fucking. 'those are MY kids too' thing and went to connie's parents house while all the adults were out, and forced the kids back home. this was the first time lyra was full on sobbing and begging and pleading in years. that was what shifted something in toby, too.

now tobys 13, lyras 15, and theyre on better footing. theyre starting to understand eachother. tobys back on keeping up with chores, knowing that either him lyra or connie was going to get beat if they were missed. sometimes he'd just silently come into lyras room and lay down and watch tv with her. they'd talk about books, about school, their trust was built right back up and toby ended up being the first to know about lyras school drama, gossip, boys, etc.

toby wasn't really socialized properly, since he's been homeschooled for 6 years by now. all the time, he'd hear lyras stories, and wish he could go to school. his mom would be horrified anytime toby asked, because all she could remember was her sweet boy coming home and crying into her arms after a day of being mocked and pushed around by peers.

so he began to live through lyra, in a sense ? he almost became a diary for lyra, and he kinda loved it. she was like a sitcom to him.

frank wasnt a good father by any means during this period, he was still awful, but he wasn't constantly looking for trouble. the kids kept to themselves, connie did everything she was expected to, he didnt give a shit about their grades or social lives. he couldn't even recgonize when lyra was coming home late.

lyra got her license the second she turned 16. the house had two cars, and its not like frank was ever going anywhere, so she was always going everywhere. she adored the freedom, and took toby wherever he'd let her. he only really left the house if he was going grocery shopping with his mom or something, so it was kinda weird now that he was just. going to malls. going to restaurants. going to parks. just Hanging Out. every now and again he'd stick around when Lyra was with her friends, but he didn't like them so it was rare.

sometimes theyd just drive together for a long time. at night, she was the one to take him to every hospital visit, she even got him to volunteer at a pet shelter she worked at for a bit. 3 years and they become so close again, and lyra is tobys best friend. she's his entire world because who else does he have ? he loves his mom, but she's married to the man he hates more than anything

toby was 16 and lyra was 18 when frank strangled toby till he passed out. thats finally when connie kicked frank out, forcing frank to go live on his moms couch. lyra was mortified and started spending an absurd amount of time with toby. she took online community college courses just so she could spend even more time with toby, and it didnt hurt to do so since frank wasnt there anymore. things were getting better for the family, frank was gone, lyra was in college, connie was working, toby was volunteering at shelters and even had a few acquaintances he'd talk to now and again.

lyra picked toby up from the shelter he volunteered at when the accident happened.

lyra and connie had matching silver necklaces with a circle pendant that had their initials. toby didnt cuz frank would get pissed if toby tried wearing jewelry, but when lyra died, toby immediately clung to it. he wears it religiously. the only time he takes it off is if he knows he's going to kill someone that day. otherwise, its always on him.

lyra died and was buried in colorado. toby lives in alabama now. so he really doesnt visit her grave often. only on her birthday, he'll scramble together some money and get brian, tim, and kate to agree to cover his uh. 'shifts' with slenderman, and take a few loooonnnggg train rides over to colorado.

he'll leave two bouquets of flowers. one for lyra, one for connie.

connie just feels in her heart that its toby. she has no reason to believe it, they've never bumped into eachother (toby's visiting at like 2am and falls asleep near the grave for a few hours), but she knows nobody else whos visiting lyras grave and leaving two sets of the same flowers.

toby and lyras childhood home was put on sale shortly after it was reconstructed from the fire, and connie moved in with her sister. lyras bedroom door was the only one that was shut and left unscathed after the fire (legitimately keep your doors shut if you ever have a housefire it can save entire bedrooms and even lives). the rest of the house was ruined, but not lyras room. connie kept every single one of her belongings, but she's put some photos out on the grave. tobys taken them, and connie believes it was him. again, she has no reason to believe it other than the flowers and 'why would someone take a photo of my dead daughter.'

anyway hi. in tears. i love them. sorry. i just retell their story over and over and get sad everytime

[kyriefae]

Being a Whovian is sincerely so much fun.

This show is so many different things to so many people but what I think truly makes it special is not just the change it forces on us as an audience but the way it pushes us subconsciously to give up on purism.

"Your Doctor" was <insert amiable character traits> but the current one doesn't represent that same persona? Pity. Almost like we can be different people all throughout our lives...

You ever hear someone say like..."it's fine it's just not for me"?

I wonder how many people who say that about the newest Doccy Who seasons genuinely think in their heart of hearts "actually this is garbage and you should agree with me that it is garbage" because those two are not the same thing at all! 🤭 Ugh, I can't help my incredulity sometimes. Maybe the internet adds to the expectation of toxicity. ...or I just spent a lot of time growing up around cynical assholes that hated fun. *shrug*

More to the point! 😅

Pick an era of this show; pick a doctor and you'll be transported to a world more or less unique to them. That's pretty cool if you ask me. They still have that silly multidimensional blue box; they still have two hearts (even if it didn't become canon until their 3rd incarnation)...and yes they still pick up stray humans (...usually young, petite British women from whatever decade said Doctor conveniently and sequentially visits).

But maybe to really hit home on what I mean about this show tackling purism in its audience's mind...it's always been a silly sci-fi show meant to elicit joy and wonder out of children. Additionally so, to help adults retain that same joy and wonder in their own lives by reflecting on the excitement that comes from infinite possibilities only possible when traveling with a genderfluid space alien that wears extraordinary clothes and hands out candy like it's already gone out of style. Oh and you become the universe's only hope the moment you step into another time or location lol.

Sometimes when we love something, we take it very seriously no matter how absurd it truly is at its core. We may not even notice we're doing it but any criticism of Doctor Who really ought to be taken with a grain of salt (and spread out at the very edge of creation...just for good measure). No need to get all salty over a television show. 🧂

So yeah. Being a Whovian, for me, is having the freedom to dive head first into an ocean of lore whenever I desire and really explore storytelling from several perspectives. Albeit many of the early years were written and directed and produced from the perspectives of white, straight men in the U.K. and stories with misogynist stances that heavily limited the functional roles of women in the context of said stories and were also affirmed by narratives and protagonists that failed to question any of it. *clearing throat* Oof, there was a frog back there!

All the same, our heroes of yesterday battled styrofoam monsters breaking through plywood walls built on cardboard sets represented by painted miniatures dangling on strings over a starlit portrait meant to look like space. Even when they couldn't help but be a bit cringe, they were still a silly lil sci-fi show playing at games of the imagination. Like children at play.

Now, we have this beautiful and talented man standing at center stage:

He is all the play; all the heart(s); all the joy we have known in this character but decorated in his own unique way.

My love for this show has evolved and I intend to allow it to continue doing just that. Hopefully we can continue to see the Whoniverse do just the same...instead of getting too caught up in the past. 🫣

Anywho, that's all for now.

Kisses 😘

[munchkinmarauder]

Let's talk Magneto's letter!

I'm not marking this as spoilers because we've probably all seen the panels from Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver floating around the internet at this point (but I do apologise if I do accidentally spoil it for someone - take this as your warning to scroll past and not read this post).

So after many months of speculation as to what the letter could be and if it has big reveals the contents of the letter is not a lore changing or retcon inducing reveal but .... Drum roll please.... that Magneto thinks the twins should stay apart, that they are dangerous together (particularly that Pietro is dangerous to Wanda and Wanda coddles Pietro) and that Pietro should have stayed dead after Magneto murdered him.

Wow isn't Maggie father of the year? What a girldad!

Jokes aside and let's get this out of the way because I know a lot of the Magneto is right crowd have been calling for Orlando's head over this character assassination or trying to argue Magneto is in fact right about the twins (despite the story and the twins themselves saying otherwise) - Magneto being an abusive douchbag to his kids is the norm, we only have 60 years of their relationship in the 616 verse alone to prove this. Yes there is nuance to this that makes it all very interesting, one of the most interesting dynamics in Marvel, and I personally never expected to hear Magneto saying the silent part out loud because I do think cannon shows that he loves all his kids Pietro included (but is incapable of loving them the way a parent should), but this is simply an over exaggeration and not out of character. Its no surprise he says this to his son. It's also of note that Magneto never actually intended for the twins to see the letter or Storm would have given it to Wanda when she visited in SW#2 to deliver the news of Magneto's passing, it might have been Magneto trying to work out some feelings and opinions rather than protect them as he claims (cause again he didn't actually intend for anyone to see the letter, he sealed it shut in a box). He is justified in feeling frustrated that his last words were weaponised against his children (lol Mags being like how dare my own hurtful words were used to hurt my kids - no one hurts them but me)

Magneto is one of those genderbended boymoms that is jealous of their daughter and views then as competition. Only in this case it is with his son and the competition is for Wanda's affections. The fact is, Magneto is always going to loose that fight and he knows it.

The more I think about it the more I like that this letter wasn't a big reveal (though I'm sure the recton everyone is hoping for will come some day -I'm glad it wasn't today) but something that played into the themes of this series. Their father, the Wizard and the Giver are all saying the twins should stay apart and the story and the twins say no and prove them wrong. A lot of the twins greatest feats are reactive and evolving, tying back to the red queen hypothesis mentioned in issue 4.

On a side note if the Giver really wanted to deal with the twins she should have gone to dear old daddy Mags and he would have nipped that problem in the bud in a jiffy seeing as he and the giver are of a like mind when it comes to the twins. Technically you just need to get rid of one of them seeing as the Givers worry is about the twins together but let's see what the new Scarlet Witch solo has to say about that (I hope Pietro's role in this isn't forgotten but you can never tell with Marvel)

What the letter is is a classic case of a narcissist parent setting up a golden child and scape goat dynamic. Seeking to isolate the twins from each other. It's very clear he's self projecting onto his son (and Lorenzo Tammetta deliberately emphasises the similaries the two have in appearance to drive this fact home) and blaming Pietro for moments that happened that can apply to himself and are in fact caused by his actions for example his willingness to abandon his daughter to die and murder of his son in HoM. Both the major trigger points for the creation of the HOM verse and no more mutants. I'm not saying Magneto is souly to blame here but he does have a big contribution to what happens that he never has taken accountability for (along with the X-Men who play as victims and the avengers who did own up to what they did but otherwise keep silent about the blame the twins get from the X-Men).

A lot has been said about the impact of the letter on Pietro and I don't think I can add much more other than to emphasise how crushing that has be to hear from a parent and abuser even if you hate them. The twins helped each other survive for a very long time and we're each others everything parent, twins, best friend, protector, etc. You've spent time and energy and dedicated a portion of your life to protecting someone to the degree of making it your reason for living for a long time (please note I am not saying this is a healthy mindset for Pietro- hes taken it too far sometimes) and in a hypocritical tyraid are told it's all for nothing. Pietro handles it really well and comes out this with his head held high. Reacting calmly, expressing his love for his sister and throwing Magneto's words back at him. I think as a Quicksilver fan we can be reasonably happy with this outcome (but I do understand some fans frustration to hear Quicksilver be degraded that way and told he's bad for Wanda while she gets forced to interact with men that did treat her like shit like Vision and Magneto - however the point is that Magneto is WRONG and Wanda herself reiterates this point).

Now the one person who's screwed over by the writing and out of character in that scene is WANDA. Sure she tells Magneto he is wrong but that gentle response (even if she does react with a degree of unhappiness to see Magneto back) and effort to be neutral is so odd for her given that she sent the Wizard to a hell dimension for hurting her brother a few pages prior and has been even more vocal than Pietro in calling her father out in the past. She's as protective of her brother as he is her and I can't believe she would be written as a daddies girl and standby while a man who abused them both continues to abuse her brother.

The contents of the letter is also not great for Wanda. And I would argue is a subtler abuse tactic. Like a lot of the focus is rightly on how shitty it was for Magneto to say what he did in his letter to Pietro but we're also not considering the the negative implications it has for Wanda as well. Wanda has been working to establish herself as independent and not defined by the men in her life for so long and here is her "father", infantalising her and saying he knows better than her about her own life and what keeps her safe, that is seeking to take away from her the one pillar of support she's always had and one of if not the important relationship to her, a lot of Wanda's lowest moments did happen when Pietro wasn't even around, when everyone including Magneto abandoned her, her brother was there. The twins do have a codependency and that codependency does have it's toxic elements, Magneto touches on it but doesn't go into detail. Wanda is codasended to and told she is "coddling" her brother and everything else is Pietro's fault. The letter is worse for Pietro but it's shitty for Wanda too, she is a grown woman& a mother here is a man that abused her talking down to her, saying he knows best for her and her opinions are wrong, seeking to isolate her and undermining her authority.

The twins are right for saying Magneto is wrong but wish Wanda would get more angry at this undermining. Maybe like Pietro she is just very jaded and tired of the whole thing with Magneto. These words would be upsetting if they didn't in their own way love their father too as fucked up as it all is.

Now to be fair - does Magneto's letter have any merit? That isn't to easy to answer but in the interests of equal analysis let's try!

So I think one think that Magneto touches on but doesn't go into or outright say is the twins codependancy. He is a few years late to the party but he's been dead and their not dad for a while so well give him a small amount of leeway in his old age. I don't think the twins codependency is necessary a wholly bad thing but it does have it's nagative elements and in some cases has held the twins back. If we are to adopt a charitable approach her Magneto in his own twisted and emotionally constipated way may be trying to encourage the twins to be independent, to discourage his son from defining his self worth around his ability to protect his sister. Ofc I am reaching a bit here as Magneto could have just said this (though we'll never see the full contents of the letter - both Wanda and Mags may be summerising the worst parts of it) and done so in a way that wasnt cruel.

I also do believe that Magneto in writing those words to a degree did believe or convinced himself that he was not writing those words out of Malice and that it was an attempt to protect the twins (though I will reiterate how much it was actually intended to protect them when Magneto didn't actually intend for the twins to see the letter but at least he owns up to the fact he did write those words). In his mind he was being cruel to be kind but the narrative makes it clear that even if he had "good" intentions - he is nevertheless still fundamentally misunderstanding his children and self projecting onto his son. I'm not mad about this -its in character and I feel this letter is set up for a longer plot thread and I hope it's explored but let's see!

It certainly makes me feel that Pietro's lack of mention in RoM was extremely deliberate as was his lack of appearance in last week's FoX issue despite his cameo in the previous one to save the Magneto and Pietro reunion for this comic (the Xoffice are collaborative)

Is the writing for this scene perfect? no! Is Magneto potentially a tad one note? Yes but being a dick to his kids is in character and it's unsubtle but sometimes it needs to be.

[nieded]

Hi! Doing a re-read of #RR for the nth time a question popped up in my head... how and when did AJ's parents die? I don't think it was ever mentioned. Ezira dwells a lot on his dad's death and in his mom's reaction. But other than getting rid of the whole estate when it happened, we don't know how AJ's parents passed (I sort of have the feeling they died together maybe). Was the fight with his dad after AJ DNF'ed the last time they talked? Do you have a hc about it? Been wondering for a while

Hellooooo! This is a great question with an unsatisfactory answer! I have never really determined how they died. I also have only a loose idea on how Ezira's dad passed (I don't think I've concretely mentioned it).

TW for abuse that is consistent with #RR. There are maybe some spoilers for future content I may or may not write that I have headcanoned for a long time below the cut.

The fight was one of the last few times they spoke. It was one of the last times Crowley Sr. ever tried to push AJ around, and he suffered dire consequences for it, financially and reputation-wise. The thing about parents who abuse their kids is, one day that kid grows up to be an adult, a beheamoth of an adult in this case, while the parent grows old and frail. AJ put fear in his father that day, and it ended their transactional relationship. His death and the estate he left behind was less so an inheritance and more of a fuck you, deal with this crap. And if it hadn't been illegal, AJ would have committed arson.

Of course, decades later, Crowley is still unpacking all of this shit, only realizing now that he went from one abusive relationship (his father) to another (Javier) without really acknowleging them for what they were until years later.

My not-so-little headcanon has always been that AJ has a difficult relationship with his surname. He doesn't really like being a Crowley, but that's his brand now (note that he has also never really liked his 'brand' either). So he lets slide Raph's jokes about him being "Mr. Phale" cos doesn't that sound nicer? The first time Raph ever called him that, something twigged in AJ's brain, and it wasn't, "I want to marry Ezira" necessarily, but "I don't have to be Crowley."

So he starts to use it a little here and there casually outside of official capacities, like ordering pizza or picking up the nibling from daycare. And they go to brunch meetups and book clubs with an ever-evolving group of people who don't always recognize them right away, and they introduce themselves as Anthony and Ezira Phale. And it's nice. Weird at first. But when Ezira doesn't really comment on it and signs them under reservations as a couple, AJ's shoulder relax.

But also, Ezira has helped him like the other half of himself, the Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll, so to speak. Because Anthony Fucking Crowley isn't a trainwreck anymore or a has-been. He's a mentor and an inspiration, a legend, and while that is discomfitting in its own way, it's better than the unrepetent, unloved, unforgivable AJ Crowley of old.

I've always liked this idea when I make up little stories about them in my head because it seems very in line with canon!Crowley who goes through several name changes, trying on different hats (aha!) until he finds one that fits best. I don't think he'll change his name ever in an official capacity, but he enjoys the person he gets to be behind the scene when he isn't front-facing.

So, he says, "Who cares about my parents? I don't," and that's why they rarely get mentioned.

[citrous241]

1.21 is looking fire, but 1.22 has got to be an End update.

Minecraft has always had really good lore and story-telling, but does anyone else feel like the End is just missing something?

It's to be expected, it hasn't been updated for the last 7 years and the last update added more questions than answers. I feel like it's just on the cusp of being as clear as the rest of the game.

It's a dimension that's supposed to feel off, and uncanny. Literally the only track that plays is 15 minutes of warped mash-ups of Overworld tracks. End stone is just inverted Cobblestone.. etc. But even then it's still wrong.

I just have to know, Minecraft lore is built off of head canons but I'm just unable to form one that makes sense regarding the End. Endermen make sense, I believe they're warped and "evolved" humans. Eating only chorus makes them teleport, their long arms and bodies to reach the high snaking chorus plants, their larger eyes to see in perpetual darkness, etc. Their aversion to water is a wrench in that but I'm not perfect and my head canon isn't right. Endermen could have nothing to do with humans.

Shulkers and End Cities are what confounds me. Are Shulkers natural living organisms? The Dragon and Ender-men both have black skin and dark purple eyes but this thing has yellow skin and an almost magenta shell. I think they're some sort of automatons, but built by who? The ancient builders, the ones who evolved into Endermen? But the spiral staircases in the End Cities don't seem designed for humans (or maybe I just suck at climbing them) and the ceilings aren't really high enough for Endermen. Maybe Shulkers are another protector mob of their area. But protecting what? Protecting the means of personal flight maybe, but that looks nothing like the rest of the end - its literally made from the wings of the Phantoms of the Overworld.

End Cities themselves do kind of make sense to me, their architecture mimics the branches of a chorus plant. But whilst chorus seems to be the only natural thing in the End, the cities very much aren't. There's no way that structure would work under normal gravity. But surely the End just has weak gravity? Nope, it's the same as the Overworld.

Everything in the End just feels so artificial. The central island; with Obsidian pillars punching through the whole thing, a material that can only be made using 2 fluids that don't exist in the End, topped with a crystal made partially from the tears of a creature in another dimension and some sort of Eye which we can only make by killing an Enderman and fusing it's remains with the ground up remains of another creature from said other dimension. Also, it is so far away from the rest of the End, as if someone destroyed or moved these other islands away. The Dragon itself to, she works like no other mob. People say that she's a machine which I don't agree with, her erratic behaviour is because she is the only mob of her type and hasn't been updated like ever. I don't think she's native to the End though; Endermen, the only other creature in existence that looks like her, can be hostile to her.

Trying to piece this together as I'm writing this is making me think of a new head canon: The End is just a melting pot of travellers who got lost and stuck. Think of something like the Void from the Loki show. I think the End was initially just a mass of floating islands with the chorus fruit, in the Void between dimensions. Then the ancient builders arrived, constructing the obsidian pillars and the bedrock portal frame. I think they found something, maybe it could be whatever made the End Cities. But regardless, something dangerous. Something that made them separate the only way out of the dimension by several kilometres of Void, that made them create a Dragon to guard said way out. Something that made them sacrifice themselves by sealing themselves into the End.

There are a few holes in this. Maybe the ancient builders did build the End Cities before/after becoming Endermen. Maybe the danger was the Dragon, but why would it guard the exit portal? And I've kind of ignored the fact that Endstone is inverted Cobblestone, maybe the whole dimension if artificial? Built by the ancient builders entirely? Or maybe the End was spawned from ancient humanities collective mind, like a sort of yin to their yang.

I would love an End update to add a few things. I don't like most popular ideas or mods for an End update, as they often stray too far from what the End is. I would like to be able to find whatever gravity-defying sentient race built the End Cities, maybe they could also be warped into Endermen like the ancient builders were - but could still have a sense of self and humanity, or maybe they're some sort of Phantom People. I would like to find this danger that caused the ancient builders to sacrifice themselves, a new huge boss at the edge of the End would be awesome. I would also like, if they made them less annoying that is, for Phantoms to spawn in the End just normally. They feed on Insomnia right? What's more insomniac then an entire dimension where it's always night and nothing can sleep?

I would also like purple chorus wood lol.

[insertdisc5]

Devlog #11: Localization and Organizing Notes

Hello everyone! Welcome to this month’s devlog!

If you just stumbled upon this, I am Adrienne, also known as insertdisc5! I’m the developer, writer, artist, main programmer, etc of the game. The game being In Stars and Time, a timeloop RPG, which is the next and final game in the START AGAIN series, following START AGAIN: a prologue (available here!).  You can find out more about In Stars and Time here!!! 

LET’S GET TO IT. This month's devlog is about localizations and how I organize my notes!

The month of January has, once again, been all about bug fixing. My producer once told me QA and bug fixing would take forever and I didn’t believe her, but it is true. You kill one bug and three take its place.

Bugs aside, the first pass of the localization of the game into Japanese has been completed (thanks Kakehashi Games!) ! Wait did we even mention officially that the game will be in English and Japanese at release. Well there you go! In Stars and Time will be released in both English and Japanese!!!

Now that the first pass is over, it’s time for the very time intensive work of adding all that translated text into the game, as well as translating any illustrations. And after that, the localization team will take over QA, and will play the game from beginning to end in Japanese, making sure everything works well in context!

I can’t wait for Japanese speakers to try out the game as well!!!

Oh! Also, speaking of words, I wrote a post on how I approach worldbuilding, more specifically expressions and swear words and about how Jesus Christ is not canonical to the ISAT universe. Mayhaps it could tickle your fancy?

Uuuuuh this devlog is so short. I feel bad. Well uh (thinks very hard) how about you come with me on a journey, and look at how I organize my notes? Yeah? YEAH!!! (This section will feature: blocked out text) (Also: I realized after writing all this that I did talk about my writing process a bit in my #2 devlog. Well uh you get writing process: 2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I use OneNote for all my ISAT notes! I use it because quite frankly this was the first software I tried and it works. I like how it has tabs within tabs within tabs, so I can easily (ISH?) find any notes I’m looking for!

If you look at the colored tabs, the first one is “demo”, which is everything related to START AGAIN: a prologue (aka: has not been looked at for a year). It contains all the text in the game, as well as general gameplay notes and musings like “hey wouldnt it be fun if I used rock/paper/scissors.” You might notice the text here isn’t in the correct order. That’s a feature not a bug, thats just how my brain works OK!!!!!

The second tab is “Game”, which is the big In Stars And Time tab. It’s divided into a lot of sections, including: 

General Dev Notes, which contains general reminders (“ADD MORE PUNS”).

Random Dialogue Corner, which, as the name implies, contains a lot of random dialogues between the characters. They’re also divided into different sections, depending on what kind of dialogue it is- is it a funny scene, or a more serious one? Is it between characters, or just Siffrin going on a big monologue? Etc. This dialogue may or may not be in the game, its main reason for existing is “hee hee I like when my little guys talk in my head”.

Gameplay and Stuff, which is all about the rpg part of the game. What are the skills? How does each enemy behave? What quests are available? How does the game over screen work? Etc

And finally, a big section filled with The Story, which is divided into acts. From the very start, I knew ISAT would have very delimited story beats, which made it easy to just go “ok, this scene goes into Act 3”, etc. For the text, I make sure to keep all the different drafts I had of a specific scene, partly because I sometimes lose a nugget of Fun Stuff by rewriting a scene, and partly because it’s fun to see how a scene has evolved. I tend to write important story scenes 3 times, each time without looking at earlier drafts to see what comes out, and then frankenstein the scene from what I have.

In general I try to keep as many of my notes as possible, because I deleted a lot of my notes for START AGAIN: a prologue and it makes me sad I can’t look at my thought process on a lot of things anymore. KEEP YOUR NOTES KIDS

Going back to the big tabs, next we have “World”, which is everything related to worldbuilding, relationships between characters, the general timeline, more detailed notes on the culture, etc. I used this tab a lot less as time went on, but at the start it was very useful to be able to refer to it, especially for all the city names and their spelling…

After that, we have the “Devlog” tab, which is my own private devlog! I find it very useful to keep a private devlog for myself, because it helps me see clearly that YES, the game is coming along. Every week, I try to write down where I’m at, any problems that I have, as well as screenshots of what the game looks like. 

I also give myself space to write how I feel about the game! How is it going? Is it fun to work on this? What do I think about the story, about this character, about this development? I think it’s important to write those things down in the moment- I always keep in mind this post by Wreden, the creator of the Stanley Parable- in it, he talks about the reaction to the Stanley Parable, and how getting so many Thoughts thrown his way about what his game means meant that he lost sight of what his game meant to him. In Stars and Time means a lot to me, and I want to make sure future me remembers why!

Next is “meta”, which is mostly coding references. The way rpgmaker (and, I guess, most video game software???) works is by using variables to keep track of quests and whatnot, and so I used this tab to write down “if this variable equals 5, it means we’re at that point in this quest”! I also used it for code I always use but can’t be bothered to remember, like the conditional code that checks if a switch is ON or not. Aka the simplest most basic code. LISTEN I DON’T WANNA REMEMBER CODE OK

After that is the “To Do” tab, which is pretty self explanatory. I try to divide it into chunks like “To do (localization)”, so I don’t have a massive to-do list, but instead lots of small ones, teehee. This is also where I keep my changelog, to write down any changes I make between builds.

And last, but definitely not least, is my “Messy File” tab! This is where I put ALL MY NOTES. It needs different parts because I made a new part every time opening a tab made my computer chug like crazy. Because it has so many words.

I get an idea for a scene in the middle of the night? GOES INTO THE MESSY SCENE. Oh, I realized when I was grocery shopping that I should fix this small bug by doing this! MESSY FILE. Hehe what if I drew Siffrin baldMESSY FILE. Everything goes there, and then every couple weeks I go through it and put all those little nuggets of ideas into their actual tab. I find it useful to have a file that is allowed to be messy as hell, so the other tabs can be clean and neat!

The Messy File tab also contains the “Entire Story”, which is something I wrote in August 2021 when I started thinking I had no idea where I was going. I took like 4 hours to write down the entire story, from beginning to end, and if I had no idea what would happen, I would just make it up on the spot even if I thought it was bad. And guess what. After that, I knew where I was going. CRAZY!!! I did that a couple more times when I felt stuck at a specific point in the story, and it helped me every time. Would recommend.

And, that’s it! That’s how I organize my notes! I hope! This was! Insightful! Somehow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s all I have to say for today! Let me know if you have any questions, or if there’s any aspect of the game development struggle you’d like me to talk about! See you next time!!!

AND DON’T FORGET TO WISHLIST THE GAME ON STEAM ALSO IT REALLY HELPS BECAUSE STEAM’S ALGORITHM IS MORE LIKELY TO SHOW OFF GAMES WITH A HIGH AMOUNT OF WISHLISTS THAT’S THE REASON WHY GAME DEVS ALWAYS ASK TO WISHLIST!!! OKAY BYE!!!!

[galaxygolfergirl]

Some of my favorite Helsa fan arts I’ve done throughout the years (dates are in the alt text).

I’ve been thinking about this ship recently, especially its place in the fandom, and I have some thoughts (read below)

Ever since I was roped into this franchise 10 years ago, I think I’ve almost always drawn Hans with a beard. Primarily, it was because I felt that if he ever did show up again in Frozen media, he would be more weathered and unpretentious about his appearance since dropping his facade in the first film. Also because I just thought he would look better with more facial hair (it’s a me thing).

As for Elsa, I’ve never been consistent in drawing her, as it was hard for me to read her animated model, what with her huge eyes and baby nose, as normal, so that’s evolved over the years to a happy medium where it still reads as Elsa, but also reads as human with normal face proportions.

As to why I’ve shipped helsa all these years? Hans and Elsa are two sides of the same coin to me, the main difference being that one of them succumbed to their worst intentions and desires, while the other freed themselves and learned to embrace love and peace in their life. Both were isolated during their childhoods, resulting in years of loneliness, misery, and bitterness; both try to appear poised and reserved, hiding their inner self-loathing; both are intelligent and cunning, both have a definite aggressive streak, and both have interesting chemistry in their very few scenes together. Hans seems to be the only one on equal footing with Elsa who can get through to her throughout the film, mainly for his own ambition, of course, but it intrigued me to see even all these years later how compelling their interactions are.

Why would he sympathetically plead, “don’t be the monster they fear you are,” and stop her from killing those two guards? If he was planning on killing her, why would he go to her and ask if she could stop the winter? Why does he look shocked, almost sad when she tells him that she can’t, like he’s regretting having to kill her? It’s moments like these that paint these characters with more nuance than meets the eye.

I’ve always thought after the first movie, there was definitely potential for a more nuanced and interesting story if Hans were to return. Not simply for revenge, but rather an “enemy of my enemy is my friend” situation, where Frohana would have to work with Hans somehow to fend off an invading force or adversary, like the Southern Isles, to stick it to his family. He and Elsa would be adversarial, for sure, but through forced cooperation, they could open up and become more vulnerable with one another. The amount of angst and turmoil over their feelings for one another would be doubly engrossing. The drama would be incredible.

Now listen: I don’t really expect any of that to happen. I got off the Helsa or die party bus years ago and I’m just mainly enjoying it as it’s own non-canon concept. Believe me, I would love it if it did happen, god willing and the creek don’t rise. But really, when you get down to it, these are movies marketed at little girls, and I don’t think it would really go that far. It’s not easy to come back from holding a sword over a girl’s head, as quoted by Santino Fontana himself.

I grew up with this fandom, I started all the way back in middle school 10 years ago, and this has been a definite learning experience for me in separating the extrapolated world of fan-fiction and the reality of a pg animated musical. I’ve grown up and my expectations are different, and now I understand that canon doesn’t mean shit. I beg, do not take any of this seriously. Just because it has the Disney trademark slapped on it does not mean it’s the end all be all of a story. Stories are fluid things that adapt and evolve in each of the hands they pass through. No one interpretation of a story or a character or a relationship has to be “the right one,” and not every character has to sit on a black and white scale of moral dichotomy, there are always shades of gray.

I’m not saying all of this to be deep about a ship between a Disney princess and a Disney villain that I got into when I was 13, believe I know it’s not that deep. I’m saying this because I’ve lived through fandom and set myself up with false expectations, only to be disappointed. Hell, I took a break from helsa for a solid 3 years because of how burnt out I was. It’s far too easy to dissociate from the text and treat fanon as canon; you’re just setting yourself up to be disappointed. Just let it be its own thing! Like I said, canon does not mean shit! Don’t take things so seriously! Feel free to tell your own stories!

Anyways, I still love this ship, or at least the version I came up with in my head, because I am a storyteller, and I saw potential in these two that could be realized through other means. It doesn’t matter to me if it’s canon or not. Just enjoy it as it is.

[siflshonen]

Hi, I love your analyses and your fics! 💕Especially that Eureka Seven AU man ngl it lives in my head and starts playing in my local theaters every other night at 2 AM, but *clears throat* I'm getting off topic lol :D do you have a bakudeku fic/authors rec list?

I'm honored you read the Eureka Seven one!

Good Bakudeku authors... the truth is, there are SO MANY. Just in general, and so many that are really, truly excellent. I have begun consuming more and more fic lately as I feel the itch of the subtext of what's happening in the manga rapidly becoming text and just plain consuming me, but many of the individual stories I've read can be GREAT as a story but perhaps not so great as a canon-faithful representation of Bakudeku - so I'm not entirely sure what kind of Bakudeku you're asking for ("fun and good story" versus "horny vignette" versus "that's totally Katsuki and Izuku.")

Also, like, for several of these authors, their Bakudeku portrayals evolved as the series progressed and we all learned more about these characters and the varnish of what BNHA pretends to be (superhero stock shonen!) peeled off to show what it actually is (The newest generation of something that should never have been domesticated now outgrowing the limits of the modern genre.) This is always good to keep in mind when looking at the dates of each work published.

Um, it's hard to pick just a few, and even harder when there's no specific direction about what TYPE. So here's a scattershot off the top of my head:

Me. My work. Read Mundane Crimes, Public Displays of Affection and I Want What I Don't Deserve. Those actually have some substance to them. The rest are kind of whatever, but you may still find them fun.

Kickass AUs and All-Rounders

chymerical is my favorite author on this list. They can do anything. I care about sports now because of chymerical. There's your fuckin' fadeaway.

young_crone - some are truly Bakudeku and some are just great stories that are using familiar names. Read all of 'em.

SmartiMart - Variant Edition is a sweeping epic and fascinating enough that the Bakudeku isn't actually its primary draw for me. Please also read Where in the World is Marigold? It's not Bakudeku, but I love it. SmartiMart is clever, inventive, and sometimes so much of a romantic that it makes me go, "woah, now! That's a bit much!" but in the best way.

iphido - this author has only one work for bakudeku, and it is worth it.

nicc - bite-sized sweet scenes, though many are very NSFW. Consistently excellent.

pikahlua - Dragonheart. this is your kick in the pants to finish those scenes, Pika.

Romantic Comedies

qodqodqod - Cringe comedy where love always, always, always prevails and bakudeku can't out-stupid their way out of it. Great job of not making the miscommunication, or lack of communication, a bore or overdone past what it needs to be.

heartsinhay - the cringe comedies are named that for a reason.

Darker Stuff

rironomind - apparently published something new earlier this year and I missed it??? DAMN! Existential, experimental, melancholic, high concept, fantastic. Rom's work is mostly in this category because it tends to throw curveballs at the reader. This is the category that just felt the most right by its vibes.

bkdkink - Lemonhead specifically.

Roadtripwithlucifer (read their new stuff too) - horny, but focused and full, full, full of ennui and anger and love and grief. It's the confidence of handling the last four that makes these works shine.

Surveycorpsjean - hit or miss for me personally, but always well done.

majjale - always great work; sometimes hit-or-miss for me personally on the bakudeku.

[yasubloodly]

Just Us

Chapter 1: Bentley's Owner

Good Omens x GN Reader

Sypnosis: Moving into a new place will never be easy but making new friends especially with an angel and a demon?

Who knows.

A/N: Decided to post it here too. Uh this is my first time posting here.

(Y/N) - Your Name

(H/C) - Hair Color

(E/C) - Eyes Color 

(Y/F/N) - Your Full Name

(S/C) - Skin Color

.

.

.

Over the years, Soho evolved and adapted. It became a haven for the creative minds that flocked to its streets. Musicians, writers, and artists found solace and inspiration in its coffeehouses and underground clubs. The melodies of jazz, soul, and rock 'n' roll filled the air, drawing both the curious locals and the adventurous tourists to its lively margins.

Beyond its artistic allure, Soho pulsates with culinary delights. From hidden speakeasies to renowned Michelin-starred restaurants, its diverse array of flavors tantalizes the taste buds. Soho is an epicurean's paradise, inviting food enthusiasts from all walks of life to explore its gastronomic offerings.

The neighborhood cherishes its working-class heritage, weaving the stories of the past with the energetic rhythm of the present. Traditional pubs frequented by laborers still stand proudly on street corners, their wooden interiors echoing with laughter and tales of days gone by.

Soho may be a small corner of London, but its spirit is immeasurable. It is a place where creativity knows no bounds, a hub of artistic expression and cultural revolution. The legacy it leaves on those who venture through its vibrant streets is one of inspiration and acceptance.

(Y/N) has been living in a big city their whole life, so moving to Soho was a dream come true. Even though they were excited, the hustle and bustle of the city was intimidating and overwhelming. They started to wander around and got lost in the busy street.

As they were trying to orient themselves , something caught their eye. It was a grand old Bentley, parked across the street. (Y/N) was mesmerized by it. The car was sleek and elegant, totally different from anything they ever owned and different from anything they’ve seen before.

The Bentley’s owner was leaning against the car, with his fiery red hair and a black jacket. He remained stern-faced despite the chaos brewing in his mind as he leaned against his sleek Bentley, his gaze fixed at the vintage little bookshop across the street. Even though (Y/N) had made eye contact with the Bentley owner twice, the person never responded which made them feel like they weren’t welcomed.

(Y/N) couldn’t peel their eyes away from the beauty of the Bentley. To them, the car was much more than a vehicle, it was a symbol of adventure. With that car they could travel the world, explore different places and meet people from all kinds of backgrounds. It was a dream come true.

(Y/N) already knew that living in Soho was going to be an amazing experience. They simply had to take this opportunity and make something of it. With that thought in their head, (Y/N) smiled.

"What?" The man spat out impolitely. 

(Y/N) flinched.

"Excuse me...hello, I'm really sorry for staring. You have such a lovely Bentley, I can't help but to stare" (Y/N) awkwardly stumbled not only on their words but on the steps too, talking to a stranger in a place you don't know can be dangerous. Slowly, (Y/N) walks to him but stay a few feets away from him.

"Oh, also I'm new around here so I don't actually know what to do besides walking around..umm" (Y/N) whispered to themselves, Crowley could barely hear them. 

(Y/N) does not want to make a weird first impression to Crowley. Their soft (H/C) hair bounce from every steps they are taking. 

Crowley was bored and a bit hungry. But the human seemed rather polite. (Y/N) had that innocent puppy dog look on their face. Maybe the human wasn't so bad after all, especially because they admired his car. 

He raised an eyebrow at them, wondering why they were approaching him. He didn't want to be bothered by someone looking for directions or something similar. 

However, he still asked, "Are you lost?" Maybe he could give them false directions, he smirked internally.

"Oh! No no... I'm not lost actually. I'm new to this area. I'm just hanging around here. I did visit some shops and uhh that coffee shop behind me, it was good! " (Y/N) directed their finger towards the coffee shop behind them. 

Their bright (E/C) eyes squinted, they smiled awkwardly or perhaps nervously. Their shoulders dropped as both of their hands are at the sides. 

"Hmm, new here. I don't know anyone that looks quite like you," Crowley muttered, looking them up and down. Their nervousness amused him, he was sure he could annoy them even more. 

He looked at them with a serious expression on his face, "What's your name?"

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself! I'm (Y/F/N) , pleasure meeting you umm... " (Y/N) trailed off, trying to get Crowley to tell his own name. 

"Crowley." He said his name with a straight face, even though he was slightly entertained by the conversation.

Then he smirked, and his voice rang with a bit of sarcasm, "Pleasure is all mine," he said, even though he didn't really think that. "Oh, and are you some kind of exotic tourist around here, (Y/N) ?"

He knew (Y/N) just move into here since they mentioned it earlier but he decided to tease them even more. 

Flush creeps across their (S/C) cheeks. Their (E/C) eyes widen for a second before shifting glances all around the streets. "Uh... I'm a freelancer, I move into this neighborhood just to get some fresh air. It looks nice here" They flashes a smile to Crowley as they nervously tucked one hair behind their ear. 

"How about you Mr. Crowley? What are you doing here, I guess you're not new here like me since you look like you're seems to park your car here every days" questioned (Y/N) . 

"Oh, are you trying to figure out my secrets?" He asked with a smirk. "I've got some time to kill, so I thought I'd come and see if my best friend is in the shop."

He gestured in the direction of the shop. "I'm never far from him," he said with a little smile. "I have nothing better to do. I'm so bored. I wish I could fall through a crack in the world to a more exciting world." 

He looked at (Y/N) with a bit of curiosity. "Are you enjoying this part of the world?"

It was indeed a strange question, someone that you don't even know and meeting them for only a few seconds just ask you that. What does he wants? Is he trying to be friendly or just curious. 

(Y/N) glances at the bookshop Crowley gestured to, their eyes sparked as soon as they saw the shop. "Ohh! I would love to visit the bookshop, I was supposed to go there just to look around and introduce myself but I'm taking my time out here. Probably just me been nervous" (Y/N) chuckled. 

They turned back to look at Crowley "I do actually enjoy the world, there's a lot of stuff to be discovered! I get to do things that I enjoy too! " beamed (Y/N). Their smile widen at the thought of enjoying life with everything that they have. 

"It just so happens that my best friend works in that very charming little bookshop." He couldn't help himself, and grinned at (Y/N)'s excitement about the bookshop. 

"Is it really that exciting for you?" He asked, a bit amused. 

"Are you perhaps a fan of books, then?" Crowley wondered, because he himself enjoyed a good book every once in a while. But he was sure that there were many things more entertaining to do than reading. Or so he thought.

"I love books! It's just the smell of books got me feeling gleeful. Besides reading books, I also love listening to music especially when I'm drawing or reading. How about you Mr. Crowley, do you enjoy them as well? "  curiously, they look at Crowley in anticipation. 

"Hmm, you seem like a bit of a nerd," he teased. 

"Yes, I might enjoy books and music too," he said with a small smile. His grin widened, and he glanced at (Y/N) in a way that made they feel as if he was looking right through them. He always found it amusing to see someone blush, and he was sure (Y/N)'s face was starting to get a little pink. 

He took a breath and then asked, "Speaking of music, what kind of music do you like?"

(Y/N) let out a soft breathe laugh "To be honest, I love music like Queen but not a lot of people seems to enjoy it. Quite rare if I must say" They crossed their arms as they crinkles their nose. 

Crowley grinned when (Y/N) started to talk about their favorite band. He loved Queen, and he was actually quite surprised that they mentioned them.

"Queen? Really?" He asked. "I also really enjoy them, they're one of my all time favorites!"

The demon gave a loud laughter and then said, "I never thought that I would ever find someone in a place like this that enjoys music even half as much as I do!"

He looked at (Y/N) , and then added with a flirtatious edge in his voice, "Perhaps you and I aren't so different after all."

(Y/N) giggles, they hums a bit " Perhaps we aren't, Mr. Crowley " they winked. 

"Well, it was nice meeting you Mr. Crowley. I guess... I better go now. That bookshop of your good friend has been intriguing me for almost hours" They look down at their black leather watch, wrapping nicely around their left wrist. 

(Y/N) look up back to Crowley, smiling softly "Unless you wouldn't mind to walk me there and introduce me to your friend? " 

Crowley was surprised by their sudden flirtatiousness. Were they really flirting with him? A human, flirting with him? He liked it. 

"Of course I don't mind," he said with a smirk. "I don't want you to get lost. And it makes me happy to make you happy by introducing you to my friend," he replied with a charming smile. 

He started to walk towards the bookshop. It was almost time for closing, and he was hoping that his best friend was still around.

Before they could even reach to the bookshop. Crowley halted. He was hit by a strong sense of urgency, his heart rate increasing rapidly. He immediately stopped walking, turning to look at (Y/N) with a serious expression on his face.

(Y/N) looked at Crowley in concerned " Is something ma-"

"Something is wrong," he said in a low voice. "I have to go back."

He knew that something important had to happen to disturb him, but as always, his curiosity got the better of him. He decided to at least have a look, maybe it'd be worth it.

He quickly started to walk in the opposite direction, trying to ignore all of the people staring at him and wondering what the heck was going on.

Crowley let out a sigh. "Oh, for Go- ugh, what is it now?!" His face suddenly changed to an angry, annoyed gaze. 

Crowley stopped for a moment and turned to (Y/N). They seemed confused about his abrupt behavior, but there was really nothing he could do about it.

He said, "I'm sorry for taking up your time, but something urgent has come up, something I can't ignore."

Crowley then turned and ran as fast as he could, disappearing out of sight around the corner and leaving (Y/N) all by themselves with no idea what the heck just happened.

(Y/N) watched Crowley's Bentley disappeared as he drives away from there. They already at the bookshop door so they don't mind at all. Crowley business seems rather urgent so they don't really want to bother him. Crowley was an interesting man, wearing all black and his red colored hair stood out even more. 

(Y/N) shook their head, turning around to face the fascinating bookshop that they have been wanting to go inside. They took a deep breath, they look through the glass on the door, trying to find the mentioned friend of Crowley.

.

.

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A/N: I'm so sorry that they might be a bit OOC but I've been dying on creating a GO fanfic and finally after 2 seasons 😭 decided to write one. Anyways, reader is non binary,

I'll update new chapter whenever I can so please do not put too much hope on me. At first I wanted to write this as one shots but decided to make it a series. Thank you for reading it!

I might not be a big fan of Queen but I love them🧡

[sugaredrhubarb]

In honour of her second book, Lancelot in November, coming out later this month, I want to talk about one of my favourite books of the last year and one of my favourite romances ever.

King of Cups 

By @woodswit / @phoebe-woods

available here

Hockey, love, tarot, mystery—this book is so up my alley that I was almost scared to read it. After putting it off for most of the fall, I finally dove in this winter while in the middle of a depressive slump. When I say this book made me laugh and cry, it feels almost diminishing—it made me feel, and anyone who experiences similar slumps of numbness knows what a feat that can be.

King of Cups follows Eloise, a mess of a private investigator, as she gets drawn into the world of the Boston Bruins and the world of Jacques Lavesque, a hockey star and a man finally cracking under the weight of perfection. If you don’t want to read me wax on about this book for ages, give it a look.  If you'll stick around, let me tell you why I love it.

Eloise & Jacques

“She was never comfortable at all – not in her own skin and not in anyone else’s. After all, underneath it all, there she was – a trespasser no matter where she went, an interloper who had never learned to root in any soil, a witch forever in exile.”

Oh, how I was so seen by Eloise. She is a little lost and a little lonely. She is awkward, and sometimes she’s accidentally cruel, but she is good, and she is learning. Sometimes, a character changes in a book simply because the author says so; that is not the case here. Eloise grows and evolves, and we get to see every step forward and backward and every bump along the way.

“Was this what it was like to be in Jaques’s head — to see the vulnerability in everyone, even when they were challenging, and have your heart broken for it?”

I have never related so much to a male character, even in all his big athletic manliness. Jacques is tired. He has given so much of himself to his team, to his family, to everyone but himself. He has so much love and so much anger, and they twist, grow, and burn bright within each other. The story of Jaques is just as compelling as the story of Eloise, and they amplify each other in every way. 

“He was in love with the world and at times in love with every single person in it.”

Hockey 

“She was thinking of church again as she heard the announcer yell, “...BOSTON BRUINS!”  Or maybe not church — maybe something older, something rooted in pagan ritual and wolf-gods and dented armour.”

So yes, this is a hockey story, but you don’t need to be a hockey fan to enjoy it. For those of us who are, however, and have been burnt by hockey books before, this is what we’ve been looking for. The author is a hockey fan, and it shows in how she examines the fanaticism of sports culture, the paradox between the inherent violence of hockey with the perfect family man image it demands, and the bigotry endemic to the whole thing. None of it feels forced; all of it feels real, and you can tell it’s done by someone who both loves the sport and sees its flaws.

Everybody else

“[...] at the end of the day all that matters to me is how I loved other people.”

Every character in this book is a whole person. No side character is there just to serve a purpose, even only for a scene. From the other players on the team to Eloise’s family to the big “villains” and the side conflict starters, every single one has wants and needs and flaws, and I fell a little in love with them all. You will relate to them, you will feel for them, you will love them too.

Love

“Love was the Wheel of Fortune, cyclical and never static.”

The word love has already appeared 11 times in this post (12 now) and is circled frequently in my copy of the book. This is a romance (as I usually talk about very smutty things, I would be remiss not to mention that this is not that), and the love built between our main characters is so strong, even when it is scared or angry. Eloise and Jacques are magnetic to each other and the reader, and every moment they are in each other’s vicinity feels charged and electric. But romantic love is not what makes this book special. Love is woven through every aspect of the story, and it is the familial love, the platonic love, that shines brightest. Love is hard; sometimes love ends, sometimes it refuses to, and sometimes it is new and barges its way in when you least expect or want it. This book depicts it all beautifully.

I don’t even know how to fit in here just how well it’s written. The world is detailed and real. The characters are relatable and full. The mystery is gripping and engrossing. I could talk about the dialogue for ages. It is so incredibly human, funny and aching and awkward and revealing. 

If you read this book, you will want to treat the world as kindly, empathetically, and lovingly as the author treats her story. 

The author is a mutual of mine on here so I do want to say thank you to her for giving the world such a special piece of work, I’m so looking forward to reading the next addition.

And thank you anna ( @winterrose527 ) for putting it in my path in the first place.

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Two - Baggage

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - As you continue to train Eddie, words are exchanged. Your life is in shambles and he only adds to it.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

12.1K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: This story has been lingering in my mind and it took me so long to write this chapter because I want to do it right and I had the worst writer's block but now I am flooded with inspiration. Pls let me know how you feel about it so far

Masterlist

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The biting cold of the morning nipped at your skin, little pins and needles feeling like they were burying themselves there.  The streets were glimmering with puddles, the rain from the night before leaving them behind and the moody clouds still lingering in the sky.  No matter how long you’d lived in Hawkins the changing of the seasons would always sneak up on you like an unwelcome visitor.  Gone were the days of walking around downtown with an iced coffee on your day off, the summer sun beaming down and flowers in full bloom while the trees were leafy and lush.  No more lounging around on a bench outside of the college to complete a few assignments under the shade of a large oak tree in desperate need of a change of scenery in comparison to your shitty apartment.  At least not until next Spring.  

Hawkins Community College was a historical building that used to serve as the town hall but has since evolved into the college after the council elected to have the town hall relocated to a more practical location.  The building was settled just south of downtown and was deemed ‘too out of the way’.  Its bricks were a faded brown, weathered down over the years and not a high enough priority to keep maintained, though the sidewalks were freshly paved and the grass was as green as ever, the morning dew blanketing over it like a fresh coat of paint.  The campus wasn’t very large seeing as Hawkins’ population wasn’t very impressive and the majority of its residents would travel elsewhere for college. 

The front steps of the building were scuffed and scattered with various footprints from students and teachers who walked with purpose to their destination.  On the very top step, front and center sat a disoriented Dustin Henderson, face scrunched up in perplexity.  Though he was still attending Hawkins High as a current sophomore, he enlisted himself in one of the programs offered where students could take classes at Hawkins Community for college credits.  Fingers desperately ruffling through the several papers in his dense binder, he argued with his mother while his phone was clutched in the other hand on speaker.  Something about “I swear it was on the kitchen counter!” followed by the word ‘mom’ being shouted into the phone repeatedly as if it would solve his dilemma.  When she apologetically let him know that there was no such mystery item, he only cursed as he facepalmed, ending the call with a defeated “Okay, love you.  Bye.”  

A heavy sigh escaped the boy as he slapped the binder onto the step beside him, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, agitated.  Dustin was ironically your only college friend, not a best friend but you knew him well enough to gather that he’d definitely left his assignment at home and that this was going to dictate his mood for the entire day.  His eyes resembled emeralds as his focus shifted from his dirty sneakers up to you, a hint of excitement swimming in the deep green of his irises.  

“Rough morning?” You suggest with a sympathetic smile.  He bites his lip in frustration as if he’s holding back every distressed thought racing through his head.

“Mhmm.” He squeaks, still refraining from word vomiting all over your peaceful morning, hands now resting on his denim covered knees.  

“You forgot your essay, didn’t you?” You know you’ve poked the bear but you could feel how anxious he was to blow up about everything that went wrong that morning leading up to this moment and who were you to deny him?  Henderson had a special place nestled in the corner of your heart, always loud and boisterous but also kind and delightful to be around.  

He sucked in a breath before releasing every word that was prodding his brain.  “All because my mom had to clean the goddamn house!  She was all ‘Dusty, this is why we don’t leave our things around!’” He mocks his mothers voice with a high pitch, face twisting in dramatics.  “I left it right on the counter where I could grab it on my way out but apparently, a ten page essay WITH MY NAME ON IT IN BIG BOLD LETTERS was thrown in the garbage.  On its way to a landfill.  Gone.”  His shoulders tensed and all you could offer was a supportive hand to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Dustin.”  You say carefully, the kid was a ticking time bomb sometimes.  He waved you off, his way of saying ‘don’t worry about it’.  

“And THEN, fucking Will made the dumbest move last night at our campaign.  Completely tanked the whole thing.”  His hands were thrown up in misery as he recalled the memory.  “Eddie had the whole thing set up perfectly, we’ve been playing this campaign for weeks!”  Dustin’s eyes shifted back and forth erratically as the whole thing played out in his mind, your eyes rolled at the mention of the metalhead.  “Oh he was so pissed.  You shoulda seen him, he was throwing dice, screaming at Will, screaming at Mike, screaming at ME!  I finally talked him off the ledge but shit, he was revved up.”

Eddie hosted their DND club a majority of the time per Dustin and from what he tells you about those nights, Eddie is always a sadistic maniac.  Dustin also swears that he’s like his big brother, next in line to King Steve although Steve took on more of a dad role.  There was no way to imagine Eddie embodying the role of a big brother let alone displaying any kind of pleasant behavior.  You cringed at the mere idea of him, knowing you’d have to endure him at work this evening.

Dustin continued his rant passionately.  “And I’m sorry, I know you hate when I bring up Eddie for whatever reason but dude was not having it.  My special edition dice are now lost in the abyss underneath his couch.”  You shake your head in disapproval.  “I told him I’d let it slide though cause he said he’d let me go with him to a concert.” He concludes with a shrug.

At this you nudge the boy’s shoulder, disappointed.  “Dustin!  He can’t bribe his way out of losing your dice after chucking them when he has a temper tantrum!  If those dice are important to you then you need to stand your ground.”  You instruct him.

He lets out a long sigh before responding.  “Socks, respectfully, this is how our friendship with Eddie works.  We piss each other off and then we move on.  Like a few weeks ago, he kept making sexual sounds while I was on the phone with my mom so I hid his shoes from him after he got really stoned.”  At this you can’t help but release a laugh.  

“Good on you, Henderson.” You praise.  “I guess I won’t need to step in when I see him at work later then.  Sounds like you can handle yourself.”  You begin pulling your binder from your bag in preparation for class.  

Dustin shakes his head in confusion, waving his arms in front of him like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle.  “Hold up, Eddie’s a barista now?”  His tone is humorous, on the brink of cackling.  

“Uh huh.”  You answer nonchalantly while opening your binder and shuffling through a few papers, making a note in your planner for some homework you just remembered off the top of your head.  “And our dear Stevie knew about it before me and just decided it’d be a good idea to see my reaction when he walked in the door for his first shift yesterday.”  You chew on your pen as you attempt to remember any other assignments you may have forgotten to write down.  

“Eddie?  Eddie Munson?  Metalhead, former drug dealer, thought it would be funny to piss in Steve’s beer, Eddie Munson?  That Eddie?”  Dustin gapes at you in disbelief to which you nod.  “I’m sorry but–there’s no fucking way!  A barista?  He doesn’t even drink coffee, he hates trendy little cafes, and there’s no goddamn way he would apply for a job where both you AND Steve work.  Sounds like his own personal hell.”  The boy is laughing, clutching his stomach.  

You hang your head and giggle along with him.  As awful as the situation was, it did sound ridiculous enough to laugh.  “I thought the same thing, Dusty.  The universe just has it out for us.” You refer to you and Steve.  As much as you had a rivalry with Eddie, Steve had his own beef with the guy.  This posed as an issue seeing as Steve practically mothered Lucas, Mike, Will, Dustin, Max, and El ever since he was in high school when he dated Nancy Wheeler.  The way Eddie and Steve fought resembled a divorced couple exchanging their kids in a Walmart parking lot.  And to Steve’s disadvantage, Eddie always ended up at the notorious parties he threw since one of the kids always ended up blabbing after he distinctly told them not to.  It always put a damper on your night when he showed up, giving you flashbacks to that one party years ago that you swore you’d forget about but it still lingered in the back of your mind.  

“I hope you know this means that everyone’s going to be placing bets on who ends up dead first.”  Dustin raises a brow at you, throwing his arm over your shoulder, shaking it playfully.

Standing up as classes were about to start, you shot him a glare.  “I can definitely take him.”  You state, holding your hand out to help him up.  He takes it and shrugs, a grin on his face that tells you ‘I don’t know about that’.  “Dustin.  Please don’t tell me you think Eddie is going to get to me.”  You scoff as he opens the heavy metal door leading into the building, the hinges creaking.  

His face indicates that he’s bouncing a thought around before answering.  “Well…” he begins.  “You don’t know what he’s capable of.  The guy is a menace.  He can play games for as long as he needs to.”  He further explains.  

“Okay, you know what?  I’m done talking about some asshole who doesn’t even matter to me.”  You decide, the mostly vacant hallways echoing your footsteps as you step into the heated building. 

“Ugh, it’s like having three parents who don’t get along.  I know Eddie is a lot but maybe if you, I dunno, hung out with him you’d realize he’s actually also really cool.”  Dustin has the audacity to suggest.

Huffing out a breath and holding your binder to your chest, you give him your final piece of mind.  “Munson is never going to even get the time of day out of me let alone a besties hangout sesh.”  You snap bitterly.  Dustin’s hands raise in surrender, you’re done with this conversation and he knows better than to try and change your mind.  

“Anyway…” he sighs, dropping his shoulders while you both make your way through the beige halls.  “Max and Lucas are back together again.”  He nudges your shoulder with his, causing you to sway as you walk.  The couple were always on again, off again.  One week Lucas would do something dumb like stand her up by accident to go to the mall with Mike and another Max would invalidate his feelings.  It was something they claimed they were working out but after every breakup, everyone always reacted with an eye roll, knowing full well that the routine would repeat itself.  You truly did root for them but if they were going to keep hurting each other, there was no reason for them to continue the relationship.  

Glancing at Dustin, your face tells him that you’re not amused.  “Tell me something new, Henderson.”  You deadpan.  He nods, exhaling as he racks his brain.

“Holy shit!”  He sounds as if he’d just had a revelation.  “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!”  His feet stomp on the linoleum floors in excitement, sneakers squeaking against the surface.  “But you have to PROMISE not to tell anyone.”  A finger is pointed at you in warning as you nod for him to continue.  Dustin was very bad at keeping secrets.  “Steve has a girlfriend.”  He chirps.  

Stopping dead in your tracks, shoes screeching against the floor, your eyes widen.  Steve told you everything so if Dustin’s accusations were true you were going to have some words for him for not telling you.  “Who?!”  You inquire, full attention on the curly headed boy.  “You’re lying, Steve would’ve told me!”  You whine like a child.

“That’s the thing, he hasn’t told anyone.  I saw some girl getting out of his car the other night in the mall parking lot.  I didn’t get a good look at who it was cause it happened so fast.”  He explains.

Your excitement drops at his words.  “Dustin, that doesn’t mean he has a girlfriend, that means he’s messing around, he does it all the time.” You remind him of his reputation as King Steve.

“Well pardon me for being an optimist.”  He sasses you, the two of you approaching the class.  

“You’re really bad at gossiping.”  You finish before stepping into the room, leaving him offended in the hallway.  

–

Class was as bland as ever, your professor, Mr. Randall lectured about marketing the whole two and a half hours and you nearly fell asleep six times, Dustin jabbing the eraser end of his pencil into your side each time you started slouching as he caught up on his calculus homework.  The closer to the evening it got, the more on edge you grew knowing you wouldn’t get to work the peaceful closing shift you were once used to but instead suffer a stress-inducing nightmare while training the local terror of Hawkins.  Life sucked all the way around at the moment.

Bidding Dustin a ‘see you later’ while you were walking in sync just outside the building where you always parted, he flashed you a grin before begging you to snap him a photo of Eddie at work to send it to him later.  More than likely for blackmail reasons for the next time they were pissing each other off.  Their relationship was something you couldn’t quite get a grasp on however you didn’t attempt to even understand it past the fact that for some reason Dustin admired the man child as well as despised him sometimes in that brotherly way.  

“Dustin, fuck off.”  You tell him with a playful tone.  

“What!?  You don’t even like the guy.  I’d venture to even say that this would be benefiting you in the long run.”  He clasps his hands together in front of him in a pleading motion but you don’t seem to budge which his face falls at.  

“I don’t need to be involved in your little war, I have my own!”  A dramatic wave of your arms is enough to stop him from prodding.  

With that you departed from the campus and headed straight to downtown a few hours shy of your shift to lounge around and chat with Robin.  It was either that or go back to your shitty apartment and sit in the freezing stale air, at least this way you could revel in the warmth of the shop and sip on a hot chocolate which happened to be your favorite and the only hot drink you would ever order.  Every other option had to be iced or it was a no go.  

It was around two in the afternoon so there was time to be killed until five.  You figured you’d grab your hot chocolate, gossip with Robin and Steve for a little, maybe work on some assignments, and then take a little walk through the park at the center of the square, a solid plan.  The morning chill was long gone and it was now a tad warmer with the sun sitting high in the sky.  The sidewalks were vacant since everyone was either at work or still in school which was a plus in your book, you liked to keep to yourself and found it especially annoying when you had to stop to interact with random patrons and were expected to indulge in stupid small talk that was lost on you the second you walked away.

A thirty minute walk later and you’d finally reached The Under-Ground, the smell of espresso already invading your nose before you even stepped into the building.  As you reached for the metal handle, the door had already swung open with the bell chiming above it, a rushed Joyce Byers stumbling out with two full cup holders of hot coffees nearly flying out of her hands, eyes panicked and a startled gasp escaping her.  

She mumbles your name with a nervous grin, her nose tinted pink from the fall air.  “So sorry!  I didn’t mean to run you over–I just–I was in such a hurry.  I forgot to get the coffee for a staff meeting.”  She further explains apologetically as she gestures with a tilt of her head to Melvald’s.  

Your expression softens, Joyce was always the sweetest person you’d ever met and she was a regular at the shop.  She was one person you didn’t mind engaging in small talk with because she was genuinely interested in your answers and took the initiative to further the conversation, asking how things were and telling you to let her know if you ever needed anything.  You never took her up on the offer, there was no reason to bother her.  Joyce was somewhat of a mother figure but in a quiet manner and you were so grateful whenever she graced you with her presence.  Her boys were well mannered too, she’d done an amazing job raising them as a single mom.  Obviously you’d hung out with Will since Steve was the designated neighborhood mom and that granted you rights to the movie nights, pool parties, and just about anything that Steve hosted which meant all the kids were there too.  Will was a sweet kid, he was shy at first but an absolute menace once he was comfortable enough.  

For some reason you had a connection with him as well as Joyce, they were like family just not by blood.  Will had always comforted you if things ever felt off.  If no one else in the group noticed your shift in mood, Will did and he would approach it graciously, silently nodding at you to ask if you were okay.  From there you would communicate through your eyes and he’d gather what you were feeling from that alone.  It was like having telepathy and somehow you would both silently step out from whatever scene you were in the middle of.  If it was at Steve’s, the two of you would perch yourselves on the front steps and you would just let him know you weren’t feeling that great mentally.  The conversation really wouldn’t go further than that but it didn’t need to, he was just there for you and you for him.  It worked both ways, if Will looked particularly lonely you would nod your head toward the door and you’d both meet outside.  Sometimes he’d hint that he found it annoying how clingy El and Mike were but you knew it meant that he was sick to his stomach that his best friend and his crush were basically making out on top of him.  Jonathan had always made it a point to bring you to the side and thank you for providing that support to his brother and that it meant a lot to him.  You’d always offer a small smile in return.  The Byers held a special place in your heart, they were so effortlessly nice just because.  They had no ulterior motive, just the intention to be good people.  

Taking in Joyce’s disoriented demeanor, you shake your head and help her to steady a leaning coffee that almost escaped the cup holder.  “That’s okay, I almost crashed into you.”  You tell her.

“No, that was my fault!  I really wanna catch up with you but I have to go!”  She says rather quickly, worried as she begins to scurry back to Melvald’s.  Telling her you’ll have to catch up soon over coffee and that she knows where to find you, she agrees and hurries into the store.  You can’t help letting out a small giggle at her antics.

Finally sauntering into The Under-Ground, the warmth wraps around you like a cozy cocoon, something that was all too unfamiliar at this stage in your life given the circumstances of your apartment where you were meant to spend most of your time but did everything in your power to stay away from.  You welcomed the hot air like a big hug, eyes shutting in content with a deep sigh.  The tables are empty save for one in the very corner where a businessman sipped on a latte while putting together a powerpoint on his laptop.  Steve leaned against the counter scrolling away until he felt your gaze on him, raising his brows in expectancy.

“You’re here early…”  He points out. 

Irritably, you set your bag on one of the tables before making your way over to the register.  “So what you’re saying is, you’re not happy to see me, Stevie?”  You ask with mock hurt.

Steve scoffs as he stands on the opposite side of the register as if to ring you up.  “You know that’s not what I mean.”  He explains.  “I mean, you seem to be coming in earlier and earlier.  Can’t get enough of me?”  A wink is offered your way.  

You gag at this, painting disgust on your features.  “No offense but you’re not my type and I think you know that by now.”  You joke.  The chances of you and Steve getting together were as great as the chances of him and Robin getting together, zero.  And it was mutual but you had this ongoing joke.  “Now can you please make  me a hot chocolate?”  You request with a pout.  “Pleeeeease.”  You add, swaying back and forth like a child asking their mother for candy.

All you receive in return is an eye roll as he begrudgingly obliges and spins on his heels to prepare the drink.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”  You tell him in an annoyingly high pitched voice.  

“Whatever, SOCKS.”  He pronounces the nickname loudly, the businessman in the corner momentarily looking up at him in displeasure.  You give Steve a glare while taking a seat at your chosen table in the book corner, mouthing his words, mocking him with a dramatic facial expression.  

Shortly after taking a seat, Robin emerges from the back and claims the chair next to you silently, her hair thrown up in a messy ponytail on top of her head, face indicating business.  “You see, Steve was given one job and that was to ask you how last night went with Munson but clearly he was incapable of even the smallest task.”  She rants.  “So here I am.  Asking.  How did it go?  Is he still alive?”  She pushes, crossing her arms while awaiting an answer.  

Raising a brow at her, you continue pulling out your laptop as planned.  “I’m only gonna say this once.”  You affirm.  Steve’s ears perk up as he rushes over while struggling to fit the lid onto your hot chocolate, face twisted in concentration as he approaches the table.  “He’s the actual spawn of the devil and I have contemplated quitting–”  Robin goes to interrupt you before you hold up a finger, finishing your thoughts.  “But I will not give him that power and I’m going to keep working and will only talk to him when absolutely necessary.  I’m also going to forever hold a grudge against Steve for even letting Munson hear the nickname ‘Socks’.  My tranquil closing time has become my own private hell, thanks Steve.”  You ramble.  “Also, yes.  He’s still very much alive, unfortunately.”  You say in monotone.

Steve looks taken back, a hand flying up over his heart in surprise, temporarily giving up on securing the lid of your drink.  “Thanks, Steve???  I didn’t personally hire him!  I admit I slipped up on the name but give me a break here.”  He whines.

You reach for the hot chocolate, making grabby hands as you frown at a distraught Steve, hoping he’ll at least nudge the cup toward your reach.  He throws his hands up in the air with a scoff.  “Socks, I didn’t mean to rile you up by not telling you he got hired, okay?!  I made a dumb decision thinking it would be better for you and it bit me in the ass.  I’m sorry.”  In usual Steve fashion he stares at you with giant pleading eyes, his long lashes blinking at you while his lips pout, all pretty and pink as if he were a Barbie doll.  

“Really, Steve?”  Robin mocks, a smirk pulling at her lips.  

You finally pipe up, still reaching for the drink across the table.  “Steve, I’ll forgive you if you hand me my drink.”  You bargain, tongue darting out in concentration as you inch your fingers toward the chocolatey goodness hidden in a paper cup.  Steve snatches it up and pushes it into your hands, the warmth of the beverage consuming your palms.  The lid is still barely sitting on top, you gently pull it off to allow it to cool down.  

Triumphantly, Steve strolls back behind the counter.  “So we’re good?  I’m free of my mistake?”  He shouts to you.  You and Robin share a look, her attempting to take a sip of your hot chocolate only to burn her tongue, a series of huffing noises leaving her as he waves her hands up and down in front of her mouth. 

“Hoth, hoth, hoth.”  She lisps.  

You offer Steve a thumbs up from across the room while shaking your head at Robin.  “All good, Stevie.  Until the next time you cross me.”  You half joke.  “Robin, it’s hot chocolate.  Hot.”  You remind her as she pinches her tongue with her fingers, her brows knit together.  She whines in response, rushing away to relieve her scalded tongue with some water.  It turns out, you didn’t get that gossip session with Robin seeing as she was too occupied with soothing her tongue along with a sudden wave of customers.  Next time, you suppose.  You’ll have another chance to rant and rave to each other soon enough.

–

The espresso machine whirs and creates a hum as you craft a macchiato for the customer standing idly by the to go counter.  It’s 5:15.  And you work the shop alone.  Not that you would usually complain, the evening rush was nothing you couldn’t handle on your own but training a new hire wasn’t something you could bypass so either way it would need to get done and the sooner your new terror of a coworker could do things independently, the better.  And yet, he was fifteen minutes late, nowhere in sight, not even the roar of his stupid motorcycle in the distance.

Robin and Steve had taken off at five on the dot, Steve complaining that he was responsible for hauling everyone to Lucas’ basketball game and you grateful for having the night shift.  Sports were a complete snoozefest and although you’d love to support Lucas it just wasn’t your scene.  Of course you’d go when you were free but there was that sliver of relief when you weren’t required to subject yourself to the highschool gym full of sweaty kids and squeaking shoes.

With a polite smile, the drink is gingerly handed to the customer and you are offered a half assed thank you before they exit, no eye contact while they stare down at their phone.  You shrug it off, glancing around at the few people that are lounging around at the tables either working on their laptops or reading.  Everyone seems satisfied and no tables are in need of tidying or wiping down so you return to the hot chocolate you had been nursing, now chocolate milk if anything but still delicious.  Leaning against the counter as you sip, you allow yourself a moment of meditation, breathing in–and out–in—and out, the cocoa taste lingering on your tongue in between sips.

As if god himself had it out for you, your brief moment of silence and tranquility is rudely interrupted by the blaring engine of a certain someone’s dumbass motorcycle, whipping around the corner and into a spot dead center in front of the shop.  You note that you’ll have to have a conversation with him about parking in the back so customers can actually use those spots provided–he won’t listen but at least Ronnie won’t be able to put the blame on you.  Rolling your eyes at the delinquent, he makes his way into the building, pulling his helmet off and shaking his shaggy mane around like a dog.

Knowing that you can’t reprimand him the way you so desire in front of customers, you shoot him daggers from where you lean, gripping the paper cup tight enough to leave crescents from your nails.  If he doesn’t even have the decency to show up for work on time, why should you have to endure closing with him every night?  Why is it that you’re seemingly being punished by the universe?  Haven’t you had enough already?  My apartment sucks, I sleep on a lumpy mattress in the corner on the hard ass floor, my heater doesn’t work even though it's getting cold, hell, even some of my lights don’t work, rent is being raised next month, classes are kicking my ass, and now that actual spawn of satan gets to unleash his wrath on me every day.  The thoughts consume you momentarily until Eddie spins around from clocking in on the computer, delivering a smirk with an amused expression underlying his features.  And you’re having none of it, it’s only his second day and he’s pulling this shit?  Absolutely not.  

Your brows furrow in rage but your voice comes out in a hushed but cruel whisper.  “Were you out rolling with the raccoons again?”  You refer to the time he crashed one of Steve’s parties, maybe it was New Years; he got so wasted that he began befriending some raccoons out near the pool.  He laid on the ground for at least two hours and nearly cried when they ran off, crushing whatever dream he had of either taking them home or whatever he was planning in his drunken state of mind.  In any case, it was something everyone held over him, especially you on the rare occasion that you had to associate with him–so if he wanted to dick around at work and make your life hell (as if he hadn’t already done that) then you would throw anything you could at him to cause him grief.  There was no playing nice.  

The slightest hue of pink makes its way across his cheeks before he straightens his posture in a means to intimidate you.  “Calm down there, Socks.  Don’t get your panties in a twist over lil ol’ me.”  His brow raises as if to challenge you.  Your comment got to him–flustered him.  He’s trying to hide it but you can detect the embarrassment seeping out of his pores, the hatred he has for the fact that he let his vulnerability slip out in his drunken haze that night and the look on your face indicating that you have the upperhand here.  

Taking the lid off of your remaining hot chocolate gone cold, you slurp up the contents of the cup, a layer of the melty whip cream decorating your top lip as you give him a cocky glare.  “Trust me, nobodies getting their panties in a twist over you, Munson.”  You reply, checking around him to make sure no customers are listening in on the exchange.  

His notorious grin takes over his features, dimples on full display and you could just kick him in his stupid teeth.  Leaning in ever so slightly, his breath fans over your face, tobacco evident.  One hand rests next to you on the counter, the other gripping his helmet.  “Nice stache.”  He whispers, tapping the counter twice before heading toward the back.

Nice stache?  What kind of come back–oh.  You gently bring your fingers up to your top lip, feeling the obvious whip cream sitting comfortably there and you feel your blood run hot in embarrassment as well as rage.  What makes it worse is that he had nothing to do with it, it just happened and that gave him the upperhand in return.  The universe or some higher power really it out for you and clearly wasn’t rooting for you in this war.  

Tossing the cup angrily into the trash and wiping off your lip, a quiet groan escapes you, Eddie sauntering in actually wearing an apron today.  Except it's littered in several pins and patches, some room in between to add more later on.  “Do you even care that you’re–” You check the clock.  “Twenty minutes late?!”  You finish, still attempting to stay quiet enough that the remaining customer’s wouldn’t hear.  “And–and your apron.  Do you think you can do whatever you want?”  You whisper yell furiously.  A stupid question, you realize as it tumbles out of your mouth.

“Yes, actually.  I’m a free man in a free country.  What a foreign concept.”  He says tying his hair back into a low bun, a few select pieces framing his face.  “Why don’t you worry about yourself.”  He snaps.  “Also…”  He begins with a point of his finger.  “Who the hell drinks hot chocolate as someone who works in a coffee shop?”  He mocks.  You can’t help but glance at the glint that catches at his earlobe, a little silver hoop reflecting off the lights, something you otherwise wouldn’t notice if not for his hair being pulled back.  You would dare to even call it cute if he wasn’t such a menace, an absolute barbarian that you vowed to never give the time of day to again and yet here you are, giving several hours of your life.

A scoff is earned from you while you cross your arms, leaning on one hip with sass.  The attitude is there but you have no response to counter him.  He stares at you expectantly and you come up with nothing but a mumble under your breath.  “Caffeine makes me anxious.”  He barely catches it, humming for you to repeat it again.  “Hot chocolate doesn’t have caffeine in it, I try to limit my caffeine okay!?”  You snap, still quiet enough to not draw attention. 

Rolling his eyes, he seems to ignore your answer and strolls over to the front counter, reaching over and snatching up a ham and cheese sandwich without a care in the world, immediately tearing into it.  You resist the urge to grab it right out of his hand and launch it across the room, instead opting to massage your temples with your fingers, taking deep breaths.  It was either that or you’d have a homicide charge on your hands.  Sure you also snuck sandwiches from the cooler however you were discrete and no one ever noticed.  If Eddie kept it up, you’d get in trouble for his misbehavior.  

“Do you want this job or not?”  You sigh, trying to reason.  He chews disgustingly on the sandwich, crumbs rolling down his chest.  He shrugs.  A scream is awaiting in your lungs, an unreleased scream of pent up rage for the immature boy towering over you.  It doesn’t escape but it so desperately wants to.  “Munson.”  You grit your teeth, fists forming at your sides. 

“Hmm?”  He hums carelessly, scarfing down the remaining bites and tossing the wrapper into the trash.  

Another deep breath, you try to clear your energy.  “If we don’t at least cooperate here, I am out of a job and I cannot afford to be out of a job.”  You plead with him, eyes becoming the slightest bit watery much to your distaste.  It’s not on purpose, things are really just that bad.  

“What?  Did your trust fund run out?”  He bites, and it hurts.  Though it's not the most vile thing someone could say it pinches you and leaves behind a nagging pain.  Trust fund?  Who did he think you were?

“Excuse me?”  You breathe out, stepping slightly closer to him, still on alert for any customers who might listen in but you’re still in the clear.

“Yeah, did mommy and daddy cut you off?  Welcome to the real world.”  His words are like knives cutting into your skin.  They shouldn’t be, you know that.  His words are meaningless to you–are they though?  Where did he even come up with the idea that you came from any sort of wealth?  Sure in high school you were stable enough but nowhere near Harrington wealthy.  Was he referring to you living comfortably?  If that's the case he would be elated to know that you had close to nothing these days.  But you can’t give him that satisfaction.

Brushing off the interaction as if nothing was said, you grab the clipboard from one of the drawers to find where you left off in training last night and what boxes remained to be checked off.  “So yesterday we learned cleaning procedures and counting the register.  Today we pick up learning drink recipes.”  You suck it up and push through.  His words are nothing, he is nothing.  A certain emotion flashes in his eyes when you glance up to scold him for not paying attention.  You can’t put your finger on what it is but it must be some type of regret for taking this job, there’s something sadder to it though.  He is nothing to me but a warning from the universe on what to stay away from.

–

“Okay so five pumps of caramel.”  Eddie confirms with you, eyes drooping in boredom.  The shop is now devoid of customers, the evening rush long gone as it was now 7:30 and you only expected to see maybe five more customers at most before closing, giving you ample time to stuff Eddie’s dumb brain with all the drink recipes possible so he could eventually do everything by himself and you’d no longer have to convene with him.

An exhale leaves your lungs while you rest your head in your hands on the counter, shaking your head.  “No.  Four.  Four pumps of caramel.  Four.”  You reiterate, patience wearing thin.  At least he wasn’t arguing with every word that left your mouth.  “Let’s take a break from that one and try this one instead.”  You advise, pushing a new recipe card in front of him.  This one was for a simple iced mocha.  “So for this one you start off with three pumps of chocolate and then two shots of espresso.”  You instruct, eyes tired and the bags underneath them giving it away.

Eddie reaches for one of the syrups and before you can stop him, he’s pumping three pumps of hazelnut into the cup, your hand smacking your face in frustration.  “Eddie, do you just not read the labels?”  You question.

He fakes a laugh, shoving the syrup back into its place.  “Do you just not read the labels?”  He mocks in a high voice.  Your patience is wavering but you know you just need to get through this.  The sooner he finishes training, the sooner you will have peace and quiet.  

“Try again.”  You tell him, holding back all of the anger rattling in your bones.  He rolls his eyes and grabs the correct syrup this time.  Except as he pumps it into the cup, you find that his pumps are way too big, not like you taught him earlier.  He’s pushing down too far.  “Too far!  You’re pumping too far, it’s too much!”  You tell him as the bottom of the cup becomes filled too high with chocolate, practically taking up where the espresso should go.

“Okay, you are like the worst teacher ever.”  He states while sloshing around the flavored syrup in the clear cup, coating it around the sides as it maneuvers in his hand.  

A hand drags down your face and you swear you’ve lost years of your life just in the past two nights.  “Train yourself then.”  You slap your hand on the counter, making your way over to the book corner and taking a seat in your favorite spot near the window to gaze at the streetlights.  

His face contorts in confusion as if he had no idea why you were giving up on him.  “Fine.”  He mutters, taking a look at the little card that had the instructions for an iced vanilla coffee concoction.  He can’t stop himself from glancing over to you in the corner, the warm glow of the street lights embracing you like a blanket.  And he can’t shy away from the pang of guilt in his chest.  Yet he continues to find himself at your throat every time, and you at his rightfully so.  At least you have reason to be, he’s just a pathetic excuse of emotions buried under skin that dug himself so deep into a hole over the years there was no way out and all he could do was what he did best–shove people away and just play the part that had always been assigned to him since birth.

The sudden wail of the blender has you jolting and looking over behind the counter only to find Eddie manning the machine.  You were too beyond exhausted to care anymore.  If he wanted to start making milkshakes in spite of you then so be it.  Your sight continued to set on the glow of the streetlights over the sidewalk.  It didn’t rain today or tonight thankfully since you’d have to walk home.  As you close your eyes, you imagine the warmth of the lights engulfing you and bask in the heat of the shop, silently cursing your landlord for not being attentive to your broken heater, leaving you with chattering teeth every night.  If you could sleep in the back room you would, however that would be an awkward conversation with Ronnie and the openers, Max and El who took on the earliest shift from 4:30AM to 8:30AM, when Robin and Steve would relieve them of their duties.  It was funny how your whole group seemed to now run The Under-Ground but you couldn’t come up with a better team if you tried.  Save for Eddie, you could definitely find someone a hundred times better and then you would have the perfect team.  

You continued to wander around in your imagination, the blender coming to a halt but you were too lost to even open an eye.  The sound of cups scattering on the counter had you wincing but not once leaving your mind, not yet.  It was rare that you were able to just sit and not think about the stressors in your life.  That relaxation is shattered when a cup is slammed down in front of you, the noise causing you to jump back in your seat, eyes flashing open only to be meant with a perfectly curated blended iced mocha, down to the whip cream and chocolate drizzle on top.  Behind it stands Eddie with his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes stuck on the drink and not your reaction.  All you offer is a nod, hand wrapping around the cup as you push it back toward him across the dark wood.  What did he want?  An applause?  He did his job, congratulations. 

“Good?”  He asks for approval, much to your surprise.  

“Mhm.”  You nod again, standing up and making your way back behind the counter, leaving him to stare at his creation.  There was no way you would give him any type of praise even if he did make the drink without any flaws.  

“You didn’t even taste it.”  He continues to stare down at the beverage on the table, his voice monotone.

As you start to mark a few things off for inventory, pen gliding across the paper, you hold out your other hand, paying him no mind in any other manner.  Reluctantly, he scoops up the drink and strides over, shoving it in your hand like a pissed off child.  You take a sip and are impressed that it actually tastes good but rather than give him any kind of compliment, you offer another nod.  He’s starting to hate that response and if he receives another nod from you he may pull his hair out.  The cold condensation stings your palm so you set the drink down, again pushing it toward him without so much as a glance.

“Just admit it, Socks.”  He starts, grabbing the mocha and licking the whip cream from the top.  “I did good and you hate it.  Oh but if King Steve or Robin made it you’d be falling at their feet.”  His tone is low and his gaze is intense as he burns into your side profile.  

Continuing to ignore him, you jot down a few notes on the inventory sheet for some things that Ronnie may need to order more of on the next shipment.  He scoffs, beginning to walk away from you when you decide to speak up.  “Steve and Robin didn’t make me hate myself.”  You remind him.  It’s as if time slowed down the moment you spoke, the way you let the words roll off your tongue so truthfully, as if those words were in the bible.  Eddie wasn’t religious by any means but that’s how disastrous your words felt.  Yet he still finds comfort in playing his part.

“I made you hate yourself?”  He seethes.  “I made you hate yourself.”  He repeats gritting his teeth.  He knows he shouldn’t let himself go any further, it's a bad idea and it's simply not true what he’s about to say.  But he can’t stop himself from assuming his role, he doesn’t know any different.  He shouldn’t venture into territory where he knows he can never return from.  “Babe.”  The name is far from its endearing meaning, its dripping in hostility, soaked in venom.  “I never made you hate yourself, you did that just fine all on your own.”  The moment the words pierce the air he knows he shouldn’t have said them because there wasn’t even the slightest hint of honesty.  The ugliest parts of him jumped out and now he has to suffer the damages.

A swell of tears stings the backs of your eyes and you desperately suck them back, refusing to let him have this.  Your fists clench as you drop the pen from your grasp, your side profile still facing him, him standing in your peripheral.  Suddenly you're gripping the counter with white knuckles, slowly shifting your gaze to the cowardly man a few feet away.  His mouth opens and closes as if trying to take back what he said but he’s coming to realize it isn’t an option.  In all honesty, the way you look right now frightens him.  There’s suddenly no emotion behind your gaze.  And then you fire right back at him.

“I hope you hate yourself just as much as I hate myself.  I hate you more than I hate myself.”  It stings like a deep scrape after you’ve fallen off your bike as a child, the dirt wedging itself into the skin.  Again, his mouth opens and closes but there’s nothing to respond with.  This may be his last shift since you’re probably going to tell Ronnie that he did some kind of fucked up thing just to get him fired and Ronnie will believe you over him–of course he will.  He deserves it.  But it would also mean he’s back right where he started, no one wanting to hire him.  The Munson name really carried its burdens.  He already had a secure job during the day at the auto shop, Jax & Sons but he needed the extra income.  The only reason Ronnie hired him at The Under-Ground was because the owner, Beth’s husband Sam, owned The Hideout and Eddie was at least welcome there with the other rejects most of the time.  While The Hideout wasn’t hiring, Sam referred him to The Under-Ground and assured him he would put in a good word with his wife.  They were too good to him and he was starting to regret their kindness toward him, he deserved to be run over and have the shit kicked out of him.

No further words were spoken the rest of the night.  Eddie was handed the clip board with the checklist for training, a silent demand that he train himself the rest of the shift while you occupied yourself with finishing some inventory, cleaning, and serving the few customers that came in.  He quietly figured things out, familiarizing himself with the ingredients and learning quicker than he thought.  Whenever he had a question, he refrained and decided he’d either ask you at a later time or eventually sort it out on his own.  He should quit but there weren’t any other options if he wanted to keep himself fed and continue saving up to get out of Hawkins.  Nowhere else was going to hire him, especially for the night shift.  He was lucky they even trusted him to close with a girl though Sam seemed to put the rumors about him to rest if his wife and Ronnie had anything to hold against him and he would forever be grateful although now he didn’t feel he deserved that grace even if he was an innocent man that never amounted to the things his dad did.  

–

Night after night for the remainder of the week, the evening shift was filled with tension and bruised feelings.  If you had to so much as speak to Eddie it would be short and to the point, no sugarcoating.  Each time you instructed him to clean something or do a task he would roll his eyes but oblige.  He was the least of your problems and you were going to make sure it stayed that way.  His training was almost complete and he was starting to pick up on a rhythm which meant you wouldn’t have to engage with him nearly as much.  By Friday you’d fallen into a routine and while not in the best of circumstances, it was fine since not a whole lot of arguing happened since the previous incident.

You would attend to the customers with a friendly smile and a higher than your normal octave voice as usual and he would be his sarcastic self while also seeming to charm people with his damn dimples.  Ronnie didn’t appear to be phased by all the pins and patches that adorned Eddie’s apron when he made an appearance randomly yesterday, to your dissatisfaction.  You guess as long as none of them had anything offensive then he left him alone.  Why did you care anyway?  You didn’t.  

The evening swarm of coffee addicts had arrived and you churned out drinks left and right, earning tips with the help of your perky attitude that you’d learn to put on over time.  It aggravated you that Eddie had no issue charming his way into bigger tips, it’s like he was a professional.  Some patrons would give him nasty looks while others, particularly the older moms who you’d definitely seen with a husband at some point, would pay him extra attention and drop larger bills into the tip jar while flipping their hair and lingering around longer than necessary.  It made your stomach churn.  Regardless, you continued to put on a smile and work through the rush, hoping by the end of the night the tips split up would give you a little bit of extra rent money to save for next month.  It wasn’t like you were in a position to save money, living paycheck to paycheck but something had to give and you needed that cushion so you actually had a place to live.

As the night winded down and people were heading home, neglecting the coffee shop until early in the morning, you took a rag to the tables to clean and straighten up while Eddie obnoxiously banged on the espresso machine that had been giving everyone a hard time all week, periodically getting stuck and then spewing espresso everywhere.  “Fuckin’ piece of shit machine.”  He mutters, trying to pry off the panel to get a look inside at the machinery.  

Not wanting to be responsible for a five hundred dollar machine broken by none other than your jackass coworker, you decide to step in, shouting over to him.  “Would you knock it off?  We have someone who comes in to fix the machines and I’m not going to be responsible–”  A loud clank of metal stops you as Eddie jiggles a screwdriver you weren’t even sure how he found in the machine.  He pries the screwdriver into the machine as if trying to loosen something stuck in the gears, succeeding when a few coffee beans fly out and fall to the floor, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Fixed it.”  He confirms, shutting the panel and running the machine with a test shot of espresso, the liquid coming out smoothly rather than spraying him in the face.  You shake your head, choosing to keep your mouth shut.  If anything bad happens with the machine you didn’t see it and it wasn’t your fault.  You were not an accomplice if it malfunctioned on his watch.

Eddie glances over at you now sweeping up under one of the tables, somewhat disappointed that you won’t revel in his victory over the machine but also remembering the atmosphere he created from the very beginning, never deserving your positive attention in the first place.  It was 8:00PM, only an hour away from closing and the college students who had occupied the tables earlier were no longer around, the only sounds being the upbeat jazz music playing from the speakers.  He sparked an idea.  

Jogging to the back room where his eye caught the music system the very first day, he starts messing around with it, fingers searching in the back where his eyes can’t see behind the wall for a wire.  Biting his lip in concentration, he locates it with a triumphant hum.  

Too overcome with sweeping the floors clean, you only notice Eddie is no longer in the room when a shrieking guitar blares through the shop’s speakers, leaving you covering your ears and dropping the broom with a smack to the ground.  It’s some kind of metal song that you’ve possibly heard before but wouldn’t be able to recall the name.  Before you can map out your next moves, Eddie appears in the doorway to the back, grinning ear to ear genuinely.  “I hacked the stereo, how sick is that?”  He goes back to his spot behind the counter, head banging away.

“Shut it off!”  You yell over the noise.  Either he pretends not to hear you or he really can’t hear you over how loud it is.  Now you’re afraid that some of the neighboring businesses will call the cops or something and it’s on your dime.  “Eddie!”  You shout once again with no reaction from him.  You take the initiative and scurry into the back, finding the stereo system with a wire coming out of it and Eddie’s phone plugged in.  You scowl and unplug it, killing all sound, an offended “what the fuck!” heard from the front of the shop as you soothe your ear drums in the quiet.

He starts to make his way toward the back only to be stopped by you nearly running him over as you walk with a purpose back out to finish cleaning.  “Um, excuse you?”  He gestures your way as if you’d stepped on his ego.  

The broom is picked back up from its spot on the floor and you finish off by sweeping the remaining dirt into the dust pan, not responding.  When you look up again, he’s not there and you know he’s definitely gone to the back to plug his phone back in.  Your suspicions are confirmed when the riff is taking over the speakers once again, drums pounding through the sound system.  A groan emerges from deep within you as you empty the dust pan into the trash.  There was no winning with him, he always pushed back and you had no energy to keep up.  As he emerges from the back again, he doesn’t even look in your direction.  

“Can you at least turn it down!?”  You yell over the music, hoping he would find some kind of humility within himself so you didn’t go home with a headache.  It wasn’t just that it was too loud, it was overwhelming, your anxiety was spiking and no matter how much you breathed and told yourself to calm down, the volume of the song playing had your heart rate beating faster than you felt it could even keep up with.  Eddie continues ignoring you, and you know damn well that he heard your request since you were close enough, standing just a few feet away.  You swallowed hard as you attempted to keep your cool, keep your nervous system in check.  I’m okay, I’m okay, nothing is going to happen.   

And there was no reason to believe anything bad would happen but your brain was screaming at you that the escalation of the metal riff playing was a warning signal and you couldn’t talk yourself off the ledge.  As much as you tried to contain your breathing and keep it steady, it became erratic as you stumbled over to one of the tables and thankfully made it into a chair.  Your elbows rested on the table top while you covered your ears in an attempt to muffle the suddenly overwhelming sound that wouldn’t otherwise bother you had it not taken you by surprise earlier and had the volume not been set the highest the speakers allowed.  

The world around you blurred out while you seemed to fall apart because of a stupid issue you had with loud sounds that caught you off guard.  You couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t even think to just run to the back and unplug it again.  You didn’t even register that there were hands waving in front of you and a pair of big brown eyes worriedly looking at you.  His lips were moving but there was no way to understand what was being said in this state.  And then he was gone from your vision as you choked on a breath caught in your throat.  You were about to make a run for the door just to get your bearings back when the room went silent and suddenly things started to slowly become clear again.  When you turn your body in your seat toward the back, Eddie stands there with a shocked expression painted on his face, mouth dropped open.

“I—I didn’t—I’m—I—“  For probably the first time ever Eddie Munson is speechless.  No quirky comments, no stupid jokes, just stuttering.  Your breathing, while a lot better now, is still heavy as you recover from the sudden panic.  “I didn’t know—I wouldn’t have—“  Before he can continue rambling you save him the energy.  

“Just—leave it.”  You demand, putting a hand up to signal him to stop.  A warning to never mention it again.  He owed you that much.

Then he goes on to do something you’d never expect.  He makes his way to the table you’ve sat yourself at and pulls out a chair, sitting across from you.  “Are you okay?”  He asks, eyes wide and concerned, hands clasped together on top of the table as he fidgets with his clunky rings.  What the fuck did he care?  He’d jump at any chance to see you upset, why was right now any different?

All you can do is look at him in distress, displaying how you felt on your face and in your body language.  “Oka—does it look like I’m okay?!”  You respond, throwing your arms up before they fall back into your lap.  Your outburst quickly dwindles, a shyer demeanor taking over as you both linger in the quiet, in the aftermath of what he believes may have been an anxiety attack.  “I’m—I'm fine.”  You finally decide, standing and acting as if nothing just happened, taking your place behind the counter.  Eddie looks dumbfounded, unsure of any of his next moves so as to keep the peace for once in his fucking life.  He’d experienced lots of trauma before but never had to come face to face with the kind of terror that took over your face, never experienced being on the other end of the turmoil.  While he’s sure he’s gone through what you just had except with other triggers, there was not one idea in his head about how to approach the situation, how he would dare to even console you if that’s all you really needed.  In a sense, he’s a tad grateful that you seemed to snap out of it on your own but that also makes him feel like the most terrible person on planet earth.  What kind of man was he if not some duplicate of his dad like everyone says and like he feels he’s doomed to be?  He had been in your shoes before, experienced the true fear you held in your body and no one was there for him.  So when he was there fully capable of providing some kind of comfort, he did nothing and suddenly he was his dad.  In his mind he was his dad, doing nothing, helping no one but himself.  

Suddenly he felt like he was 12 years old again, sinking in on himself but before he could be pulled any deeper he shot up and rapidly blinked his eyes.  And you were there perfectly normal, trying to sneakily set aside a sandwich for yourself but it didn’t go unnoticed, it’s not like he cared though.  Had he become this big of a fuck up without realizing it?  He was no better than the man that abandoned him at 12, he genuinely believed he was on the same path as the man that single handedly tore his son’s life apart, who raised him in a crack house until things got too complicated and left only to be arrested 48 hours later.  Eddie had to stop thinking, he was pulling himself down again, an anchor might as well be tied to his ankle.  

“I—I need a break.”  He exhales, not listening if you had any protests which you didn’t, you just tuned him out as the bell on the door jingled and he stopped outside for a cigarette.  Who smokes cigarettes anymore?  You wonder.  Well you answer your own question when you remember the hick town you live in, many people still smoked cigarettes out here but most of them were older.  It was now around 8:45PM, almost time to go home to try and knock out in the chill stale air of your room.  The bell above the door rings again and you glance up but don’t find Eddie and instead meet the vibrant blue eyes of Jason Carver.  While not a close friend, you’d known each other throughout high school and had a few mutual friends and even found yourselves in some of the same study groups during finals.  

“Hey!”  He greets you like an old friend, a smile on his face, his bright white teeth glimmering in the light.  

“Jason!  I thought you were away for college in Boston.”  You say, remembering that he was able to escape this small town and move onto bigger things.  Of course he was, his family had everything lined up for him.  He stuck to his plan and it seemed to be going well for him.  Something you wish you could say for yourself but you never even had a plan if you’re honest.

“Yeah, I’m just in town for the week.  I flew in earlier today.  My grandmas sick so you know…” He doesn’t finish the sentence and doesn’t have to for you to understand.  

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”  You sympathize with him.  

“No, it’s okay.  This has happened a few times, it just seems like this might be it.”  He tells you with a sad nod of his head.  “Anyway, is that Eddie Munson outside?”  He asks, changing the subject.  You almost roll your eyes at his name but quickly remember how many fights the two had been in previously, usually Eddie walking away with no more than a black eye or a busted lip and Jason always looking worse.  You don’t want to encourage another here tonight so you just nod, shyly avoiding Jason’s gaze.  “Hey, is that freak bothering you while you work?  Is he harassing you?”  He starts to sound like he’s getting worked up, the opposite of your intention.  Jason was always super forward especially when he was agitated which is why you always gravitated away from him.  He’d always put on a sweet front but then come out with pure anger the moment he heard something he didn’t like.  

“No!”  You blurt out, unsure of why you’re even protecting Eddie in any way.  Maybe it’s the fact that while you do hate Eddie with every nerve ending in your body, Jason only hates him for being everything he’s not.  For not being popular, not engaging in sports, not going to church.  None of those are why you hated Eddie but Jason had this bottled up rage toward him and you had the smallest inkling that he was envious in some weird way of the metalhead.  “No, he’s not bothering me.  He just works here and he’s on break.  He doesn’t even talk to me.”  You try to talk him down.  Jason looks at you with suspicion, not fully believing you.  Why you were even explaining yourself to him was beyond you.  

Reluctantly, he drops it and continues on with the small talk which you find yourself growing bored of.  Jason was turning out to be someone that reminded you of your parents, fairly conservative and tightly wound up.  In high school he was a bit more laid back but it seems that whatever college he goes to has morphed him into another stereotypical white guy.  The conversation couldn’t end soon enough for you as he started getting into a story about his frat house.  You tried to hide your distaste but the air just felt sour.  Not once did he even ask what you’d been up to, immediately going off about himself.  As if he could read your mind, the bell above the door is heard and Eddie slowly walks back in, his face twisted in a scowl.  

Jason looks toward him at the sound of the bell, freezing to stare him down as if it would intimidate him.  Did he forget the several times Eddie handed his ass to him?  If this was going to happen again right now, it was guaranteed that with Eddie being a man now, he’d have no problem taking him down.  Jason was a man now too and while he had muscle from what you could see peeking out from under the sleeve of his polo, Eddie had grit and there was no way to go against that.  

“Munson.”  Jason greets with a nod of his head, a fake smile on his face.  Eddie offers no greeting in return, only a glare as he makes his way back behind the counter.  

“Anyway, it was great catching up with you.” Jason directs his attention back to you.  “We should hang out while I’m in town.  Here’s my number.”  He says cockily, using a nearby pen to scribble on one of the shop’s business cards, placing it in your hand.  

“Oh, okay.  Yeah, um.  Okay.”  You respond with uncertainty.  The number would be tossed aside the moment he stepped out the door but you appeased him the best you could while he stood in front of you.  As he backs up toward the door, he shoots you a wink.  While he thinks butterflies are fluttering within you right now, you’re actually internally cringing.  And with that, he was gone, finally.  You piece together that he hadn’t even purchased a coffee.  The more you think about it, he may as well have pissed on you in an attempt to assert dominance over Eddie.  Men were stupid creatures.

Eddie huffs out a laugh as he doodles on his hand, nothing left to do besides leave and lock up.  You pay him no mind while you begin to quickly count the drawer so you’d be able to leave on time.  “Fuckin’ tool.”  Eddie mumbles to himself.

While you agree, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction so you continue counting the money.  Finding that everything is accounted for, you lock up the drawer and grab your bag from the back while Eddie silently does the same.  You meet at the door in some unspoken agreement, him holding the door as you step out into the chill air, turning to shut the door and lock it while he puts his motorcycle helmet on and walks over, straddling his bike.  As you shove the keys back into your bag and start your journey home, he clears his throat.  “Watch out for Carver.  He’s not all sparkles and sunshine.”  He says revving his bike.  Who was he to tell you what to do?  Though you had no interest in Jason whatsoever, you weren’t going to let Eddie tell you what to do, he was the last person on earth you would listen to.  

“Oh, I’m sorry?  I could say the same about you.  You don’t get to tell me who to watch out for.”  You step closer toward the bike, a hand on your hip while the nagging cold pinches at your skin.  If your jaw was tightened it was both out of anger and due to the cold.  

“Listen, Socks–”

“Don’t call me that.”  You snap.

“I’m serious, Carver–”  His voice is muffled under the helmet.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve trying to tell me what I can and can’t do, Munson.”  You’re trying to get in his face somewhat but it's hard and a little humiliating when you can only see a reflection of yourself in his visor.

“When something happens you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”  He points a finger at you sternly.

“Oh!  My hero!”  You say with sarcasm laced in the words.  “I don’t need some drop out lecturing me about what I do or who I associate with in my free time.”  The insult shouldn’t affect him, he’s been called every name in the book.  But it does, for some reason it does.  

“Do whatever the hell you want.”  You can’t see his face under the helmet but if you could you knew he’d be clenching his teeth and flexing his jaw by the way he said it.  In seconds he speeds away, bike screeching annoyingly down the street. 

It had been a long day.  A long week even.  The only silver lining was that tomorrow was your Friday and after that you’d have at least one day to not think about work and Eddie Munson’s stupid attitude.  The shop was closed on Sundays and though it wasn’t very enticing to think about sitting in your room catching up on homework, it was far better than having to argue with the equivalent of a stubborn six year old in a man’s body.

Eddie on the other hand was feeling things he’d never experienced before.  There was this persistent worry in the back of his mind that he didn’t know what to do with.  His emotions had been gathered up and thrown into the wind so suddenly and he was struggling to grasp every single one so he could tuck it away again.  And you only angered him beyond comprehension, even if he deserved every venomous word thrown his way, he couldn’t deny that you provoked him in ways no other human has.  The way you had no issue with telling him off but let Jason talk over you made his blood boil.  It was none of his business, genuinely.  That’s what he told himself but deep down he knew it was his business the second Jason flashed that fake smile at him that said everything.   

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic

[sagemoderocklee]

pleas my beloved, tell me more about cats guide and secret liaisons im blowing u so many kissies about it also hi it’s kel

genuinely was like "is that kel?" when i saw the start of this ask cause who else would be callin me 'my beloved' XD

ANYWAYS! i am sooooo excited for both these fics and it's a travesty that SL is still so far out... i NEED to work on Honor Bound T___T but god the editing on Alliance... and just the years and years its been since Alliance and how much my view of like EVERYTHING has changed...

okay so let's start with A Cat's Guide, which is a gift fic for @ghoste-catte (surprise!) that has been sitting for like 2 years now and was prompted by a video of a cat living in an apartment that i saw. this cat was like obsessed with the neighbor and always wanted to visit him, and i thought it would make a cute story from cat!Shukaku's pov as he tries to set up Gaara with his cute, nice neighbor who always gives Shukaku fresh salmon whenever Shukaku slips out of his own apartment to go visit Lee. it's 9 chapters cause you know cats have 9 lives (and i have years worth of gift fics for greyson to make up for) and the chapter titles are structured like a self-help sort of book and im genuinely so excited to work on this fic i just suck at getting anything started. but here's the opening:

---

Step One: Selecting an Ideal Match

Shukaku had been around for at least as long as Gaara had been alive, but for a cat pushing twenty-one he was a surprisingly healthy beast, except for the arthritis that had set in some six or seven years ago. Not that this deterred him in the least.

Quite the contrary, Shukaku spent much of his time climbing things he shouldn't and jumping from places far too high.

Yet however much trouble he managed to get into, Shukaku was a cat of breeding, and he took himself quite seriously. He did not, for instance, protest at the groomers because he liked to be clean; he did not, as a matter of pride, shove his face into his food dish and gobble it up; and he only slept on the nicest, softest cat beds money could buy. He ate expensive food, slept on expensive things, and shat in premium cat litter.

All in all, Shukaku was spoiled, and he liked it that way.

He was also picky, persnickety, and prone to biting for no discernible reason—at least, not as far as his human could tell. If Shukaku had been able to explain himself, he'd have told Gaara he was quite the sensitive soul and sometimes his mood simply got the better of him.

Gaara's brother might not be so sympathetic, having been on the receiving end of one of Shukaku's many fits of fury, but Gaara was understanding despite the language barrier.

(And that's all I have besides chapter breakdowns and chapter titles)

---

and now to Secret Liaisons, which is the third installment to the Allied Nations Saga and at one point was the FINAL part of it back when it was a trilogy, but I knew that there needed to be a fourth fic to that series because there were too many questions left unanswered at the end of SL.

So without spoiling anything for HB, SL continues to follow the ensemble cast with Gaara and Lee being like the main protagonists. This is yet another political drama and it starts off with a blow to Gaara and Lee.

SL is also where GaaLee actually comes into play, but I'm trying not to spoil too much so we'll leave it vague enough. However, I do have lots of snippets for this fic and can share the prologue because I'm just that generous. (Please keep in mind, I wrote this prologue like... 14 years ago and my writing has since evolved):

---

“We await your decision, Kazekage-sama.” The council rose as one, filing out of the room, leaving Gaara to sit with his thoughts, his siblings sharing significant looks over his head.

“Gaara,” Temari began, reaching for her brother.

Gaara rose quickly, stepping out of her reach. “I have things to take care of.”

Temari and Kankurou watched Gaara leave, helpless to do anything else.

***

“You wanted to see me, Kazekage-sama,” Lee said, bowing before Gaara’s desk.

Gaara turned from Lee, rising to his feet and moving to the window overlooking his village. This was his home, it was everything he had fought to protect in the war, it was the most important bond he had. He was the Kazekage of Suna, first and foremost, but that knowledge did little to sooth him.

“Do you miss Konoha?” he asked, not daring to glance at Lee.

“Of course,” Lee said, certain as always. “It is my home and my friends are there, my sensei. But I am happy here.”

Gaara didn’t reply, watching as a child ran past on the street, chasing a ball. It was his job to protect that child, to protect that child’s mother and father. The choice should not have been so difficult to make. He loved his village powerfully, he loved his people and his siblings just as much. They were a part of Suna.

Lee was not.

“I… have no more need of you,” Gaara whispered to the wind, not daring to turn around, almost hoping Lee hadn’t heard.

Silence stretched between them for a minute before Lee found his voice, cracked and uncertain. “I—beg your pardon, Kazekage-sama?”

Gaara closed his eyes, fisting the fabric of his Kage robe above his heart. “I am sending you back to Konoha.”

“Wha—but—why?! Have I done something to upset you? Whatever it is, I will make up for it! I will not do it again! I promise!”

Gaara shook his head. “You are a liability. You cannot stay here.”

“I do not understand,” Lee said, his words shaky and broken.

“It is not complicated: You will return to Konoha. I am releasing you from my service.”

“I—but I swore to stay by your side. I swore to always—you accepted me! Why would you do this?”

“Because I have no other choice.”

Lee was silent save for the heavy breathing that seemed to fill Gaara’s ears, making them ring. He had prepared for Lee to fight him on this, he had known Lee would want answers, but he had not been ready for the obstacle his own feelings created.

“Do you not trust me anymore?”

Gaara turned enough to glance at Lee over his shoulder. Lee’s expression was crumpled, his eyes wet and his lip trembling. In that moment, Gaara understood the power he had over Lee: the power to break him by words alone. He had never known that power and he never wanted to again.

“Kazekage-sama?” Lee asked desperately when the silence went on for too long.

Gaara’s vision swam for a second and he turned away. “With my life. That is the problem.”

“But why? What have I done? Why would you send me back?”

“Because the council does not trust you and my trust in you gives them reason to doubt me.”

Lee faltered, the words he’d been about to speak dying on a choked back sound, as though he were trying to keep from crying. Gaara could not stand to look at him anymore. “This is… temporary, right? Until they see, until you convince them—”

“No, Lee,” Gaara said, his knuckles white against the windowsill. “You will return to Konoha permanently. We are done.”

“N-no, I cannot accept that!” Lee cried suddenly. “Y-you cannot just send me back—I—you are everything to me. I have given my life to protect you—”

“Then honour your promise and leave,” Gaara said harshly, turning to stare at Lee. “If you wish to protect my life, then protect my title as Kazekage and leave Suna.”

Lee reeled, lowering his head. “I did not mean to speak so forcefully, Kazekage—”

“I am not your Kazekage. You are no longer bound to me.”

Lee closed his eyes tight, his hands in fists at his side that shook with the effort Lee exerted to hold his tongue. He took in a shaky breath, his eyes on Gaara’s feet. “I will a-always be bound to you, Kazekage-sama. Even if I leave…”

“You are a fool to think that,” Gaara said. “When you return to Konoha, in time you will forget your loyalties to me.”

“Forgive me, but you are wrong,” Lee said passionately, looking up at Gaara, his eyes hard and wet. “I will never forget this bond.”

Gaara stared, wide-eyed at Lee. “Why are you so determined to stay with me?”

Lee looked away, hiding his gaze. “Because you are important to me. Why should I waver in my affections for you? Why should I deny my loyalties when they mean so much?”

Gaara had no answer, but Lee’s words would not change their situation, no matter how much they both wanted them to.

“You will go back to Konoha. This matter is no longer up for debate.”

Lee closed his eyes, his face still turned away. “…as you wish, Kazekage-sama.”

“Don’t—”

Lee bowed and turned, leaving before Gaara could say more, the door clicking gently closed behind Lee. Gaara let out a shaky breath, sitting back down at his desk and pulling his official statement to the council towards him.

Rock Lee will return to Konoha…

The words blurred for a moment and Gaara blinked several times before his vision cleared, the report now stained with several drops that smudged the ink. Gaara set his brush down, staring at the report, only distantly aware of the wetness on his face and the ache in his chest.

---

I would definitely want to edit this before actually posting. I don't really like how choppy it is from that very first extremely brief scene which is just the like obvious tail end of a council meeting, and i think the actual pros are just… not great. i can def do better. but this is like the main obstacle of the fic and well I'm sure you can guess who these liaisons are between based on that lol

anyways <3 thanks beloved for the ask! hope you enjoyed these and they satisfied your curiosity

[peaky-shelby]

Define Me | Neymar x OC [6]

Summary: Famous Singer and Actress, Gabriella Hamill, travels to Qatar after being invited on live television by her favorite player, Lionel Messi. Despite the invitation, Ella tries to avoid the cameras and hide in plain side, wanting to enjoy the games without the chaos that comes with being in Public places and it all seems to be going well until she meets Neymar Jr. in this bad boy meets good girl story, the definition of good and bad is lost between the lines and redefined by the past and future.

« Previous chapter

Chapter 6: regretful by definition

Chapter summary: I'll let this one be a surprise 👀

Writer's note: as always please reblog and most importantly comment so i know y'all are still reading and i can write most chapters. There are probably only four left in the series btw.

Taglist: @xngelsau @sirensanction @reneyahh @thegrinch101 @geekwritersworld @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @blondedjoys @maneaterss @inthemoonlightblue @iluvneyney @woozarts @missamericana69 @bjoriis @marialikescherries @measimp @morganadpl @neymarloverxxx

Ask anyone in the business and they’d tell you that Peter Evans and Gabriella Hamill were the IT Couple of Hollywood. Long time friends before they were actually a thing and when they became a thing the internet went wild. Both at their high of their careers, with Peter taking over Marvel Studios and Lily with her own TV show and a fresh Oscar win. America’s sweetheart was dating Captain America himself and they seemed more in love than anyone and It was true they were. Paradise lasted for a year before it turned to the typical one-sided relationship in which both partners go on and on about their wants and their needs but neither of them seems to listen meanwhile the pressure of the media was always there, pressuring them to get married, to start a family to become a Hollywood royalty. Peter wanted that, she didn’t.

“Peter, I’ve told you before- I can’t do this!” she yelled, while making her way to the kitchen, trying to avoid him but he followed behind her like an angry dog.

“There’s difference between can’t and wont Ella!”

She turned aggressively back at him, pointing with her finger “I was honest with you from the start! I told you I didn’t want kids, not for a long time-“

“That was two fucking years ago, relationships evolve!”

“There has not been a day in this fucking relationship that you haven’t pressured me about it!” she said louder. “All your fucking jokes on interviews, talking about how much you want to be a dad, throwing shots at me whenever- it is in fact exhausting-“

Their fights would usually end nowhere good but at least most of them were at home, where no one else could hear them or record, meanwhile they’d play the happy couple on the carpet. Until it exploded in their face.

January 7, 2020 – One Day Before A Concert, Greece

“I’m tired of you pretending that we are fine, we are not fine Peter!” she screamed in between her sobs.

“Maybe it’s because you were fucking your fucking guitarist a moment ago-“ he mumbled, standing in front of the wide window from were he could see Acropolis. The hotel room was small, so small that it could easily turn into a war zone in just a few seconds. Gabriella watched him with her eyes wide open.

“You think I’d do that to you?” she asked, her voice cracking. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “no” she shook her head “You’re just looking for a reason to blame this on me, so you won’t blame yourself- its what you’ve always done!”

He turned to face her, his expression blank, his t shirt wrinkled. “It’s not my fault you can’t have any kids, it’s yours, isn’t it?”

To that she didn’t respond but if there was a sound to describe her heart breaking it would be the cold sigh that escaped her lips. She had never felt this pain in her chest before, the man she loved most in the world stabbing her with words she had only ever trusted him with. A part of her wanted to find an excuse, to blame it on the drinks he had before he came to her hotel room but another was sick of the gas lighting and the manipulation and being distracted like that.

“How dare you?” she whispered. He avoided her eyes, looked anywhere but her. He rubbed his face while she got closer. She hit him on the chest, slapped him repeatedly until he grabbed both of her hands and dropped them. He walked away from her, grabbed his jacket from the bed and put it on. Gabriella watched him leave and when he opened the door, she grabbed the nearest glass she could find and threw it at him on the hall, yelling every curse word she could think of. Everything else from that night was a blur, she knew people had seen her in the hallway in the hotel. She locked herself in her room, drank every bottle of alcohol she could find and woke up in the shower, while Maggie was throwing water in her face. Broken glasses and broken bottles covered the floors, which she must have stepped on and fallen on repeatedly because she had was bleeding from multiple scars. Next time she opened her eyes, she was in a hospital room, everyone wondering what the hell had happened to America’s sweetheart.

It wasn’t long before she fell back in her old habits, painkillers and sometimes heavy drugs. That addiction had started when she was 20. Only Maggie and Chris knew why, only Maggie kept the secret because on November 1st, just a few days before the election the whole world found out about the “Abortion of the America’s sweetheart”. She never thought she could be used as a political weapon, until she watched republicans yelling on TV about how the “democratic” actress and rolemodel would ruin their daughter’s future. She didn’t think she could ever love anyone after that until now.

But he didn’t kiss him. Although his lips hovered over hers for what felt like hours, she didn’t kiss him. She walked out of the car and walked back home, keeping her head down as she thought about kissing him and what it would mean. Ask her why she didn’t and she wouldn’t give you a straight answer because the truth is she didn’t know. She didn’t even wait for him to come after her like they did in movies and grab her in the most romantic way before putting his lips on hers. She was a lonely, scared, defensive idiot that couldn’t allow herself to fall in love with anyone and she really thought she had succeeded for the last 2 years in doing that. She really hadn’t fallen in love with anyone, anyone she’d kiss would be a fling, burnt out by noon and yet Neymar was a fire, and she hadn’t even kissed him yet.

She laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling. At some point she fell asleep and her mind started wandering in her darkest memories, reminding her of all the reasons she didn’t kiss him, all the reasons of her disappearance. When she woke up in the morning she had her coffee alone on the balcony, she didn’t even open her phone to see how the game with France ended. Maggie didn’t even try to begin a conversation; she knew better than that. And the whole day seemed to be going as silent and as that until she heard the doorbell and it was weird because every inch of her body wanted to be Neymar. She opened the door hopeful and was met by the kind smile of Antonella. Holding a bowl of Ice Cream on her hands. “Mama said it can freeze away any worry.” Gabriella couldn’t help but smile and let her in, leading her outside on the balcony where they both sat, eating from the same bowl.

“Did you see the game?” asked Antonella, taking a full bite of ice cream.

“No, I was too busy regretting all my life choices” she said, swallowing the ice cream.

“It’s fine the English seemed to be doing the same thing-“

Gabriella left down her spoon, surprised “England lost?”

“Hmm” nodded Antonella “France is on the semi finals.”

“France against Portugal then?”

“Oh no!” Antonella said quickly raising her finger “Morocco”

Now she was in real shock, she laughed, covering her mouth “Are you kidding?”

“Nope.” She smiled “Hakimi showed Ronaldo how it’s done.”

Gabriella shook her hand and reached for the phone on her pocket, finally opening it. All the texts that had been sent overnight while she had it shut down, reached her, beep after beep and she ignored them all until he name popped on her screen. Her expression fell, her eyes closing.

“Estas Bien?” Asked Antonella. Gabriella left her phone on the table and leaned back on her chair, letting out a deep huff “No, no I am not.” She said quickly “Think I’ll spent today regretting all my life choices as well.”

“You could do that.” Antonella reached for bowl, digging in her spoon until she was satisfied “or you could make some new choices.” She added, eating from her spoon.

Gabriella glanced up, raising her eyebrows “What is that a Spanish saying or something?”

“I mean I could say it in Spanish if it makes you feel better.”

Gabriella sat better on her chair, looking at Antonella like a kid. She hesitated but then- “Can you please?” she asked. She wanted to hear the language, she wanted to pretend it was her mother across from her for a while. Gabriella smiled and pulled the chair closer to Gabriella, reaching for her cheek. “puedes pensar en las elecciones pasadas o puedes ir y hacer nuevas y buenas elecciones.” She leaned closer as she said it and perhaps it was an automatic response but Gabriella threw herself on her and hugged her as tight as she could, hiding her face in her hair. “está bien chiquitín! ¡no te preocupes” whispered Antonella, rubbing her back while she sobbed in her arms. “Hey- hey, ¡Oye! Mírame.” She asked, and Gabriella obeyed, looking up to her. Antonella wiped her tears away quickly “Fue él quien me dijo que viniera a verte. Estaba muy preocupado.” Gabriella knew she was referring to Neymar. He's the one that called her to come, something along those lines. Antonella was quick to translate it to English “He called me and told me he was worried because you weren’t answering” Gabriella felt immediately bad, she sniffed back her sobs. “Leo had an advice too.”

“Leo knows about this?” she asked, feeling embarrassed.

“Of course, he does. He wanted to come but he had training.”

“What’s his advice then?”

“cuando tienes el balón, marcas. Sólo pasan unos segundos antes de que llegue alguien, te lo robe y te placen mientras lo haces.”

Gabriella smiled. She got a few words, something about scoring when you have the ball otherwise you will get tackled and broken before you even know it. “It’s always about football with him, isn’t?” she laughed in between her sobs. Antonella nodded, smiling.

“You learn to get used to it.” She said and hugged her again, holding her close to her chest.

NEYMAR’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

Outside it was raining. Inside Kylian Mbappe was making most of the noise, yelling at the screen whenever he’d miss a chance while playing fifa. “Hey! Wake up!” he yelled looking at Neymar, who was barely playing. Kylian paused the game, throwing the control on the couch and then grabbing a pillow and throwing it on his friend’s face.

“HEY!” Neymar yelled back at him “what the fuck?” he asked, holding on the pillow.

“You wanna focus on the game?”

“What does it matter, it’s just a game isn’t it?” he mumbled, throwing his controller on the table.

“Is this about brazil loosing?”

“What else would it be about?”

“I don’t know mystery girl aka Gabriella Hamill possibly.”

“No.” Neymar answered quickly, leaning back at the couch. He could feel Kylian staring and it was in fact getting annoying “Maybe it’s both.”

“Maybe.” Kylian mocked, laughing. Neymar got up and headed straight for the table with the drinks.

“I think I’ll leave tomorrow. Head back to brazil-“he said while pouring a drink for himself. Kylian watched him from over the couch, shifting his body to look at him.

“You just rented this apartment.”

“They’ll get their money. It’s fine. I wanna go back home…”

“Or get away” mumbled Kylian under his breath, sifting his body to look back at the screen.

“What does that mean?”

“Come on Ney. You always run away when things are hard, it’s your thing, either that or you get it out on the referees.” He laughed, Neymar got an ice cube from the bowl and threw it at him.

“HEY!” He yelled rubbing his head and looking back at Neymar who sat back to where he was sitting before, taking a sip from his fresh drink. “Didn’t even make me one?”

“Shut up.” Mumbled Neymar as a thunder sounded from outside the house. Just a few seconds later, the door bell rang, startling both of them. If someone had recorded their reaction it would have gone viral, Neymar jumped so abruptly he spilled his drink on the floor and Kylian cuddled himself on the corner of the couch. Kylian kicked Neymar.

“Don’t open the goddamn door. I’ve seen horror movies starting like that-“

Neymar took a few breaths to relax and completely ignored his friend. He got up and walked to the door. Looking at the camera screen, first. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He opened the door quickly, her small figure standing in front of him. Covered just by her hoodie which was completely wet by now, he stared down at her, now knowing how to act or what to do.

“hey.” She whispered, coughing.

“Hi.” He responded. The tension between them raising until-

“Bonjour!” jumped in Kylian, getting Gabriella’s attention who let out a small laugh when she saw him. She covered her mouth quickly.

“Bonjour Kylian.” She said from behind her hand. Neymar smiled at the way she was blushing.

“Are you going to invite her in dude?” he asked, reminding Neymar his manners. Neymar motioned for Ella to get in and closed the door. “Ms. Hamill, enchante” he said sitting up on the couch.

“Comment ca va Kylian?” she asked, while Neymar unzipped and took of her wet hoodie leaving her with just her t-shirt.

“Tu parle francais?” he asked surpised and got up to walk closer to her.

“I’ll get you another one.” Said Neymar quickly, running to his bedroom to get another hoodie. Meanwhile Kylian seemed to be enjoying the awkwardness.

“En peu.” She answered his question, narrowing her eyes “felicitations pour la victoire!” she added, smiling up at him. Neymar sprinted back to her with one of his hoodies, helping her wear it. After that he just kept staring at her and she at him, while Kylian was staring at both of them.

“Kylian.” Neymar addressed him without even looking at him.

“Hm?”

“Get the fuck out.”

“it’s raining.” He smiled, looking at Gabriella now.

“thankfully you’re not made out of sugar.” He answered quickly.

“What if I get hit by a thunder.”

“Kylian.” Repeated Neymar, this time more as a warning.

“Yes of course.” He nodded and ran to get his shoes, putting them on quickly and returning to where his was before. He took hold of Gabriella’s hand and kissed it, smirking at her. “You be good kids.” He added before leaving them alone.

When he shut the door both of them seemed to relax.

“You want a drink?” asked Neymar, moving to the table with the drinks.

“Yes please.” She asnwered, following behind him, slowly. All while he was pouring the drinks, she was staring at his hands, tracing the tattoos on his skin, the ones she could see, with her eyes. She was still staring when he turned back to her to hand her drink and she made sure to touch skin as he took the glass in her own hands. Her gaze slowly lifted to land on him. There was something about her eyes, he hadn’t noticed before, lust. The way she looked at him like she was promising a future, like she was begging for one. She got closer and Neymar actually felt his heard beating faster, he was anxious. He was never anxious. She let her glass down on the table, there was so much silence he heard the glass settling on the silver, like a warning. He took another sip while he watched her and he would have taken another one if she hadn’t reached for his glass, taking it away from him, leaving it next to hers while her eyes remained on his. Then she held on his shit, pulling him down to her.

“I stopped you last night.” She said in a whisper. He was stepped closer, his confidence returning, he gently rubbed his nose against hers. “Would you accept my apology?” she asked, their lips inches apart. He smirked.

“Depends. What do I get in return?”

She looked back and forth between his eyes and his lips, her face serious, sexy, her expression hypnotizing. “Me.”

He crashed his lips on hers without sparing even a second. Taking in her taste, her smell, everything she could give him in that moment and if you asked her, she’d tell you that she would give him anything, anything he wanted as long as he asked her for it. He lifted her up in his arms, almost like he wanted to make sure she was real and not just a fantasy. His kisses trailed down to her chin and then her neck as she leaned her head back, she he’d have better access, a soft moan escaping along with her breath. That was enough to give him all the confidence he needed for the whole night. “me” she said to him and he would take all of her as if her life depended on it. He carried her to his room, laid her on his bed as he took of his shirt, showing her every single tattoo all over his body. He hovered above her, balancing his arms on the bed. He started from her neck, leaving a mark on her skin as a reminder in the morning and then her ear, biting it slightly.

She grabbed his face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss her lips instead because that’s what she wanted most, to taste him, to keep kissing him until her lips were dry and she had no air left in her lungs. He pulled of his hoodie from her and just a second later, he took off her t-shirt, kissed her breast while she let fingers get lost in his curls. She reached under his chin, to make him look up at her. He smirked again, leaning his head down to her ear.

“Apology accepted.” He whispered and made sure that night he’d take exactly what she promised him… her.

dw the steamy part is not over, just wanted to let you look forward for the next chapter. As always please please comment, it's very important to keep my going. I love you all xx comment what you like so far. How do you think this will end? Will they just be happy for the next 4 chapters? Or is there another storm coming 👀👀

[deva-arts]

CRINGE NAMES. NOW. 👹

FINE! FINE!!! So everyone had some name tryouts at first, and everyone has different themes behind their name! I think about this an embarrassing amount.

Sera is pretty on the nose with hers. Vincent had a lot of ancient Roman name themes. Nathaniel? tons of Latin. Sonia has a more American name, and Amon has both ancient and modern Egyptian names to his- er... name.

The name 'Seraphina' was my first choice. You can give her several nicknames! But I felt like it was super cringy- I still cringe here and there when I say that my MC has such a mouthful of a name! However, she quickly grew into it; it was the only name that fit her.

Other runners up were: Daya, Jena, Lark, Pheobe, Raven, Tori, Diane, Robyn, Vanessa, Karla, and Corrine. You can tell I wanted a specific vibe here. Her last name used to be Guerrero!

Herrera is a Hispanic surname. It literally means iron forge, but sounds so cute. And her middle name, Nephele, means cloud in Greek. You can tell she is my oldest oc goddamn four years now

Vincent has always been Vincent AFAIK, but his lab name had changed quite a bit, to the point that I decided to leave him nameless in the lab. A name implies an identity after all. I still sometimes wonder if I'll stick to the name, since the way he canonically gets it is kind of weak narrative-wise.

His beta lab names included: Livius, Lucius, Odysseus, Aetius, Nero, and Dante. Kind of teetering on cringe, even though I liked Dante... Oh well. It's for the best. My subconscious would've played the nastiest trick had I not found out:

Now, Vincentius remains with his first and only name, its latin root, Vincere, means to conquer and prevail. He's the winner! He won! why is no one clapping...?

We move on! Nathaniel!! Ahaha I liked brainstorming Nate a lot...But his name was pretty straightforward. I just picked something off the top of my head and it stuck! kind of how it happens in Canon, lol. As Nathaniel grew his personality and character profile past "Hi! I exist to be your boyfriend!" Things quickly took form for our dear Wilson. I chose Wilson as a surname because of our og here:

...I just think he's neat. The tattoo on his shoulder was going to be Inter Umbra, but I soon found that Noctis Umbra fit far better. Darkness in a night filled world. Toxie Noxie. Plus these names make a poem!

Nathaniel Wilson: God has given a son of will,

Noctis Umbra: A shadow in the night.

Sonia’s names were pretty straightforward. I wanted something playful and energetic! but also quite American. She's a carefree ginger with her heart on her shoulder... Even though it's doubtful this is her real name past just being a stage name. It might be something stupid. Like Marjorie.

Oof. Let's stick with Sonia. I wasn't thinking about any name meanings here, but it is kind of funnily ironic that her name means wisdom! ahah!

Amon wasn't going to be Arab at first; I was leaning more towards Egyptian mythology rather than modern, Islamic Egypt. I found it a lot funner to meld Momo more in that direction. even though he is raised a lot more multiculturally and areligious past his teen years in canon. (He was working in the mafia since he was fourteen. He has become the definition of Haram.)

So, instead of making a character based off of Amon Ra, or Ammit, the crocodilian deity in ancient Egyptian mythology, Momo kind of evolved past just his character abilities! In canon, Amon uses this name as a nickname/street alias. Adra finds it cool! so she call him that too.. His real, birth name is Arham Hassan Ahmed. Not that he will use it much in the story.

Some literal Google search translations to his name- Arham, coming from the arabic word "rahma", which means merciful or compassionate. Hassan, meaning handsome. And Ahmed, from "al-hamd" meaning praiseworthy. Or so I have read!

Lastly, Eric. My mom came up with it, and my brother immediately went "gasp- RICKY." and it stuck. My brother also came up with Schraf as a surname. It doesn't mean anything, but it's cool innit? (This is also how he named Karl Strohl.)