#every single scrap of credit to the animators thank you

[chocolatemilk-mob]

THEY DID WATERCOLOR ANIMATION THESE SICK FUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Summary: A disastrous PTA meeting and an unfortunate grocery store encounter have you and Eddie questioning whether or not you deserve each other.

Warnings: a bit of dirty talk (18+ just in case), feelings of unworthiness, Carol Perkins and Billy Hargrove make appearances, mentions of bullying, small allusion to drug use and poverty, arrest, tiny allusion to Eddie's breeding kink

WC: 7.1k

Chapter 13/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special thanks to @girlwiththerubyslippers & @corroded-hellfire for helping with this chapter!

Your Thursday mornings at Hawkins Preschool usually involve a light tap on the door and a blink-and-you-missed-it wave from Eddie; maybe a wink if no one’s looking. Today, he’s stopped by the classroom with a steaming styrofoam cup in hand.

“I thought you only brought me coffee on Mondays,” you laugh appreciatively. You take the still-hot beverage from him, folding back the plastic tab and blowing on it lightly before taking a sip. It’s made just as you like it and warms you from the inside out.

Eddie smiles, crossing his arms over his chest an leaning in closer so his leather-clad shoulder grazes sweater-covered one. “Ah, but the PTA meeting is after school today.” As if you could forget forty minutes of unpaid work that could be spent reading, resting, snuggling up to your thoughtful metalhead boyfriend… “Figured you could use an extra boost of caffeine to help you power through.” He lowers his voice to add, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it. But Wayne’ll be there.” He squeezes your hand quickly just as Abby Carver approaches you. 

You pull away so fast that you bang your elbow against the side of the desk, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a yelp. “What can I do for ya, Abby?” you ask, smiling through the throbbing pain.

“Joshua said that he’s taller than me!” she whines, messily swiping at her ruddy tear-stained cheeks. Her dad only dropped her off five minutes ago, and she’s already conjured up a crisis. Unsurprising, but exasperating nonetheless.

You peer over at Joshua Harrington, who is currently constructing a racetrack, unbothered by Abby’s distressed state. Your gaze flits back over to the little girl in front of you. “Honey, he is taller than you,” you gently explain, watching as her bright blue eyes begin to well up again.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t havta say it!” she protests, stamping her sneaker on the speckled tile floor. It’s one that lights up, little red and blue and green twinkles dashing along the side.

You nod, sucking in your lips in a feeble attempt to keep a straight face. “Well, you can just play somewhere else. And we’re gonna get started with circle time in a few minutes.” Time to sing the Good Morning song–again. If the kids didn’t beg for it every day, you would’ve scrapped it months ago, but it keeps them entertained.

Once she scampers off, already zeroing in on a group of girls dressing up some time-battered Barbie dolls, you turn your attention back to Eddie. 

“We’re still on for Saturday?” you ask, a subtle reminder of your upcoming date at Enzo’s. It’s a fancier restaurant than either of you are used to, but Eddie had insisted on it.

He nods quickly, scratching at the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous, though you’re not quite sure what’s on his mind. “Y-Yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“I can’t wait.”

At 3:15, you and Will trudge into the classroom that’s serving as the meeting venue. It only takes a moment for you to remember that it’s Ms. Marion’s room, and your eyes scan the walls for Harris’s artwork. You find it easily; it’s the best in the class. It’s a drawing based on the saying, ‘March is in like a lion and out like a lamb,’ and each kid drew a picture of the two animals. Harris has meticulously added details to his. He’s drawn a zig-zag line under the lion’s pink nose to represent his aggression and given the lamb a puffy coat of wool, while the other kids just drew smiling lions and a circle to represent their lambs’ bodies. He’s also included a speech bubble hovering above each of their heads; the lion’s says “ROR!!!” and the lamb bleats “BAAA.” 

Will’s gaze follows yours, and his lips turn up into a smile when he sees what you’re staring at. “He’s a talented kid,” he remarks. “We gotta have him sign something now so we can say ‘we knew him when.’” 

You nod your head in agreement and return his grin. You’ll have to tell Eddie to have Harris swing by your classroom after school tomorrow so Harris can autograph some drawings.

Wayne comes in a few minutes later, taking a seat behind you and Will.

“How’s your day going, Wayne?” You turn around in your chair and greet him. Seeing the older Munson always lifts your spirits. He’s wearing a flannel, checks of olive green and white, over a white t-shirt that proudly proclaims: My Favorite Person Calls Me Grampa.

Wayne gives a little shrug; for him, it’s the equivalent of a beaming smile. “Can’t complain. Didn’t get too much pushback from Harris when I dropped him at the baby-sitter’s.” He explains that Claudia Henderson still has a bunch of the games her son had played with, and Harris loves going through the toy bin and finding something new. “Well, new to him. That stuff’s gotta be nearly twenty years old by now.” He scratches the white-gray whiskers on his cheek and chuckles. “Jeez, ‘m old. I remember buyin’ those kinda games for Eddie when he was a kid.”

More parents and teachers file in and, eventually, the PTA president stands at the front of the classroom and calls the meeting to order. The idle conversation gradually ceases, and Linda Wright presses her lips into a thin smile and smooths nonexistent creases in her khaki slacks.

“Welcome, everyone,” she begins, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you all for being here. We have quite a few items to cover today, so let’s get to it!” She’s far too chipper for your liking, and you wince involuntarily as she excitedly announces the upcoming parent-child talent show. It’s an annual school-hosted fundraiser, and apparently a popular one; there’s a soft roar of discussion before Linda wrinkles her nose in irritation and shushes the group.

“Oh, Ed’s gonna love that,” Wayne leans in and whispers to you. “He’ll probably be more excited than Harris.” He sits up straight when Linda clears her throat and glares in his direction.

The president launches into a tirade about kindergarten readiness strategies, handing out little pamphlets to the parents and guardians. The cover displays an overly-enthusiastic teacher surrounded by a small group of students who are closely attending to a fake lesson.

You hear Wayne grumble under his breath: “What is there to be ready for? It’s kindergarten, Jesus Christ.” and you have to stifle a laugh.

Linda luckily doesn’t hear his lament. “I’m opening up the floor to any questions or concerns.” Now is the time that people typically start gathering their belongings and resume unfinished conversations. It’s precisely what you plan to do until you hear an all-too familiar snide voice from across the room. 

“Yes, I have a question.” Carol Perkins stands up. She places her hands on her hips and pulls her lips into a smirk. “What is the school’s policy on parent-teacher relationships? Romantic and…otherwise?” Her gaze sweeps over to you, hovering there for a bit, and you realize with a sense of dread that she’s enjoying this. “Because, to me,” she splays her manicured fingers over the center of her chest, “it just seems completely unprofessional.”

The PTA members start whispering amongst themselves, eyebrows raised in excitement as they try to determine the culprit amongst themselves.

You want to crawl into a hole and die. You can feel Wayne’s eyes on the back of your head, as though he’s silently willing you to remain composed. The only other person who knows of your relationship with Eddie is Will, and you can tell that he’s doing everything in his power not to wrap his arms around you in a hug.

At the very least, the principal is not tolerating the dissolution of the meeting into a gossip session. “Ms. Perkins, we can discuss this at a later time. Privately.” Sue Sinclair’s expression is stoic, unreadable, and you’re not sure whether she’s angry at you or Carol. How would she know it’s me? But logic has no reason with emotion taking center stage, and you’re all too grateful when Chrissy Carver shifts the conversation to organize a ticket sale committee. For the most part, it seems like Carol’s little outburst has been swept under the rug. The meeting concludes as some parents leave while others stick around to schedule playdates, but you remain seated.

A hand on your shoulder startles you from your humiliated stupor, and you look up to see Will looking at you. Sympathy radiates from his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he softly reassures you. “I don’t think anyone knows, and even if they do, who cares? Harris isn’t in your class anymore.”

“I-I know.” But Frankie is, which means I’ll have to face Carol every day, I’ll have to deal with her smarmy expressions and backhanded comments. The blood drains in your face when you think about her spreading rumors to the other parents, their amused stares as they drop their children off to be in your care.

Wayne speaks up as he stands, leaning his gnarled knuckles on the seat of the folding chair for support. “Darlin’, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. It’s no one’s business who you’re with.” He brushes some dust off of his dungarees and walks with a slight limp towards the door, the remnants of an old injury that flares up in the colder weather. “I gotta go get Harris, but you keep your chin up.” He gives Will a quick head bob that the younger man returns, having developed somewhat of a camaraderie with the elder Munson during the various post-graduation Hellfire sessions held at the trailer.

Carol says nothing as she leaves the room, deep in conversation with Steve Harrington and his wife. If they don’t know about you and Eddie yet, you’re confident that Carol will ensure they do soon. Dread pools in your stomach at the thought of small-town gossip flying, your professionalism being called into question, the possibility of you losing your job. And everyone will know why. 

Eddie’s hands tremor with excitement; his whole body buzzes with energy as he grabs the receiver off of the glass countertop. He dials your number–his favorite seven digit combination in the world–and beams the entire time. As soon as he hears your, “hello?”, he’s practically shouting into the phone. Volume control has never been his forte, especially after years of blowing out his eardrums with loud music.

“Babe, guess what?” He drums his left hand fingertips on the counter, a rhythmic pum-pum-pum to keep his breath steady.

“What’s up?” 

He notes hesitance in your tone, but chalks it up to exhaustion from your extended workday. “I applied for that manager position? The one I told you about on our first date?” He hears your soft “mhm,” before proceeding. “And I got it! Ash just told me now!” He smiles, pressing the receiver to his ear with his shoulder as he organizes paperwork into a pile. “Eddie Munson, getting the girl and the job? Never in Hawkins’ wildest dreams!”

There’s a pause on your end of the line before you reply. “I’m so proud of you, Eds. No one deserves this more than you do.” 

Though there’s still an air of something Eddie can’t quite identify, it’s woven with genuine pride for his accomplishment. His fingertips keep busy as they graze up and down the phone cord. “Now we, uh, really have something to celebrate at Enzo’s.”

Another pause; this one is so long that he wonders if the line disconnected. “Um, about that…” you finally speak up, and Eddie hopes you don’t hear the gigantic sigh of relief that escapes his lips, “maybe we could just do something at my place? Grab takeout, watch a movie or something?”

His relief evaporates almost as quickly as it came, and he puts his weight on his forearms and lowers his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just been a long week.”

It sounds too automatic, too rehearsed to be true. Eddie doesn’t believe you, but he needs to get to Wayne’s and pick up Harris before his uncle leaves for work. “I really wanted to take you out, show you off, y’know?” He clears his throat, scrambling for words. “We can talk more about it later. Try to get some rest, Sweetheart.”

“Mmkay,” you mumble, and Eddie hopes he’s not just imagining the smile in your voice. “I’ll try. Say hi to Harris and Wayne for me.”

He ends the phone call promising that he will, hanging up hesitantly. What happened between this morning and this evening that had you backing out of the date and retreating into your home? 

I shouldn’t have tried to hold her hand, he grimaces, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road towards Forest Hills. That was so stupid; she was at work, and the kids were right there. Way to go, Munson. 

Eddie continues to brood about his faux pas all the way until he gets to Wayne’s, slapping a smile on his face as he relays the news about his promotion. The smile becomes less forced the more he talks. He’s suddenly consumed with thoughts of buying a house with a yard, a pool–well, maybe not a pool; he’s not making that much money–but definitely space for Harris to run around and play.

And in this fantasy world he’s created, you’re standing on the front porch, sipping coffee out of a World’s Best Mom mug–possibly the only mug Wayne doesn’t already have nailed to the trailer wall–made just the way you like it. You’re laughing as you watch Harris sprint back and forth across the grass. Eddie imagines it neatly cut, but the reality is that it would probably be more than a bit overgrown.

He’d sneak up behind you, snaking arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, pressing soft kisses onto the back of your neck–

“That’s amazing, Ed!” Wayne claps a hand on his nephew’s back, drawing him out of his daydream and thrusting him back into reality. He pulls him into a quick hug, not overabundant in affection, but his delight seeps through. “You talk to your girl yet?” 

“First person I called.” My girl. The first person I called was my girl. She’s my girl and I’m her man–

“Good.” Wayne responds pensively, smoothing down his unruly mustache whiskers and reaching for his pack of Camels. He shoves them into his side pocket, right on top of the lighter. “She could use some good news after that shitshow of a PTA meeting.”

Eddie’s brows crinkle, pinched together in non-understanding. “What are you talking about?” he asks before calling out his son’s name to bring him from the bedroom. He can hear the bed springs creaking, which can only mean that Harris is jumping on the old mattress. Apparently, breaking his wrist didn’t result in a lesson learned.

“She didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” He slams his palm onto the countertop as confusion melts into frustration. Weren’t you past this? Past keeping secrets and masking emotions?

Wayne sighs, weighing his options. Ultimately, his allegiance is to his nephew, so he divulges what happened that afternoon, heart sinking as Eddie’s face falls with each word. “She seemed real shook up,” he concludes the story, digging out the pack of cigarettes. Delivering news that devastates his nephew has him urgently craving a smoke. “I wanted to stay and talk to her, but Claudia had somewhere to be at five.”

Eddie chews on his lower lip, pulling off a bit of dry skin with his front teeth. “Yeah, no, ‘s fine.” He calls Harris out of the bedroom again, patience sufficiently thinned. Of course Carol Perkins would shoot off her big mouth about your personal life. It’s not like she had anything better to do. None of that is surprising. 

What worries Eddie is why you didn’t tell him about it. Were you embarrassed that people knew you were together? Is that why you didn’t want to be seen at Enzo’s with him? Would you agree to a restaurant far outside the bounds of Hawkins, or was this shame rooted deeper than small-town gossip?

Wayne can sense his anxiety, and he scrambles to dam up Eddie’s flooding thoughts as he fumbles to put the cigarette between his lips. “It’s pretty damn obvious that you two care for each other. Dare I say, you lo—”

“Wayne!”

“Fine, fine,” Wayne chuckles and grabs his lunch pack. The ceasing of the bed springs indicates that Harris has stopped jumping, and Eddie can hear toy cars clattering into a bag. “But you should just talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.” He lowers his voice as Harris finally emerges. “I know it ain’t been easy to hear rumors your whole life, but this is new to her. Cut her a little slack.”

Eddie looks around the trailer at what was his first real home. He’d bounced from place to place with his parents, dodging angry landlords and their threats of eviction. From a young age, he’d learned to dread the end of the month, knowing that conflict was inevitable. Screaming voices, accusations of hiding money, when anyone with working eyes could see that they’d all but stuffed it in a pipe and smoked it. There was no love; only survival. Wayne was never the cookies and milk, family dinner, Leave it to Beaver type, but he offered Eddie something he’d never had before: safety.

Now, Eddie scoops Harris into his arms and follows Wayne out of the trailer as he locks up. There’s not too much of great value; possibly just the TV, but even that’s on the fritz. And unless a thief had a hankering for hokey mugs and baseball caps, they’d probably leave without taking a thing. “Thanks, Old Man.”

“‘S what I’m here for,” Wayne says, pressing a kiss to Harris’s mop of curls. He pauses, and then does something he hasn’t done in years: he kisses the top of Eddie’s head, too. “Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

On Saturday evening, Eddie finds himself at Bradley’s Big Buy, scouring the aisles until he locates the small refrigerator holding various flower bouquets. The chill hits him in the chest as he opens the door, crouching down to get a better look at the offerings through their tissue-paper wraps. He’s determined to take you to Enzo’s, and he’d hoping this small gesture will show you that he can be the man you deserve.

He finds a bouquet of pink peonies and grabs them from the display case, clutching them proudly. They’re delicate and beautiful, just like you. He raises them up, the petals tickling his nose when he inhales the fresh scent, when he overhears Billy Hargrove speaking in a hushed tone:

“Thought you were stopping by after that parent meeting thing.”

“My idiot husband came home early,” a woman–Carol Perkins, Eddie realizes–punctuates her lament with an irritated sigh. “But speaking of that meeting–I’ve been meaning to tell you: guess who’s also hooking up?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before divulging the gossip, “Frankie’s teacher and Eddie Munson.”

“The teacher and the Freak? No way.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and chuckles maliciously. “Didn’t know she was down for that kind of stuff.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Carol huffs, as though she’s not stepping out on her own husband. “But I’m serious! He brings her coffee and leaves her stupid love notes.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes together as he cringes. Billy’s second round of mean laughter transports him back to the time the jock grabbed his brand-new D20 off of the lunch table and used his basketball skills to chuck it into a far-off trash can. The ruby red die sunk into the mountain of discarded lumps resembling mashed potatoes and half-eaten meatloaf, forcing Eddie to trek across the cafeteria and fish it out of the pile of old food. “Love notes? What, is he in high school or something?”

Carol snickers. “Guess he’s making up for all the times he didn’t bother, since he knew no girl in this town would go for him.”

“Looks like he had to go for an import,” Billy jokes, drawing a hideous cackle from his friend. Eddie can practically hear the man’s ego inflating at the way Carol fawns over him.

“And a desperate one at that,” she snorts. “I mean, can you imagine lowering your standards enough to be with Eddie Munson?”

“Let’s hope she comes to her senses eventually,” he agrees. “So, is your husband home now…?”

All Eddie can think is to run, to get the hell out of there before anyone spots him and notices the pink tinging his cheeks and the tears welling in his eyes. He’s so focused on leaving and getting past the two bullies that he forgets about the flowers in his hand, until an infuriated voice calls after him.

“Hey! Get back here!” The manager rolls his eyes when he recognizes the culprit. “Eddie Munson. Of course. I should’ve known that shoplifting isn't too juvenile a crime for you.” 

Eddie can hear Billy and Carol poorly stifling their amusement at his misfortune. He struggles to find the proper words to explain himself as his entire body is engulfed in the flames of embarrassment, burning him from the inside out. “No…I didn’t mean…it was an accident…”

The manager shakes his head with a biting laugh. He’s a graying man who should have been retired fifteen years ago when Eddie was actually shoplifting. The liver-spotted creases around his eyes are particularly visible when he sneers, “Heard that one before. Prob’ly from you.”

Anger burns in Eddie’s throat, but he swallows it. “Look, let me just pay for these, and I’ll get outta here.” He starts to fumble for his wallet, but the old man shakes his head.

“Nice try. I let you off easy too many times when you were a kid, and look where it got ya.” His cold hand clasps Eddie’s bicep as tightly as his feebleness allows. “I’m calling the sheriff. He can decide what to do with you.”

“Shit-shit-shit,” Eddie mumbles, yanking himself from the man’s grip. “Y’don’t have to hold me; I’m not gonna run away.”

To his surprise, the manager lets him go, though it’s likely due to his advanced age rather than trusting Eddie to do the right thing.

He’s taken to the back room, anxiously tapping his foot against the floor and biting his thumbnail. A quick glance at his watch tells him that he’s supposed to pick you up in 15 minutes. He breathes out a long sigh, scanning the bulletin board hastily fastened to the wall with a lone flyer advertising medical benefit sign-up. Upon closer inspection, he reads that it’s for the 1990 fiscal year, and he can’t help but wonder if that’s the last time the stodgy old Bradley ever offered insurance to his overworked, underpaid employees. 

He says a silent prayer to whatever gods are listening that Hopper is the one who answers the call. The chief will give him the benefit of the doubt and probably tear the old fart a new one for wasting his time.

Purse, keys, lipstick, condoms.

You have everything you need for your date, save for one minor detail–Eddie.

You’d expected him to stop by your classroom yesterday to say good morning like he normally does, but he didn’t show. He would’ve called you if Harris was staying home sick; a brief peek out your window during recess confirmed that the littlest Munson was present. He ran around the playground with one of his friends from the birthday party, blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning within you.

Eddie definitely heard what happened at the meeting, you realize miserably, and he doesn’t want to deal with the backlash he’ll get from dating his kid’s former teacher. From anxiety blooms visions of the convoluted game of telephone perpetuated by Carol, the story getting more absurd with each retelling. 

At 7:30, Eddie still hasn’t shown. He’s not exactly Mr. Punctuality, but thirty minutes is pushing it, even for him. His tardiness does nothing to ameliorate your fears. This was clearly too much for him—you were too much for him. 

You’re about to wipe the makeup off of your face and change into your coziest pair of pajamas when the phone rings, startling you slightly.

“H-Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Hawkins County Jail. Do you accept the charges?” an automated voice bleats, too chipper for the circumstances it’s reporting.

You’re caught off-guard by the question and the tone, and you choke out a strangled, “yes” and the line rings twice.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Relief floods your body until you remember where he’s calling from.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here,” you say, and it’s only when your fingers start to cramp that you recognize how tightly you’re gripping the receiver. “Why are you in–”

He sighs into the phone, and static briefly clouds his voice. “Long story,” he mumbles. “Can you just come and get me? There’s, uh, no bail or anything.”

“I’ll be right there.” You waste no time in grabbing your keys off of their hook, nearly forgetting to shove your feet into shoes in your scramble out the door. You’re ashamed to admit that for a millisecond, you consider the possibility that he’s been busted for dealing, but you shake it off lest it further infiltrate your psyche.

You pull up to the jail exactly twenty-eight minutes later, the fastest you can get there without flying down side streets; the irony of being pulled over for speeding on your way to the police station was not lost on you. Flinging the car into park and killing the engine, you fast-walk through the entrance and hope your nervousness is hidden by the air of confidence you’re faking. 

“I’m here to pick up Eddie—er, Edward Munson?” His legal name is clunky on your tongue, like it doesn’t quite belong to him. 

The officer behind the desk wears a name badge that reads “P. Callahan.” He puts down his copy of the Hawkins Post and presses his lips into a thin line as he reaches for the walkie attached to his shirt pocket. 

“Hop, is Munson ready to be released?” Released. Like a wild animal who needs to be kept away from the general public for their own safety. 

The officer on the other end—Chief Hopper, you presume—confirms that Eddie is good to go, and a door opens shortly after that. Eddie trudges out, shame and frustration marring his beautiful face. 

You sign whatever paperwork is required before silently taking Eddie’s hand and leading him to the car. He holds it tight, a shiver of a tremor rocking through it.

“Babe, what happened?” you ask once you’re safely outside, away from where the officers can hear you.

Eddie lets go of your hand to throw his arm around you dramatically, leaning with his whole body weight. The sudden force of it has you stumbling, but he catches your fall. 

“It’s awful being on the inside,” he whines, trying to lay on an exaggerated pout, but his smile pokes through. “You’ve made me too soft for prison, baby. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you and almost got shanked.”

His joke subtly informs you that he’s not ready to actually discuss it yet, and so you roll your eyes and play along for now.  “Poor thing. Locked up for a whole forty minutes.”

“It was more like forty-five,” he protests, “and every second counts when it’s spent missing my girl.”

“You’re so full of it, Munson.” My girl. If he never calls you anything else but his girl for the rest of your lives, you wouldn’t complain.

He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you in so your back is pressed against his chest. “Full of longing and devotion!”

“Sshh!” you chastise him lightly through your giggling. “Get in the car, crazy man.”

“Crazy ‘bout you!” Eddie says, booping your nose. As soon as your fingers wrap around the gearshift, he’s resting his hand atop yours. It trembles slightly.

Tell me what happened. Don’t keep any more secrets from me. I won’t judge you or leave you. I’m your girl, remember?

It takes a few blocks before you finally work up the courage to ask, “Is everything okay?” It’s a stupid question; you don’t get arrested if everything’s okay, but the alternative is a more straightforward, Why the hell did I have to pick you up from jail?, so you acquiesce. 

“‘M good.” He gives your hand another tiny squeeze and attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You sigh, poorly hiding your impatience for answers you need to know. “Can we talk about what happened?” 

His slow release of breath is in sync with your foot pressing on the brake pedal as you approach a stop sign. “Not a big deal. Just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that led to you getting arrested?” Stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop acting like this is fine when it clearly isn’t. Stop making me feel like you don’t trust me. The words get caught behind clenched teeth, threatening to ooze through the gaps.

“Yup.” He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as though giving a sufficient response to end the conversation.

You drive another few minutes before you spot the sign for Lovers Lake in the distance. There’s only one surefire way to calm his nerves; whatever it is he’s keeping from you, there’s a reason he hasn’t worked up the courage to say it. 

Eddie sits up and peers out the window in confusion when you veer to the exit. “Where are we—”

“You’ll see.”

Parking in a spot secluded by trees and the dark of night, you turn to him and stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Can I make my man feel good?” you coo, taking his earlobe between your teeth and tugging lightly. You can feel the small bump where his piercings used to be.

“Shit, baby,” he breathily groans, adjusting the seat so you have ample space to straddle his lap. His hands fly to his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling the leather strip from its loops. Though his pants aren’t as tight around him now, you can still see the outline of his now half-hard cock beginning to press against his fly. “‘S exactly what I need.”

But it isn’t solely the act of sex that he needs, although it would be a farce to imply that he didn’t crave the feeling of you wrapped around him. It was the public nature of it; the way that anyone could walk by and see you on top of him. Could see you choosing him. The teacher choosing the Freak. 

You roll your hips, denim-on-denim creating a delicious friction that draws moans from both you and Eddie. Your lips chastely graze his neck, trailing kisses upwards until you reach the prickly stubble along his jawline. 

Eddie’s hands grab your ass, claiming it as his. “Feels—mmf—feels good,” he grunts, letting out a soft chuckle when he adds, “gonna make me cream my jeans if you keep grinding on me like that.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, maintaining your tempo. You press your lips to his and he whines into your mouth. “Just wanna ease your mind tonight, Eds.”

“Yeah, but the face you make when you cum? Christ, babe. Makes it even better for me.” He scoots you off of him for a moment, laughing again when he sees your lower lip jut out. “Let me just grab a condom, you needy little thing.”

You bury your head in the crook of his neck and begin sucking on its supple skin as he fumbles for his wallet. “Fine, fine,” you grumble, a teasing lilt in your tone. “The last thing we need is for people seeing that you knocked me up.”

Eddie freezes beneath you, his wallet falling to the weather-mat with a thud. “Wh…what?” His voice is below a whisper, volume compressed by emotion. 

“We’ve only been together, like, a month.” It’s too obvious a point to confuse him. There’s no way he really wants a kid with you right now. “We can’t have a baby—”

Eddie vehemently shakes his head, effectively cutting you off. “But that’s not what you said.” You see hurt in his eyes as you try to piece together the puzzle. The fact that you can’t immediately identify the source adds another element of frustration for both of you. “You said that we can’t have people seeing that I knocked you up. Why…why wouldn’t you want people knowing that I…?”

The imagined swell of your belly that he’d hoped you proudly show off, mindlessly caressing it as you walk hand-in-hand with him, is now covered with layers of clothing, even in summer’s heat. You’re tugging a cardigan closed, determined not to let anyone see the shame you’re carrying along with Eddie Munson’s child.

“I just figured you wouldn’t want people talking about you,” you manage, thinking of the rumor that had spread after Harris’s injury. You bring yourself back to the driver’s seat, and it takes another moment before something else dawns on you. “You wouldn’t be upset by people knowing? I mean, not that we’d, y’know, have a kid right now…because you already have one, and this is all so new…” You clamp your lips together to shut yourself up, having already blabbered on for too long.

Eddie shakes his head, tousling his frizzy curls. “Why would I be upset? You’re my girl.” Worry ripples through him, evident through his expression. His doe eyes grow even wider, and he spins his rings around his fingers. One slips and bounces off of the passenger seat, but he doesn’t move to retrieve it. “You still want to be my girl, right?”

“I still want to be your girl,” you confirm, watching his body decompress with relief. “I just don’t want to make things even worse than they are. I mean, you can’t even tell me why you were in jail tonight. That’s a pretty big deal, Eds.” There’s a lump in your throat as you force out your feelings. You hate confronting people, hate drawing information from an unwilling party. But Eddie is your boyfriend, and this is serious. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he mutters, keeping his head on the headrest and eyes trained on in front of him; his unwillingness to look at you serves as an act of defiance. “I had to hear about the PTA meeting from Wayne.”

The contents of your stomach curdle like milk in the sun. “You’d just told me about your promotion,” you stumble, unable to find footing in your meek protest, “I didn’t want to—”

“So, yesterday? Or today?” he pushes, a tango of anger and hurt dancing in his darkened pupils. “You could’ve called me.”

You could have; you’d certainly considered it more than once, but you didn’t want to bother him. It seemed like such an asinine complaint: Oh, Eddie, a grown adult bullied me, another grown adult, at the PTA meeting. Did I stand up for myself? Nope. Just sat there and tried not to sob like one of the kids I teach. “I thought if you knew what people were saying, you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. You’d think I was too much of a burden.”

“You?” Eddie gawps, nearly choking on the word. “You think that you’re the burden? That you’re the reason why people are talking about this?” People. Not just Carol. The information slips from his lips, but he doesn’t catch it. “Nah, Sweetheart. In the equation of ‘Teacher’ plus ‘Freak,’ you’re hardly the problematic variable.”

“‘Teacher plus Freak?’” 

“Teacher,” he says slowly, pointing to you, “Freak.” He brings his forefinger to his own chest. “I’m kinda used to it; just sucks when it affects other people.” He looks at you through his soft brown eyes. “People I care about.”

You’re unsure how to respond, so you say nothing. You vaguely recall Jess telling you about his high school nickname, but you had no idea it had stuck after all these years. 

Eddie sighs, shifting his position to get slightly more comfortable. “Tonight, I was at the store getting some flowers for you. And, um, I heard Carol and Billy Hargrove talking about how you had to be desperate to be with me. That you’d realize you’re too good for me and leave.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lowers his head. You watch a tear slide down his cheek, and he sucks in a messy breath as he tries to control the dam of emotions threatening to burst.

“Too good for you?” The notion is almost comical, and you have to hold back an incredulous laugh. “Too good for the man who rescued Grandma after she locked herself in her room? Who came to her funeral? Who gave me another chance after I made an ass out of myself?” You use your pointer and middle fingers to tilt his chin upwards until his gaze meets yours. “Too good for the man who would do anything for his son?”

“No,” Eddie shoots back, “too good for the guy who grew up being taunted because he played Dungeons & Dragons instead of basketball. The guy who abandoned his pregnant girlfriend to go on tour. Who treated you like shit just to avoid getting close to you. Who…who got arrested for accidentally taking flowers from Bradley’s because he’d stolen from them so much that no one believed him when he said it wasn’t on purpose.” He recalls swiping candy bars, jars of peanut butter, and the occasional six-pack of Pabst during his rebellious teenage years. After he’d schlepped back to Hawkins, proverbial tail tucked between his legs, there was more than one occasion where he’d ripped diapers from their boxes and tucked them into his jacket pocket, walking as casually as he could until he was a safe enough distance to exhale and run.

You take a sharp breath in. “That’s what happened tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says; the admission is a sack of bricks being lifted from his chest. “Those schmucks got in my head, and I walked out the store with the flowers like a fuckin’ idiot.” He replays the scene in his head, inwardly cringing at his desperation to flee the premises and inadvertently drawing everyone’s attention to him. He starts to laugh, but anger, sadness, and relief all brew together and the dam bursts completely. One tear multiples to two, four, eight, until he’s simultaneously choking on sobs and laughter, the overlapping emotions wreaking havoc on his nervous system.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he manages through another half-laugh half-sob. He swipes at his cheeks with open palms, and you reach for the travel box of Kleenex you keep in the glove compartment and hand him a tissue. “Thanks.”

“You don’t ever need to apologize to me for crying,” you murmur, barely audible as you press a kiss into his mess of curls just behind his left ear. “I want–I need you to be able to show me what you’re feeling.” Eddie blows his nose, loud and honking, and your lips turn up into a small smile. “Why do we let them get to us?” you wonder aloud, a question more for you than for him.

“I was thinking about that,” Eddie muses, stuffing the used tissue into his jacket pocket. He’ll try and remember to toss it later, but part of him knows he’ll find it there tomorrow. “Like, I didn’t give a damn what they said about me back in high school, but now, as an adult, I do?” He takes a deep breath through his mouth. “And I realized…it’s because I never cared about what they thought of me. Not really. But, fuck, I care about what you think of me.” He swallows before stroking your cheek. “I want to be enough for you.”

You kiss the tip of his nose, letting your lips linger there longer than necessary to ensure the feeling of belonging becomes entrenched in his pores. “You’re enough, Eddie. You’ve always been enough.” Your hands find his, and you lace your fingers together. “I have an idea. Why don’t we grab some takeout, maybe pick up a bottle of wine, and bring it back to my place.” You immediately worry that you’ve proven his point of not wanting to be seen with him, so you quickly backtrack. “We can still go out to dinner; I just figured…after the night you had…”

He silences you with a kiss of his own, nose nudging the side of yours. “I’d love that.” Before you can start the car again, he says, “what Carol said at the meeting…did it really make you think I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

You nod solemnly, breaking his heart all over again. “You already have so much on your plate. I didn’t want to be another problem to deal with.”

Eddie’s expression hardens, but his frustration isn’t directed towards you. It’s for anyone who has ever made you feel like loving you is a chore. He does the only thing he can think of doing: he takes your face in his hands, fingers tucked behind the smooth skin of your ears, and peppers your face in a flurry of kisses.

“Eddie!” you cry out through a fit of giggles. Your eyes squeeze together as his lips tickle your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your chin. 

He only pulls away to take a breath, and when he does, he’s smiling through shiny eyes as he continues holding your face. “You are not a problem. Never.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “We make each other happy. And if anyone tries to fuck with that, we’ll just…sic Harris on them.”

The gray clouds that were scattered across your brain dissipate at the mere idea of the boy charging at Billy and Carol like a miniature rhinoceros. Insecurity still hovers over you, waiting for the perfect blend of sadness and vulnerability to strike, but it’s not quite as heavy as it was before. 

You aren’t too much for Eddie, and Eddie is enough for you.

And you’re everything to each other. 

--

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[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

A Budding Romance

Hey!!! I just reread one of your fics- I forgot the name but it's the one where Janus could hear the narration, I really enjoyed that and was wondering if you'd be willing to write something similar with another self-aware side? – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: intrulogical

Word Count: 1237

Roman has a pleasant morning observing his two favorite nerds flirting with each other.

It starts as simply as it could, perhaps: in the living room, with a handful of the Sides spread around the couch, the floor, and the chairs. Logan and Virgil sit at opposite ends of the couch, Remus sprawled at their feet.

“Bit exposition-heavy for an opening, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Virgil pulls off one of his headphones. “Did you say something Princey?”

Roman looks up from his notebook and shakes his head. “Just talking about narrative development, my dear Emo, don’t mind me.”

Virgil looks at him suspiciously for another moment before going back to his phone. Roman glances around to make sure no one else is suspiciously eyeing him before looking back down at his notebook.

“You know, when you say it like that, it makes it sound far worse than it actually is.”

Thankfully, for his sake, Remus doesn’t perk his head up at the sound of making things worse than they are.

Roman rolls his eyes and goes back to scratching words along the page with a pen that really needs to be replaced, he has to reactivate it every other word.

“It’s a perfectly serviceable pen, you’re just jealous.”

“You know,” Remus remarks, not looking up from his assortment of gears and pipe cleaners, “if you want to borrow a viscera quill—“

“I do not, in fact, but thank you so much for the offer.”

Remus snickers. Logan looks up from his own notes, raising an eyebrow. “You have a viscera quill?”

Roman groans silently as Remus’s grin widens. “Oh, Lolo, I thought you’d never ask.”

“Now he’s done it,” Roman mumbles under his breath as Remus starts to go on and on about how he developed a quill that writes using the effluvia of various creatures— “wait, wait, wait, what the hell does ‘effluvia’ mean?”

Remus pauses in his tirade long enough for Logan to look over. “It’s bodily fluids.”

“Like shit and piss!”

“…technically, I don’t believe fecal matter counts as a ‘fluid,’ but…yes, among others. Saliva, blood, mucus, any sort of…”

“Body juice!”

“So why not just say bodily fluids?”

“It doesn’t sound gross enough,” Remus pouts, to which Logan only looks…mildly bemused about, “but wait, why are you asking about it?”

“Neither of us said it.”

“Came up in a story,” Roman says easily, which is technically not a lie so Janus doesn’t show up, “don’t mind me.”

Remus gives him one more strange look before going back to what he was talking about. Roman just settles further into the chair, a small smile blooming on his face as he watches the two of them talk. Logan’s grip on his notebook is slowly relaxing. Remus has all but abandoned the pile of scraps in favor of sitting up properly. Even Virgil glances at the two of them, does a double-take, and looks over at Roman, eyes wide.

Roman just shrugs with a very ‘what can you do?’ smile and keeps watching. Remus’s back is almost fully to him now, but he can see the way his shoulders rise and fall that his face must be as animated as ever.

”This is good for them,” Roman mumbles, “they’ve not gotten enough chances to be weird about the same thing.”

This is true: more often than not, when it comes to matters of discussion, the two of them are on opposing sides of the argument. Logan, as the steadfast voice of reason, which is something he doesn’t get nearly enough credit for—

Roman snorts.

—is often quite directly responsible for reining in Remus’s more…let’s say, ‘unorthodox’ suggestions.

”Nothing Remus does could be considered orthodox, that is true.”

“Aw, thanks, Roro.”

Logan chuckles, still looking at Remus with that softly fond look he denies having every single time one of them notices it. When Remus is done making sickeningly sappy faces at Roman, he turns back and fully freezes mid-word at the sight of it.

“I-uh—“

“Go on,” Logan says quietly, “I was enjoying that.”

“Uh—um—well, uh, I think that the, um—“

“Watch his ears,” Roman whispers, “they’ll start to go red.”

Sure enough, the very tips of Remus’s ears go pink, then a bright red, then a deeper red as he continues to stumble over his words. Roman leans to the side, hand over his face to cover his own snickering mouth. Logan just waits patiently, letting Remus try and get himself together, before taking pity on him and lightly prompting the last thought he’d been sharing. Remus takes the out and starts describing…whatever it was that they were talking about.

“Wow, way to keep a hold of the plot.”

But as becomes abundantly clear, the specifics of their conversation don’t matter. Rather, it’s the way Logan keeps straying his hand toward his notebook every so often, just to write down one little thing, before returning his full focus to Remus. It’s the way Remus will get caught off-guard by Logan’s expression and have to look away to refocus himself. And it’s the way that neither of them have noticed that Roman and Virgil have given up all pretenses of minding their own business and are now openly staring at the two of them.

They catch each other’s eyes and have a wordless conversation of their own, before Virgil shakes his head and sinks out. A second later, a text appears on Roman’s phone saying keep me updated.

Now, whether or not they ever decide to let Remus and Logan know they have a group chat devoted to the cute things the two of them do remains to be seen, but this is definitely a prime opportunity for sneaking an adorable picture of the two of them.

“Ooh, great idea.” Roman sneaks a shot of Logan smiling softly at a blushy Remus. “That’s a keeper.”

Within the bounds of Roman’s role as a Side, he so rarely gets to enjoy the softer aspects of his responsibilities. The majority of his time is taken up by being Creativity, which is of course his main role, but the glamor of it faded long ago. ‘Creativity’ is more drafting, redrafting, the grind of editing, than it is the actual performance of the results. And, of course, there are the parts of it that rasp a little too harshly against the more sensitive parts of oneself. To create is to be vulnerable, and that only gets so much easier.

Passion helps, of course, but passion is as fickle as candle flame if not properly nurtured. Passion, Romance, Ego, tragedy walks in their footsteps as easily as breathing. It speaks more toward the intensity of the emotions and experiences rather than the positivity or negativity. And for Roman, who lives and breathes as the embodiment of it, it can be difficult to catch his breath.

But of course, there are moments of softness. Like this one, where the two of them are sitting in their own little world and talking about nothing at all. The pleasant lightness of it all floats through the air, sweet as a summer breeze. So Roman can soak in it, for just a little while, as these moments grow few and far between.

“And whose fault is that?”

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[notchesandbullets]

Life After Luck (Black Panther!Shinsou x Reader)

Art credit: Pixiv ID 123370838

Warnings: harassment, descriptions of injuries and blood, mention of a past character death (minor) and violence, angst, fluff, protective Shinsou and endearing dad!Shinsou.

A/N: second work for @ultimate-astridwriting​ hybrid collab!!

Words: 9.4k

You and Shinsou had been seeing each other secretly for years. And in the famed city of Musutafu where the existence of hybrids were extremely rare, that wasn’t exactly an easy feat.

The statistics varied around the globe but the general trend ended up to be less than 5% of the world’s population being born with some kind of animal trait.

Because they were so rare, most humans lived out their whole lives without encountering a hybrid in person once, but for the odd individual, sometimes they would catch a glimpse.

Ever since he was young, Shinsou had to fight every step of the way to get what he wanted. He had to work harder than most just for the mere scraps of attention from scouts that came to search for those with talent to become future heroes, but he never once complained. Until a fight broke out at school, the jocks beating him up in the cafeteria, calling his aspiration to be a hero stupid while everyone else just sat there and watched.

They called him all sorts of horrible names that made his skin crawl and at the end of it all, they didn’t even get punished for starting the fight. He did.

After that, he stomped away from the school grounds and never looked back.

Overcoming life’s great trials, he made a name for himself in his own community in Japan with the help of his mentor, Aizawa.

The scruffy man demanded that he at least get the bare minimum of an education with him if he really refused to go back to his original school, and that’s how the odd pair that resembled father and son more than anyone else ended up getting homeschooled by the veteran underground pro. 

Eventually, the once scrawny black panther without a quirk transformed into a seasoned pro that Japan’s law enforcement called on whenever a case called for his skills. 

Shinsou’s hybrid traits made it easy for him to sneak around despite his size, making him one of the idealistic hires when police needed someone for undercover work. Coupled with the prowess of his build body, he was more than capable to takedown whatever targets were given to him.

Once he reached adulthood, he left the police reserves and went out on his own, seeking a life that lacked the emergency sirens and ways of deceit that it had been filled with previously.

He bounced around from job to job, starting from the bottom up. He washed dishes in a kitchen for a restaurant then went on to be a cashier and then finally worked on the side of the road, cleaning up litter left behind by inconsiderate people.

Shinsou found that over time, he appreciated doing those jobs more and got fulfillment out of it that he didn’t find before.

Little things that happened daily put an extra spring in his step, like strolling down the street and seeing an elder needing help to get across. The simple actions of holding open the door or complimenting someone in hopes of making their day, it was so much clearer than it had been before.

That wasn’t to say that life was a walk in the park for the estranged panther. He still got comments about his appearance when his hood slipped off or from people who looked closely enough spotted his tail, but he no longer cared. His self-worth didn’t rely on pleasing them.

He was done with trying to blend in with the humans. He was different and he was proud of it.

Shinsou’s jaw clenched and his eyes hardened every time someone muttered something not-so-kind under their breath but he pushed on out of sheer determination, shoving it down until he could process it and release the feelings that came with it. He didn’t want to be the type of person who held a grudge.

Nothing good came out of that.

It was hard, but he had an example to set. He didn’t want his son to end up like the person he used to be. 

A loner, an outcast, filled with so much anger aimed at the world that he lacked the ability to get along with anybody. And he didn’t want that for his son.

Naoki. His five-year-old kid with as much spunk as you had.

His wife of seven years.

Shinsou had met you on the eve of a grand ball being hosted in honor of Midoriya’s birthday, a party thrown for the Number One Hero by his large circle of friends. The black panther hybrid had been serving as protection for the night to Kaminari, an old human friend of his from high school who had hooked him up with a steady job within his own company.

Private security.

Since his panther genes gave him a much more built physique, Shinsou didn’t have any troubles convincing the big boss that he was the right fit for being a bodyguard. Coupled with his impressive background, that sealed the deal in one go.

Shinsou had been over at the bar getting a drink for the hyperactive blond conversing with his other guard, Jirou, when it happened.

The grand doors to the Victorian ballroom opened and in you entered, causing everyone’s jaws to drop to the floor.

Your floor-length gown was breathtaking. Diamonds glittered on soft skin from where the expensive necklace sat just above your collarbone. Ruby heels peeked out from under your dress as you floated through the entryway, coming to a stop at the balcony high above all the guests’ heads.

White chiffon skirts sweeping the marble tile, your satin heels clicked against the floor as you strode in, your chin turned delicately at the audible gasp that left the doorman.

An easy smile popped up on your features as he hastily apologized for staring and you brushed it off with an airy wave of your hand.

Shinsou didn’t even know if you were aware of all the eyes on you as you glided down the steps and warmly greeted Todoroki, the one who actually reserved the ballroom for the night, and Bakugou, one of your oldest friends.

Thank Eraserhead for his enhanced hearing.

However, Shinsou practically fainted when you walked over to him, commenting that he looked nice right before introducing yourself. The dress code that he had previously complained about to Kaminari earlier went out the window as soon as his eyes settled on you, drinking in your figure. 

You were the embodiment of a goddess.

At that point, he wasn’t sure if he died and went to heaven or what, but he knew one thing. You were absolutely breathtaking.

Your elegance, your ease and instant kindness whenever you interacted with someone had him weak in the knees. 

You were a vision. 

Radiating pure light and beauty.

Sliding over to him, Kaminari had flashed him a cocky grin and reassured him that Jirou could handle his responsibilities if he, oh, wanted to pay a visit to a particularly stunning girl. 

Jirou, his right-hand woman, swatted the electric blond’s shoulder as he doubled over with laughter but calmly told Shinsou that if he wanted to stroll around for a little while before coming back, then well, there certainly was nothing wrong with having a little bit of fun.

Blushing, he refused, claiming he couldn’t possibly leave Kaminari alone that long. He would find a way to set something on fire somehow. 

The man had a weird affinity with fire. 

Shinsou busied himself with the glasses, pouring the drinks that he had originally came over to get and he was about to get back to Jirou and Kaminari, both who suspiciously disappeared from sight, when he glanced up and saw you in all your splendor. 

Right in front of him.

The crystal flutes he had been holding smashed onto the floor, clear shards flying everywhere. All heads turned to him but this time, the attention was unwanted. 

Shinsou was frantic, trying to amend his mistake before you saw, even though that was literally impossible at this point, and Kaminari popped up out of nowhere, intervening before the enraged caterer could say some not-so-kind words to him. 

That was fortunate for him. 

What wasn’t as fortunate was you crouching down the second you heard the crash, disregarding everyone else’s shouts for you to be careful as you raced to his side, bending down to help.

“Are you alright?!” You asked, eyes wide with panic when your gaze landed on his palms and you froze. “Oh no, you’re bleeding!!”

The next ten minutes consisted of him adamantly refusing to let you help him clean up the shattered crystal and you arguing against him. Shinsou was forced to cave into you as you insisted on helping, threatening to haul him into your car to take him to the hospital yourself if he didn’t at least let you look at it, so he wasn’t left with much of a choice.

It wasn’t long before all the dangerous fragments were swept up and once the situation was handled, you led him out of the way to tend to his injuries.

Shinsou was quiet the entire way out, only protesting when you finally reached your destination of the nearest single stall bathroom. Here, at least it was quieter than the party that had resumed out there. Definitely wasn’t his crowd, but he wasn’t about to stomp all over the opportunity that Kaminari gave him just because he was a bit uncomfortable.

He could handle it. He was a panther, for crying out loud. 

His frame was broad, his sharp indigo eyes terrifying and he was tougher than anyone else out there.

And yet, you didn’t flinch away from his wary gaze, going so far as to tend to the cuts and scraps on his bare hands, disinfecting them gently before bandaging them up in soft gauze you found in the cabinet.

It wasn’t odd to have amenities at an event like this where some kind of physical discourse was bound to happen. You knew it well. 

Shinsou eyed you while you worked. “... I didn’t catch your name.”

If you were put off by the low drawl edged with a slight growl clearly meant to intimidate you, you didn’t show it at all. 

Shrugging nonchalantly, you ducked your head somewhat shyly as you tied off the cotton. “L/N. L/N, Y/N.”

Shinsou smirked. “Nice to meet you.”

You flashed him a grin. “Likewise.”

This time, he was the one to look down shyly as his heart skipped a beat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with his newly banadaged palm as you wrapped the other one. “... Thanks for doing that.”

The snort that left you had him doing a double take.

“Thanks for letting me.” You retorted, tugging a bit harder on the end of the gauze to emphasize your exasperation with his earlier stubbornness and Shinsou winced, already regretting it.

“Sorry about that.” He murmured. He didn’t want to be on your bad side already. He had just met you.

Your gaze softened a tad as you picked up on the genuine strain in his voice. “It’s okay.”

After you finished tending to his injury, giving him a lame excuse why you knew first-aid so well, the two of you returned to the ball. 

He let it go. For some reason, he had a feeling he shouldn’t pry.

Shinsou readjusted his tie, knowing that if he didn’t, Kaminari would do it for him. That’s just the type of person the electric blond was. It was hella annoying.

But his indigo gaze kept on you the entire time as your skirts swept across the floor, capturing all the attention of the guests once again. 

Shinsou tapped the rim of the champagne glass to his lips contemplatively, mulling something over in his mind.

He saw through your weak excuse that you just knew how to do first-aid. He spotted the way your hands shook when you saw the blood, no matter how shallow the laceration was, and he couldn’t help but do a little bit of digging.

Jirou helped him find out that you weren’t a doctor or a nurse. In fact, you weren’t in any kind of profession in the medical field. 

While Shinsou was slightly glad you weren’t so that he wouldn’t run into you when missions went sideways, he was more disappointed than anything else.

What if he never saw you again after tonight?

The thought of today being the last time he laid eyes on you was too much for him to bear and even though he tried to keep his distance, tried to stomp out the blossoming warmth in his chest for you when you giggled and threw him a smile through the crowd with logic, nothing worked. 

Shinsou gathered his courage and with a push from Kaminari, literally, he had a date with the bashful bartender by the end of the night.

Waving goodbye to you after he walked you to his car, his arm dropped back down to his side as you drove off into the night. This is going to be fun... 

Two weeks passed by and he still had yet to see you.

At first, he was the one to get called away. Kaminari needed him for a gig while he closed a deal on the nightclub that he owned that he was looking to expand. Apparently, Jirou and Sero were unavailable. He apologized profusely, promising to make it up to you, but you didn’t even mind.

You understood that sometimes life just happened and things got in the way. He had nothing to be sorry for. You rescheduled for the following week. 

That was when you got called away. Family emergency.

Shinsou spent twenty minutes on the phone with you, promising that he wasn’t holding it against you for needing to push back the date again. His eyes softened when he clearly heard how distressed you were through his cell and he sighed, murmuring into the receiver that it didn’t matter how long it took or how many obstacles the two of you would have to get through.

His heart still longed for you just as strongly as the first day he saw you.

With his quiet yet passionate reassurance, you were able to attend to all that you needed to, keeping in contact with him throughout the week. You were ashamed to admit it, but with how easy he was to talk to, you found yourself falling hard.

Then, the day finally came where life allowed you this one happiness.

According to you, the first date went well. Sure, Shinsou was a bit shy and awkward, fumbling over his words but you found it extremely cute. 

He wasn’t nearly as intimidating as his figure portrayed. Underneath all that brawn, the black panther was sweet and he was kind. 

It took some time for him to actually warm up to you, but you were there waiting for him patiently. You never pushed him, never asked him to reveal secrets he didn’t want to talk about or divulge information about his personal life unless he himself wished to talk about it. 

But when he finally did open up, close to a year later after that initial meeting at Midoriya’s birthday party, he found that he couldn’t stop running his mouth when you trained your keen gaze on him so intently, hanging onto his every word.

Shinsou told you everything.

He told you about his lonely past, about the man called Eraserhead but how he knew him as Aizawa, how he preferred coffee over tea because while neither of them actually had any taste, one of them did a much better job of keeping him awake at night when he had to work. 

You giggled and told him you took note of that, leaning forward to plop your chin in the palm of your hand as you regarded him mischievously. 

“Does that mean the great and famous Toshi doesn’t like water?” You teased lightly, stirring your hot chocolate while the snowflakes fell outside, melting the instant they hit the window.

The pillowy softness looked deceptively soft and cozy but you knew after many experiences of jumping into piles of snow that that was definitely not the case.

Shinsou scowled at the lilt in your voice but the edges of his mouth twitched, desperately trying to hold back a fond smile at the sound of your nickname for him.

You gave him that nickname after you learned his given name. He had shared it with you months after you two started dating regularly. You had pestered him for it for a while after the first coffee date but after he asked you to stop, that he would tell you when he was ready, you stopped immediately.

Boundaries had to be respected. 

One of your old girlfriends made fun of you for it, claiming that it didn’t make sense so you shouldn’t feel the need to respect it.

You dropped her right after. 

Understanding didn’t matter. If it was close to him, then it mattered to you. And that went for everyone. 

Shinsou tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants and leaned back in the booth, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. The only other person he let call him Toshi was Aizawa and that was on the rare occasion that his mentor praised him for a job well done.

“You have some nerve, doll.” Shinsou teased right back, the barest amount of amusement twinkling in his eyes and he cleared his throat. “But no, I actually do like water.”

In spite of the common misconception that all cats hated water, he got that a lot once people saw his ears and tail, fangs poking out between his lips. But if anything, he had no issues with it. Let them say and think whatever they wanted, it didn’t matter to him.

You however… he couldn’t have you thinking things that weren’t true.

Shinsou made a face. “I just am not fond of baths.”

You slapped your knee and cackled at that, laughing so loud that you drew the attention of some of the other patrons in the vicinity but you couldn’t even catch your breath long enough to apologize for ruining their calm coffee cafe experience. 

The two of you dated for quite a long time before Shinsou popped the question.

For you, it had taken you by a complete and utter surprise. You had expected him to ask you to move in with him first or something since his place was big enough, not this. No one had ever committed to a relationship with you long enough and serious enough to make you think that marriage was part of the equation.

But while you were startled, you still agreed, tears caught in your lashes. You may have been shocked but you were so elated.

Shinsou, keen as ever, wiped away your tears and coaxed your face up, finger hooked underneath your chin as he examined you closely.

Indigo hues softened in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” You reassured him with a sniffle and bright smile. “I just— Sometimes I forget how good of a person you really are, Toshi.”

He was taken aback at that. His whole life he had been told the opposite. And yet here he was, with the love of his life telling him otherwise.

His heart was going to explode.

It hadn’t been the first time you said it but he hoped that it wouldn’t be the last. 

And when the news that you two were now engaged finally hit you, you took some time to soak in the scenery.

The place he picked was absolutely perfect.

An alcove secluded and filled with fragrant flowers, vines trailing up the expanse of the old stone ruins. Soothing streams cut paths through the quiet garden, a serene and tranquil place hidden amongst the bustling town of Musutafu. There was no one else around. Just you two.

It was perfect. It was perfectly Toshi. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, leaning your head and resting it on his shoulder. 

He booped your nose softly, smiling slightly when you scrunched it up cutely and his tail curled around your waist protectively, holding you close. 

“I love you.” Shinsou murmured, closing his eyes as he breathed you in.

There was no hesitation in your soft reply. “I love you too.”

But your relationship with Shinsou wasn’t all sunshine and roses. There was a time where you thought you might lose him.

That he might die.

It was bad. Kaminari had called you right after it happened but because you had been working at the time and your dick of a boss didn’t let you have your phone, you didn’t see any of those messages until after you got off your shift. 

But when you finally did look at it, your heart stopped.

What happened next was a blur. Your phone slipped through your fingers, uncaring how the screen cracked and went black the instant it hit the pavement and you tore off in the address now ingrained in your memory despite only looking at it once.

Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay, You chanted in your head, tears streaming down your face and the city lights faded into the background as you zipped down the familiar path to the hospital you swore you would never step foot in again. Toshi, I can’t lose you too.

The front desk receptionist didn’t even stop you as you barreled through the front doors with panicked eyes, chest heaving. She simply waved you on. You knew where to go. 

When you finally got to his room, your heart stopped.

Kaminari wasn’t kidding. It was bad. 

No one else was in the white room with white walls that contained your beloved lying deathly still on the single cot in the center of the room. 

The hospital room was vacant. Empty. No color.

You hated it. 

But you suppressed those feelings of unease that made you sick to your stomach and stepped a foot inside, racing to Shinsou before you could talk yourself out of it.

“I’m here.” You cried out, reaching for his hand. A choked sob left you when his fingers weakly curled around yours. “I’m here, Hitoshi.”

The doctors came and went but you stayed by his side, not even batting an eye when Kaminari, Jirou and Sero came to visit.

There were heavy bags under your eyes from lack of sleep due to the past few days. “When will he wake up?”

Kaminari hesitated, glancing at Jirou, hoping to find her usual reassurance but a foreign worry wrought her features.

“I… don’t know.” He said finally, placing a hand on your shoulder, sighing when you didn’t even look up at him and smiled like you normally did. “He’s under a pretty heavy anesthesia—”

“He’s going to wake up.” You stated firmly, brow kitting stubbornly and you squeezed his hand tighter.

But when it was clear he wasn’t going to squeeze back, your grip loosened and your hands fell back in your lap.

“He’s going to wake up.” You repeated, voice shaking this time around with insecurity as you faced the possible reality that he might not.

That you had just grown close to someone else who was going to leave you.

According to the report that Jirou had tried to tell you about, Shinsou had gotten attacked by someone he had helped the police put away a long time ago. 

A retaliation hit. 

Stabbed in the shoulder with a gunshot wound through his femoral artery, there wasn’t a lot of hope for him. He lost a lot of blood.

But you were certain he would fight. He could make it through this. He promised you that he would never leave you. 

Resolve strengthening, you wiped away your tears harshly with the back of your hand before covering his motionless hand with yours once more. As long as you were here, you would provide him all the support he needed to get through this.

“Toshi…” You sobbed as the other three took their leave after failing to convince you to go home and get some rest. They would get some food and bring it up to you, sure you hadn’t eaten in days. You didn’t want to be the one to tell them that they were right.

Shinsou never liked it when you skipped meals. What would he say if he saw you now?

You pressed a wet kiss to the back of his hand, tears blurring your vision. 

“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” You promised, eyelashes fluttering close as you failed against the anguish.

“Please, don’t leave me alone.”

Days turned into weeks and your hope was dwindling with each passing hour. 

You had lost your job at the diner that you worked at because you refused to leave his side. You were lucky to have Kaminari reassure you that money wouldn’t be a problem and you were eternally grateful that he knew just how important it was that you didn’t leave Shinsou’s bedside.

Jirou and Sero rotated shifts to keep watch over their friend, coordinating with Tsukauchi, All Might and Eraserhead to provide top security but you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to their activities.

All you did, from sunrise to midnight was stare at Shinsou’s peacefully sleeping face in hopes that he would blink open those tired eyes and gaze at you once more. 

Please, You begged for what seemed like the millionth time to someone, anyone who was listening. Please help him.

Let him be okay.

When a month and a half had passed, you were at your wit’s end. There had been no change since day one. The doctors said that all his injuries had healed, thanks to Recovery Girl, but that it was likely he would never come out of the coma.

You had no more tears to cry. Your figure was gaunt, facial features sunken in like you had seen a ghost and lost your mind. No one could convince you to eat or sleep. 

If Shinsou died, there was a good chance you would too.

Life was empty without him in it.

You couldn’t take this anymore. The waiting, the not knowing. You hated it.

You begged him even though you knew he couldn’t hear you, angry at him, angry at the guy who put him here, angry at the world for being so unfair that you lost it. Yelling at him, you fought back frustrated tears as you poured your heart out to him.

But then you stopped. He didn’t know.

Sinking back into the uncomfortable plastic chair that your body had molded to, you closed your eyes in defeat.

That’s right. You never told him.

Eyes growing sad and regretful, you debated for a second before you decided that if you were feeling this way, you might as well tell him why.

Holding his hand that teetered on the edge of chilly due to the slowed down circulation, you took a deep breath. 

“You always wanted to know, ever since we first met.” You started softly, playing idly with his fingers to distract yourself from the horror of this story. “I knew you saw right through me then, should’ve taken the warning and run.”

You smiled faintly. He never would’ve let you. 

“I…” You trailed off, losing your courage. Breathing shakily, you tried to gather yourself. You knew this wasn’t going to be an easy feat but somehow, this was the hardest part of it all. 

Where you had to admit what you felt with no hidden truths.

Clearing your throat, you started over. 

“I never told you about Ryuu.” You confessed, blinking up at the stained tiles of the ceiling in an attempt to hold back the tears that welled up in your eyes. “He was my little brother, passed away when I was 15.”

You exhaled shakily. “He was only six.”

Your dad had gotten mugged and was beaten to death on the outskirts of the city before you were born. Your mom raised you as best as a single mother her age could but it was hard. 

She had no job, no family, no one to help her. Your childhood consisted of you bouncing around the streets to make a penny, then crashing in whatever crumbling, rundown building you could find for the night. 

Any run-ins with the law weren’t good.

You knew that they would take you away from your mom if they knew, put you in the foster care system. You couldn’t let them do that, who would take care of her?

She didn’t tell you that she was pregnant. You found out when she started showing.

You didn’t say anything about it for the nine months she carried that baby, supporting her with all you could. Life was okay. You got a job running errands for the kind man who owned a grocery store at the corner of the street. 

You had enough money to put some food on the table.

When she birthed the baby, you were there the entire time. You were there when he had his first cry, when the nurse cut the umbilical cord, and when your mother passed away on the hospital bed, too weak from labor to carry on.

You didn’t mourn. No matter how hard you tried or how much you wanted to, no tears came out.

Instead, you held Ryuu in your arms, kissing him on his little forehead as you vowed to protect him.

He was life. He was precious.

But you couldn’t protect him from himself.

Ryuu was born with a flawed heart. The doctors predicted that he wouldn’t live more than a year.

But your little brother pushed through. By the time he turned four, he was already showing signs of great progress and healing. You were hopeful that he could grow up like a normal kid and experience life to the fullest.

You hoped for too much.

Visits to the hospital became more frequent when he started coughing up blood. Violent seizures overtook him and one day, it claimed his life.

And you didn’t cry.

Onlookers speculated that you had no heart if you couldn’t even grieve for this poor boy, but no, that wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all.

You thought you were over this already, that you had gotten over your fear of hospitals and all the despair that came with it, but no. 

Seeing Shinsou laying there, deathly pale, had your heart beating right out of your chest, and not in a good way.

“When you wake up, I’m going to kill you.” You swore through the hot tears stinging your eyes and rolling down your cheeks. 

Slouching heavily back down in that same uncomfortable plastic chair that dug into your back and made your butt incredibly sore, you clasped Shinsou’s hand tightly.

“You’re such an idiot.” You sobbed, fingers shaking as you let up the pressure, grazing over the back of his hand as though you were afraid he might disappear on you if you pressed too hard.

Vision blurry, a sob welled up in your chest and your body trembled uncontrollably as you let it all out. The build up of all the emotions you had been suppressing since you were younger released onto him and you cried and cried until you couldn’t anymore.

But your eyes flew open as something soft and fuzzy ruffled your hair. 

Shooting upright, fresh tears gathered at the corners of your eyes and your hands clapped over your mouth in shock. 

A broken cry escaped you. “Toshi…” 

Shinsou’s indigo eyes opened just a crack but they were trained on you and the faintest of smiles graced his lips.

“Hey, doll.” He breathed tiredly.

His mouth barely moved but you heard him.

With an astonished and disbelieving cry of relief, you flung your arms around his neck.

Despite his body just waking up and getting accustomed to its surroundings, he didn’t hesitate to catch you, tucking your head under his chin and he buried his nose into your hair and inhaled deeply. Damn, he missed you.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Shinsou apologized, wincing a bit as he tried to prop himself up. You were quick to realize what he wanted and helped him, fluffing the pillows behind him as best as you could even though it was hard to reach around his much bigger frame. “How long—”

“Too long.”

Shinsou’s eyes softened and he gently brushed away the teardrops escaping with the pad of his thumb as he cupped your face tenderly. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered, eyes closing briefly as he rested his forehead against yours.

You glowered at him even though your heart was already surging towards him with open arms. “You better be.”

The sound of his throaty chuckle was a welcome one and you melted into his embrace, sighing at the deep purr that rumbled from his chest. 

“Princess…” Shinsou murmured, Kaminari’s outburst and Jirou’s relieved expression as they burst into the room going unnoticed as he focused only on you. “Forgive me?”

Vaguely, you registered Sero bolting out the door to fetch the doctor but you blinked up at him and pouted, playing with the collar of his hospital robe.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You mumbled under your breath. 

Shinsou’s eyebrows drew together. “I heard about your brother, I think. I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“You don’t need to ask for forgiveness.” You whispered, grip tightening on him when the doctor entered the room and asked you to leave so he could examine him. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

Shinsou begged for just one more minute with you, one more minute to hold you in his arms but the doctor was insistent. Reluctantly, with great difficulty, he let you go, the man taking your place in a second.

You swallowed harshly as you stepped away from him, Jirou patting your shoulder comfortingly and you turned to her as Kaminari peppered the exhausted panther with endless questions.

“Toshi?”

Shinsou turned his head at your soft voice and motioned for you to complete your thought. He knew that look on your face.

You broke away from Jirou, leaving her with Sero as you approached him once more. Slowly, with intent, you strode towards him, watery eyes diminishing as your resolve strengthened.

Taking his hand in yours, something flashed through your eyes. “I’m gonna make them pay.”

In spite of his vision growing foggy as the anesthetic kicked in, a small smirk played upon the edge of his mouth and his gaze flickered over your shoulder to lock purposefully with Kaminari’s. A silent request to keep you safe while he was out.

Shinsou sighed, settling into the thin mattress as comfortably as he could when you pressed a loving kiss to his forehead.

He smiled, eyes fluttering shut as the last thing he heard was your hushed declaration of how much you loved him. 

“Go get ‘em, doll.” 

Seven quirk-cancelling handcuffs, demolished turkey stuffing and a plate of thrown pudding later, you left the individuals responsible for attacking your Toshi in the police’s capable hands. 

It had taken you forever to heal from the trauma of that day that landed your life partner in the hospital in such a dangerous predicament, but taking one slow step at a time, you managed to get back up on your feet and move forward.

Now, years later, the shining daylight turned into the ambiance of night, and that was when the real party started.

Purple lowlights glowed softly in contrast against the glittery sparkles of the disco ball hanging above the dancefloor. 

Jirou spun tunes at the DJ booth, Sero jamming with Kirishima unabashedly to the loud EDM in the crowd, Bakugou violently fighting against his best friend when Kirishima begged for him to come join. 

You poured drinks from behind the counter with an impassive Todoroki, bopping to the music that pumped through the air and reverberated through your bones. Your coworker continued to serve customers, strolling out into the dining area as someone waved him over. Uraraka and Aoyama, you think.

Kaminari had given you a position at his nightclub, asking if you wanted to put your bartending skills to good use since his last guy quit once he got a better gig. You accepted immediately.

You bustled around the back of the counter of the bar, glass shelves stocked with liquor high behind you. Polishing glasses, you handled several things at once as customers put in orders and talked to you all at once.

Tonight was a celebration and a bunch of your friends were here. 

Bakugou was now begrudgingly dancing with Kirishima on the dancefloor, the permanent scowl on his face growing once Todoroki leaned over and casually noted how much he resembled a put off skunk in that moment. Midoriya had to intervene and drag away a clueless Todoroki while Kirishima wrangled back a furious pomeranian. 

Kaminari hung out with Yaoyorozu by Jirou, Shoji and Ojiro drifting over to them as soon as they stepped in through the front door.

Excitement thrummed through your veins at all the familiar faces. With all your friends in one place, you were eager to see the one person you had been looking forward to catching up with all week.

He should be getting off of work soon…

A ring from the doorbell as it opened caught your attention.

“I’ll be right with you!!” You called as the figure who had just shuffled through the door of the bar sat down at the counter.

“No worries.” The man responded smoothly despite his tired tone. “Take your time.”

At the sound of the familiar voice, you casted a glimpse at him, spotting ruffled purple hair and indigo hues brimming with love fixated on you.

He waved you off with a lazy grin and you fought back a smile as you continued to make the requested cocktail for the customer you were currently serving.

You had both agreed to not act with familiarity at your workplace but that didn’t stop you from putting an extra bounce in your step as you flitted around from behind the counter with grace and practiced ease to help ease Todoroki’s workload.

Shinsou’s gaze followed you as you swapped places with the dual-haired man.

He had just got off of patrol with his old mentor, Eraserhead. Kaminari had given him the day off and let him spend time with the scruffy man. And of course Aizawa wanted to spend it doing work.

Taking off his signature mask to let it hang around his neck, Shinsou set down his keys on the polished obsidian tabletop, tapping his fingers idly while he waited for you to come back, his eyes flickering to the employees’ door that led to the back.

But he had no complaints while waiting.

One of his favorite pastimes was watching you work. The grace while you floated around the crowd of people coupled with the delicate precision you used to handle each glass while you poured liquor in different combinations, he could watch you for hours on end and never be bored.

Wiping your hands on your white apron dirtied with stains from this shift, you dashed back behind the counter to send out a few plates full of food that a table had ordered.

Shinsou rested his chin in the palm of his hand nonchalantly, his tail swishing lazily from side to side as you took care of things seamlessly, picking up the influx of business that came with the busy hour.

He briefly wondered why there were only you and Todoroki waiting on tables, scowling slightly when he thought that you had to deal with waitressing on top of bartending but you didn’t seem to mind. 

With an easy smile and light shining in your eyes, you dealt with all of it with grace. 

“Hello!!”

Shinsou glanced up, one of his rare smiles threatening to break out across his face at the sight that greeted him. You were leaning over the counter towards him, spinning a pen between your fingers smoothly as you whipped out a notepad.

“What can I get for you?” You asked politely but the mischievous glint in your eye gave it away.

Shinsou had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear you come over. Easily enough, a smug smirk curved at the edge of his mouth and he recovered rather quickly as he chuckled.

“Just water is fine, thanks.” He said and you nodded, flashing him a quirky smile.

You got him his water within seconds and in the blink of an eye, you were back to serving others. Caught up in the craziness of the rush hour, you barely noticed a little someone toddling up to stand up behind you as the door burst open.

“Mama?”

The babysitter you hired for the night came rushing in behind him, hauling your son back frantically, wrought with worry from when he sped ahead of her. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, L/N-san, I just—”

You held up a hand to stop her, calming her down. “It’s okay, Gen. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

In a single hurried breath, she relayed in a panicked manner that she had a family emergency to take care of. You reassured her that it was okay to go, ushering her out the door when she continued to spew out apologies for bailing like this. 

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened and you were quite sure it wouldn’t be the last. The girl was nice and she got along great with your son but her parents struggled with their health and usually one of them or both of them landed in the hospital every week.

The stress. 

You shook your head. It was unfair to put such a young girl through something so strenuous but you didn’t have any say in it and you inserting yourself into their lives would be intrusive so you settled for supporting her whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

“Need a ride?” You asked, eyes sympathetic as you headed over to her, snatching your coat from the hook, already ready to help in any way that you could.

Gen waved her hands quickly, the smile that appeared gone as fast as it came. “That’s okay, but thank you, L/N-san!! Monoma is taking me to the hospital.”

Her knuckles turned white at how tightly she gripped the strap of her bag and your eyes softened understandingly as her boyfriend’s sports car pulled up just outside. 

“Go on.” You urged softly. “And be careful.”

“I will.”

And with that, she turned around, leaving behind a fidgeting little boy tugging on the bottom of your apron.

“Mama? Where’s she going?” Naoki pouted, cheeks puffing out. “I thought we were gonna play…”

You hid a smile, reaching behind you to pat him on the head as you expertly handled a tray of empty beers and put the glasses in the sink. As Todoroki took over for you, you bent down to ruffle his hair.

“What is it, little one?” You questioned softly and somehow your son managed to hear you above the noise and clamor of the partying going on. 

Normally, you would’ve done everything you could to keep him away from your workplace. Having your husband watch him in the back room was preferable until your shift was over. Naoki particularly enjoyed coloring. 

The last babysitter you hired before Gen ended up being careless and lost track of him, letting the small boy wander out of the house. He found you at your workplace easily enough since it was a few blocks away but you were in hysterics when he trotted in through the door with his favorite Eraserhead plushie as one of your regulars held open the door for him. 

Grandpa Shouta would never admit how much he loved the little guy but it didn’t matter. He and Hizashi constantly showered Naoki with gifts every weekend when they came over to take your family out on a shopping spree and obligatory trip to the cat café.

You didn’t have any relatives that lived close by or else you would’ve asked if they could babysit Naoki and Aizawa was out of the question since his job was just as dangerous and demanding as Shinsou’s. 

Your workplace wasn’t exactly the traditional nightclub, it was actually a very sophisticated bar with tight security and respectful customers. Rarely you got anyone new but the steady stream of regulars was more than enough to keep the place up and running. 

Nobody usually got violent when they had too much to drink but if they did, the bouncers Kendo and Tetsutetsu were both quick to throw them out of the establishment until they sobered up.

Naoki liked to cling to your legs when you were at home and since all your regulars knew of him from that little incident before, no one was surprised when the small boy tucked himself behind you shyly.

The disco music’s volume lowered a tad as Jirou realized that Naoki was with you, reducing it to a much more acceptable level for conversations to flow easier. 

Shinsou sipped his water. Gen was in and out as quickly as she came, and there was no need for him to do anything when you took care of it so fast. Besides, his son hadn’t even noticed him yet. 

Until now.

Beaming widely, Naoki faced his dad and hugged your leg. 

Shinsou fought back a fond smile, waving at him discreetly to avoid catching the attention of the others. He rolled his eyes though when his silent and goofy conversation was interrupted by a Kaminari and Sero obnoxiously hooting from the side.

You remained oblivious, cleaning up a pile of dishes to clear your workspace as Todoroki disappeared into the kitchen where Sato and Tokoyami were continuing to crank out plates of food for the night.

Tugging on your apron, Naoki’s wide eyes met yours as you knelt down to his level. He pointed to someone sitting on the opposite side as his dad.

“Mama, that man looks mean…” He whispered fearfully, cowering behind your legs as you straightened up to your full height. 

“Can I help you?” You asked with a pointed glance, tone hard as you addressed the one intimidating your son.

While any other person would’ve bristled at your icy tone, this burly man just snickered and leaned closer, making his intent clear.

Arching an eyebrow, you crossed your arms over your chest and pulled out your notepad. You hadn’t seen him around before, he must be a newcomer. 

You sighed after a beat of him just ogling you, tapping your pen to the edge of the mini spiral impatiently as you suppressed the urge to vomit at his behavior. “If you’re not going to order anything, please sit at one of the tables instead so that another customer can take your place at the bar.”

Naoki whimpered and scuttled to hide more as the man stood up. He towered over you and the little boy’s heart started to beat faster with fear.

“Oh, is that right, princess?”

You bristled at the nickname and bit the inside of your cheek to stop some very colorful words from escaping, throwing a hard side glance at your husband when he abruptly stood up with a snarl painted on his face.

Moving to stand in front of him, blocking the man’s view from Shinsou and also stopping your husband at the same time should he do anything reckless, you plastered your best customer service smile on your face.

“Please do not call me that.” You stated, making it clear that you weren’t actually asking. “If you cannot treat me with respect then you should leave.”

“Oh?” The man chuckled, the sound grating against your ears unpleasantly. “And what are you gonna do about it, sweet thing?”

Oh, that was it.

“I’m taken.” You responded dryly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I really don’t appreciate how you’re talking to me, and my husband wouldn’t either.”

He smiled a sinister smile, causing your skin to crawl. “I don’t see him.”

And Shinsou was done letting you take this disrespect.

“Hey.” He barked, standing up to take his place next to you. “If a lady tells you to back off, you listen.”

A snort came from the other and then condescending laughter followed. “Yeah right. All girls are ever good for is being a pretty little thing to show off on your arm, am I right?”

“You’re dead wrong, prick.” Shinsou hissed, indigo alight with unparalleled fury as he came up behind you, wrapping beefy arms around your waist and glaring at the guy who had the audacity to harass you like that. “You don’t talk to anybody like this, especially not my wife.”

The man should’ve taken the obvious warning and backed down but he didn’t. Instead, his interest transformed into judgement and you could visibly see the walls coming down and locking as his hatred overtook his entire being.

“Hybrid, huh?” He sneered in disgust at you. “No wonder you went after someone like her.”

Shinsou’s arms curled around you tighter protectively and he stiffened behind you, coiled like a cobra and ready to strike but you held him back again.

But before you could throw him out of Kaminari’s establishment yourself, someone beat you to it.

In two seconds flat, the man who had been snickering at you and high-fiving his buddies folded over, clutching his stomach as his expression contorted in pain.

Naoki planted his hands on his hips and nodded his head proudly as he kicked the man where it hurt. “No one talks to my Mama like that!!”

“Naoki!!” You cried out.

He had slipped away so quietly and so fast that you didn’t notice in time to stop it. 

Leaning over the counter, you spotted him blinking back at you innocently as Yaoyorozu hustled him away from the troublesome men he had just put in his place. 

Bakugou appeared, a menacing aura surrounding his broad frame as he loomed over the sniveling man now cowering beneath him.

“You’re fuckin’ lucky she asked you nicely, cause the rest of us ain’t gonna, bastard.” He snapped, explosions popping from his palms.

Twisting his arm behind his back, the fuming man marched out the front door with the captured one in his iron grip squealing like a pig, followed by Kaminari and Sero taking the others with Kirishima cracking his knuckles while flashing a smile over his shoulder, shutting the door behind him. They were going to teach him a little lesson.

Naoki raised his hands high above his head joyfully, a wide smile spread across his face. “Mama, Mama, did you see?! Did I do good?!”

Immediately, you and Shinsou rushed over to Naoki, pulling him in for a hug.

“Are you okay?!” You exclaimed, scanning over him for any injuries, making sure he isn’t hurt. “Naoki, you can’t just run off like that!! Or kick people!!”

He pouted, lowering his hands slightly. “But Papa taught me how!!”

Shinsou collapsed into a fit of laughter when he heard that and your head snapped towards him. 

Your eyes glittered with a hint of amusement, wry tone rolling off your tongue. “Did he now?”

Naoki nodded vigorously, his mop of purple hair flopping around on his head. “Yup!! He said that if someone’s mean, then they’re a bully and I can fight back!!”

At this point, you didn’t know whether you should applaud your son or scold your husband for teaching him such things. 

Yaoyorozu shook her head as you deftly tickled Naoki’s sides, making him laugh loudly. He looked so very proud of himself, rambling on and on about how he protected you against the big bad scary man, just like his daddy showed him.

Shinsou, who was leaning back against the counter casually as he observed the two of you, pushed off as his son tunneled into his legs.

“Papa, Papa, are you proud of me?” He pleaded to know, staring up at him with wide eyes just like a koala as he hugged his father’s shins.

Shinsou patted his head, brushing the wispy curls away from his eyes and chuckled. “Of course I am, squirt.”

“Toshi!!” You scolded good-naturedly, pushing up onto your feet. 

Despite the talk about how nonviolence is a better route you knew would have to come later, you simply picked up Naoki and rested him on your hip as Shinsou tapped your cheek and murmured into your ear that he was going to go check on things outside.

He tucked your hair behind your ear. “Will you be alright?”

You nodded reassuringly. “Of course. Go. But don’t beat him up too badly, love.”

Shinsou huffed out a curt laugh, the waggle of his eyebrows making you giggle, dissipating the tense atmosphere in an instant.

When he disappeared from the establishment, you took Naoki to the back room to get away from all the craziness and clamor that came with your son kicking the prick in the balls. Midoriya offered to help Todoroki with serving the food while you took care of your son.

“Here you go, little one.” You whispered as you gathered up the coloring books and crayons hidden away in the bigger desk, placing it on the smaller one Tokoyami built just for him. 

Naoki clapped his hands excitedly, making grabby hands for it, a happy noise emitting from him as soon as gave it to him. “Thank you, Mama!!”

While he busied himself with coloring in a tiger with blues and yellows, you kept him company. That was, until the door clicked open. 

You stood in a second, running over to him and flung your arms around his neck to hug him tight. Naoki remained engrossed in coloring in the Disney Princess on the page as you checked over the black panther.

“You okay?” You whispered shakily, a hint of fear slipping in as your collected façade cracked.

Shinsou rested his forehead against yours, breathing softly as he cupped your jaw. “Yes, I’m alright. Don’t worry, doll.”

The corners of your mouth twitched as you protested childishly, “... ‘m not worried.”

He exhales sharply, chuckling faintly at your characteristic stubbornness and hummed nonchalantly. “Whatever you say, princess.”

He lowered his voice, murmuring repeatedly that he was okay as your trembling fingers brushed over his bruised knuckles. They were a little busted up and bloody from a particularly hefty punch he delivered to the jerk’s jaw. He was going to feel that in the morning. 

Shinsou kept you in his embrace for as long as Naoki took to finish coloring his picture. By the time he did, you had calmed down enough to go back out and finish your shift.

Wiping sweaty palms on your uniform, you sniffled and raised your head up high. You could do this. You had come a long way from the little girl who became paralyzed at the mere sight of a drop of blood. 

He was a bit battered but he would heal. He was okay. 

As you bustled about behind the counter, fighting back a smile as Kaminari sashayed up to you and asked for your favorite so that he could give it back to you, you laughed out loud when Shinsou smacked him upside the head for doing such a thing. 

Naoki ran around, looking for more bullies to kick in the balls before Shoji caught onto what he was doing and diverted his attention to helping Jirou spin some tunes, with some earplugs in, of course, so that his hearing wasn’t damaged.

Shinsou’s cheeks colored as you stretched up on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his temple.

“Thank you for defending my honor.” You whispered somewhat teasingly. “It’s nice to know that my boys have my back.”

His chest rumbled with laughter and an arm looped around your middle, drawing you close to his side as the night rush slowed down and you were finally given a chance to breathe. Tail wrapping around your hip, the cool metal of his ring kissed your skin as his fingers intertwined with yours. 

Ignoring the banter of an indignant Naoki and a pouty Kaminari, Shinsou nudged his nose against your temple and sighed softly.

“Forever and always, doll.”

[dindjarindiaries]

Mandoctober - October 31: Family

summary: You’re alone and in need of a family and a home—and the Mandalorian notices.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: insinuations of past harm/abuse, soft!din

rating: G

word count: 1.423k

mandoctober masterlist

october 31: family

The wind hasn’t been this bad in a while. It whips through the alleyway you’ve been accustomed to hiding in, shivering into the crates left abandoned by the local shop owners. Your hands grip at the sleeves of your run-down tunic, hoping that you can somehow fill the small holes that have started to tug at the fabric. You have no idea how many days it’s been since you ran from your old life, from your everyday torture—but you know whatever suffering you face in this alleyway now is much better than what you’re used to.

The galaxy isn’t kind and you’ve learned that the hard way. Years of trying to work as a servant to earn your freedom, instead getting shipped around like the items circulating in the nearby marketplace, has been enough to make you come to such a conclusion. You’d only been shown love by the animals that have crossed your path—and sometimes the children of those you served.

But this last one had been different. The entire family was out to get you, working you to the bone and barely paying you a single credit for it, constantly berating you about the Rebel past of your parents. They would purposely forget to feed you most days and nights and they’d make sure you went to bed late and then had to wake up early. Although most of the pain was psychological, you felt so worn down that you thought you’d break—and so you left it all behind. You ran as far as your feet could take you and now you’ve ended up here.

And shivering in an alleyway is a much better alternative to the life you used to lead. At least out here, you have freedom.

Your face hides in your arms as you cross them over your knees, hugging them tight to your chest. You can feel yourself trembling but many things have since become numb. The alleyway has always been windy thanks to its build, but today, it’s whipping harder than usual and you can practically feel every hair on your body standing on its end as you grit your teeth.

A shadow suddenly passes over you and you think it must be an oncoming storm. But then, there’s the sound of spurs treading the ground lightly, as if they’re trying to keep their steps light. The coldness of terror grips you as you dare to look up, instantly meeting the blank visor of a Mandalorian. His silver armor reflects the light of the overcast sky, making blink a few times as you adjust to it. The metal of his armor clinks as he bends down to your level, one of his elbows resting against his knee. You swallow hard.

“What do you need?” you ask, your voice hoarse from its lack of use since running away.

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his helmet tilts at you, as if he’s observing you more closely now. You flex your fingers nervously. “I would like you to answer that.” His voice is modulated and comes out in a rasp, sounding gentle yet also revealing how rough he’s used it in the past. It makes a chill run through you.

You shrug, fingers starting to grip at the dirty fabric of your pants. “I’m all right.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t move. You hold your breath, waiting for the moment he cuffs you and announces that your previous employers had sent out a bounty for you. Surprisingly, he stays in place and asks a question that knocks the breath from your lungs. “Has anyone asked to help you?”

You hesitate, wondering if this is somehow a trick. In your desperation, you decide it’s not, and you shake your head.

A grunt falls from the Mandalorian’s helmet in disapproval as he looks away from you for a moment. When his visor returns to your gaze, you watch him gingerly reach a gloved hand out to touch your upper arm. “I will be the first, then.” He pauses, never moving. “Do you like bone broth?”

You nod, opposed to refusing any kind of food when you’ve been living off scraps even before you ran away. The Mandalorian nods in understanding and stands up.

“Stay here. I’ll return with some.”

You nod again and hold your tunic close as your shivering continues. The Mandalorian hesitates, and you watch as he suddenly unclips his cape from his back and sets it over you. Your hands tug at the rough fabric graciously, your cheeks heating up a bit at his kindness. “Thank you—very much, sir.”

The Mandalorian simply nods yet again, heading off in the same direction he’d came. You notice now that he has a circular metal compartment following him, floating wherever he goes. You wonder what he’s bringing along as he disappears from sight, and you feel your shivering slightly beginning to subside thanks to the warmth of the Mandalorian’s cape. Though his actions seem gracious and nothing short of kind, you can’t help wondering what his intentions are, and you can only pray to the Maker that they’re not unkind.

You’re lost in these thoughts until the Mandalorian returns, a bowl of broth in hand that he gives to you once he kneels next to you again. You accept it with another word of thanks, holding it between both hands as you sip at it almost viciously. The Mandalorian remains silent beside you as you eat, nearly tearing up at the feeling of such warmth and fullness inside you. You’re amazed at the fact a Mandalorian finally got you to such a point.

When you finish, you set the bowl down onto the ground beside you, facing the Mandalorian with gratitude and curiosity. “Thank you,” you say genuinely, your voice low as you keep the conversation between him and yourself. “You’ve been very kind.” You hesitate, swallowing hard as you go on. “Now, may you answer my first question? What do you need from me?”

The Mandalorian lets out a sigh, crackling through his modulator as his visor never leaves you. Despite the fact there’s no gaze there, you can feel it burning through you, and you writhe a bit under its intensity. “You are alone.” The Mandalorian pauses as if waiting for confirmation of his statement. You nod. “You have lost your family.” You nod again. “You have no home.” You nod yet again. This time, the Mandalorian returns your nod. “Then I will provide you with both.”

Your brow furrows together as your mouth falls open in shock for a moment. “I… I—I’m sorry sir, you said you’ll provide me with a family and a home?” The Mandalorian nods again. You’re still at an utter loss for words. “How much will it cost me?” You expect there to be some work you must do in exchange for such hospitality.

Instead, the Mandalorian shakes his head. “No cost. No work.”

“But surely, you must need something in return.”

The Mandalorian simply bows his head. “This is the Way.”

For a quick moment, you smile, but you fade when you remember that a stranger is the one offering you this deal. Things could quickly become worse should his intentions switch up as soon as you leave with him. Your guard goes back up immediately and you can tell the Mandalorian notices.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I will not hurt you.” As if to prove it, the Mandalorian taps something on his vambrace, and the metal casing from before splits in two to reveal a small, sleeping form inside. Your eyes widen to see a tiny green baby, his ears like petals as soft snores tumble from his lips. He looks at ease—and you realize you won’t be the first one this Mandalorian’s taken in. “I was trained to protect and to uphold my Creed. This includes being of service to you—should you accept it.” The Mandalorian closes the contraption and faces you again. He’s now proven his ability to be true to his words and keep you safe, and so you let your smile return as you answer him.

“I will accept your gracious offer, Mandalorian.”

The Mandalorian nods at you, standing up and offering a gloved hand to you. “Then come, kar’ika. It’s time to bring you home.” You accept his hand as he helps you stand up, supporting your unsteady legs as he leads you to the family he’s just promised you, one that’s bound to last until the day you meet the Maker.

mandoctober tag list: @the-navistar-carol

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin @nettyklecan @mistermiraclee @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @smellssharpies @catfishingmorales @wille-zarr @kaetastic @saltywintersoldat @agentpike @mrsparknuts @readsalot73 @yespolkadotkitty @mandhoelorian @lilangeldevil006 @roxypeanut @hail-doodles @randomness501 @this-cat-is-dea @hopplessdreamer @paintballkid711 @dracos-jedi-marvel @whataenginerd @katlikeme @petertingless @propertyofdindjarin @theocatkov @bisexual-space-slut @cyaredindjarin @arkofblake @cryptkeepersoul @motleymoose @mrschiltoncat @f0rever15elf @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache @rogueonestan @goldafterglow @thedevilwearsbeskar @badassbaker @pancakepike @alwritey-aphrodite @mymindisawhirpool @antmnwasp @capbrie @xjaywritesx @arabellathorne @mandilflorian @phoenixhalliwell @beiroviski @darthadeline @cheriedjarin @edencherries @mstgsmy @seasonschange-butpeopledont @buckysbeloved @poesflygirl @weirdowithnobeardo @dee-rosemary @ceebeetheartdork @kiwi-the-first @mitchi-c @arcaeperditaeinimicus @thatgirlselectryc @littlevodika @marvelinsanity @insoucianttt​

mandalorian tag list: @lola-wolf​ @hoodedbirdie​ @chibi-liz05​ @nerd-without-a-cause​ @hdlynn​ @thepjofanqueen​ @bwemph​ @starwarsslytherin​ @iellarenuodolorian​ @littlevodika​ @jjemcarstairs​ @promiscuoussatan​ @fahrenheit-not​ @vernon-dursley​

[tomeandflickcorner]

Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Chicken, He Clucked

So…. could this episode be considered a PG version of Doctor Faustus?  Or am I just giving the writers too much credit?

In this episode, they jump right into it by introducing the viewing audience to a man called Cubby (not sure if that was just a nickname or if his parents were that cruel).  As bad luck would have it, his apartment is located next door to a section of the city that’s dominated by a bunch of chicken restaurants and food stalls. Which doesn’t make much sense, in hindsight.  You wouldn’t have a Kentucky Fried Chicken, a Popeye’s and a Chick-fil-A located on the same block.  I imagine the competition would lead to at least one of those particular restaurants closing down.  Anyway, Cubby is quickly losing his mind over how he’s constantly smelling chicken, as it’s getting to the point where the smell has even attached itself to his clothes. The final straw comes when he retreats to the park to try and clear his head and a random woman remarks that he smells like a chicken.  That single comment makes Cubby snap completely.  And rather than simply stock up on a bunch of Febreeze products, he vows to rid the world of chickens for good.

It then cuts to the New York Public Library, where the Ghostbusters are all checking out some books.  While wearing their work uniforms for some reason.  (Maybe they stopped there after completing a job?)  Peter, being Peter, decides to try hitting on the lady manning the check-out desk.  Though she’s having none of Peter’s flirting, as she seems to only be interested in Egon, who approaches the desk with an impressive armload of books.  (The lady was even wearing a perfume called Essence of Fungus to get his attention.  Wonder if Janine ever considered that.)  Egon remarks that there were three books he couldn’t find of the shelves- Spirit Summoning and Conjurations, Lochmore’s Guide to the Lower Regions and the latest volume of Who’s Who and Want’s That. The Librarian informs him that those three books had already been checked out.  As she announces this, she directs Egon’s attention to Cubby, who is standing nearby reading one of the checked-out books.  After looking at Cubby for a few seconds, Egon pulls out his P.K.E. Meter to determine if Cubby is indeed human.  Which seems like an odd thing to do, but then again, the animators did design Cubby to look particularly unusual, and he seems a bit emaciated.  Egon then approaches Cubby to offer him a warning about the books he’d checked out, as their contents could be extremely dangerous.  However Cubby paid him no mind and simply ran off, ranting about chickens.

We then get a short filler scene of the Ghostbusters back at the Firehouse.  Here, we see the book Peter had been checking out while coming onto the Librarian was actually a pop-up book.  Which makes the claims he made to the Librarian over how well-read he was laughable. Also, Egon is in the middle of puzzling over some complex equation and trying to solve it.  In a surprising turn of events, Slimer floats by and, after studying the chalkboard where Egon had the equation written out, manages to solve it almost instantly.  So apparently, Slimer has been holding out on us and actually has an advanced understanding of math and physics.  Even though Egon, upon glancing at what Slimer wrote, remarks that he misplaced a decimal, that’s wildly impressive.

Of course, we still have to deal with the actual plot of the episode, so the focus then switches back to Cubby, who recites an incantation he found within his library books.  As he finishes the incantation, we see what is going on in the Nether World. Which turns out to resemble an office of some sort, with a demon manning the desk.  (Think Juno’s office from Beetlejuice.)  The Clerk Demon summons another demon called Morganon, informing him that there’s been a Class 5 Summoning and that he’s to see to it.  So Morganon appears before Cubby, telling him that he will grant his wish in exchange for his soul.  Cubby agrees to this, stating that his wish is that all the chickens in the world would disappear forever.  This throws Morganon for a loop, as the request was simply ludicrous, and a complete waste of his demonic abilities.  He attempts to persuade Cubby to wish for something better, but to no avail. Cubby just wants all the chickens to go away.  In the end, Morganon relents, giving Cubby the ability to make anything disappear or reappear at his command.

The next morning, Cubby puts his new power to the test, using it to make all the chickens in the world vanish.  And in the next moment, countless vortexes materialize, sucking up chickens from farms worldwide and teleporting them away.  Cubby even manages to make the two ton plaster chicken statue from P.J.’s Chicken vanish.  Naturally, the disappearance of every single chicken on Earth makes the news, and when the Ghostbusters hear of it, Egon instantly remembers his brief encounter with Cubby at the New York Public Library and adds it all up.  So they return to the library to ask the Librarian if she could give then Cubby’s address.  Which I think might be a violation of the Library Bill of Rights or something, but the Librarian agrees to this, on account of how it’s a favor for Egon.  She also gives him her address as well.  (Lady, you better hope Janine doesn’t find out about this.  I don’t think she’d like this one bit.)

The Ghostbusters soon show up at Cubby’s place to confront the man.  But this ultimately doesn’t go well, as Cubby ends up using his power to send the Ghostbusters to the same dimension he’d sent the chickens.  This leads to a rather nerve-racking scene where the Ghostbusters appear miles above the ground in the alternate dimension.  And because gravity works the same way in this dimension as it does in ours, they all start to plummet downwards.  And unlike the chickens, who they pass by on the way down, they don’t have wings.  So this presents an obvious problem: how are they going to survive this fall?  While Ray suggests rewiring the Proton Packs to provide them with an alternate thrust, Egon calculated that they only had 47 seconds before they hit the ground, and he would need 70 seconds to complete such a rewiring.

Thankfully, one second before impact, the Ghostbusters were all conveniently transported into the Nether World by Morganon.  (Nice timing there).  Morganon, who had previously been aware of the Ghostbusters’ existence, had decided to step in and save them in the hopes that they could help reverse the bargain he’d struck with Cubby.  It turns out that the other demons in the Nether World had heard about it, and now Morganon’s reputation is in shreds.  The Ghostbusters agree to help Morganon out on the condition that he returns them back to New York.  Upon being returned to the Firehouse, they hatch a plan to trick Cubby to bring all the chickens back.  In order to do so, they construct some rather realistic-looking robotic chickens. Which is something that threw me for a loop.  So the Ghostbusters can build robots now?  That’s kinda cool.  

With the robot chickens in tow, the Ghostbusters return to Cubby’s place.  Cubby is stunned to see them, as he was sure he’d made them vanish for good.  The Ghostbusters tell Cubby that they figured out how to come back on their own.  And they even managed to bring back the chickens as well.  To prove their point, they show Cubby the robot chickens they stored in the back of Ecto-1.  Cubby, falling for the trick, tries to make the chickens disappear once again by telling the chickens to ‘go back where you came from.’  However, this statement just made all the real chickens return to Earth once again, much to Cubby’s despair.  And with the chickens back where they belong, Morganon was able to break the contract he made with Cubby and take back his ability to make things disappear and reappear.  Morganon then thanks the Ghostbusters for their assistance before cryptically stating that he’d see one of them again.  While he doesn’t elaborate on this, Egon, Ray and Winston all immediately look over at Peter, clearly speculating that he was the one Morganon was referring to.  Of course, we never really find out if they were right in their suspicion, as Morganon never appears after this episode.

As the episode comes to a close, we see the Ghostbusters have brought Cubby to a psychiatric hospital so he could get the help he needed. Which was probably the best thing they could have done for the guy.  However, it seems Cubby might not be off the hook completely.  When one of the orderlies brings Cubby his dinner, it’s revealed that it’s actually Morganon, deciding to torture Cubby a bit more by bringing him some chicken.

So, does this mean Cubby’s soul is still Morganon’s property? After all, it was stated that Cubby would have to sell his soul in exchange for his request to be granted. Would that have been rendered null and void when Morganon took back Cubby’s power?  Or does the soul bit still stand, considering Cubby actively used the powers he got from Morganon?  I guess that’s open to interpretation.  Either way, it’s a bit of a shame that this is the last we see of Morganon.  Much like the Ghost Umpire from Night Game, he was an interesting character.  Not to mention how they both made cryptic statements suggesting they might encounter the Ghostbusters again, despite it never actually happening within the show. I wonder if there had been plans to have those two return at some point, only to have those plans scrapped for whatever reason.  I guess we’ll never know.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

[quinlinkin]

take it from me ( i’d be lost without you ) ↳ Q’s twdg writing challenge

character(s): willy, mitch, ruby, aasim, louis, violet, omar, rosie, aj, tenn, clementine ship(s): aasim/ruby ( rusim ), clementine/violet ( violentine ) word count: 1462 author’s note: i mean, when aren’t we all in need of some pure, wholesome willy moments? takes place in the spring after the events of tfs ( in which everyone is alive bc to hell with canon sometimes amirite )

[   ao3 link   ]

*credits to the wonderful @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale​​​​​​​​​ for creating this challenge! you can view the entire prompt list + further details here. happy writing!!

                                                         ― ☼ ―

                                          day thirteen ; hug.

It’s on an early, sunny spring day in which Willy declares a brand new, totally legitimate holiday.

National Hug Day. Well- Ericson Resident Hug Day, at the very least. He also realizes that he doesn’t actually know what the current date is, but he’s fairly certain Aasim does. He’ll be sure to not only ask him about it later, but request that he write down this new holiday so they can remember it every single year from now on.

The idea is promptly born as Willy sits upon the admin building’s front staircase, idly practicing the knife tricks that Mitch had taught him over the long winter months. Though his attention only remains focused on twirling the blade around between his fingertips for so long, and eventually, he finds himself looking out across the expanse of the courtyard.

Today is the first nice day they’ve had since the cold weather had finally begun to lessen. The sun is bright and warm, just enough for them to safely ditch their heavy winter gear in favor of lighter, more comfortable clothes. Louis isn’t wearing his trench coat anymore, the sleeves of his baseball tee rolled up past his elbows as he cleans arrows from their earlier hunting trip. Mitch leaves the admin building in a simple t-shirt, ruffling Willy’s already wild hair as he passes him on the steps.

Though, even with how normal everything appears to finally be, Willy can’t help but feel as if there’s a certain something missing. Winter, as always, had taken its toll on everyone. They’d only barely scraped by on their dangerously low food supply, suffered through the bitter cold and heaping snow, forced to all sleep in the common room to conserve body heat that ultimately left everyone largely irritated with one another for several different reasons.

Willy may be used to Mitch’s snoring, but that certainly doesn’t mean anyone else is.

Yet, even as the weather steadily improves and everyone is slowly but surely able to return back to a far more comfortable schedule, they all still seem… off.

There’s not enough happiness around here, Willy eventually decides. And so, he sparks the plan to change that. Besides, everyone likes hugs, right? They’re supposed to make people feel better, and that’s exactly what he intends to do.

He starts with an easy one. While he and Mitch don’t exactly hug each other on a regular basis, they are brothers. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing in the world. Willy approaches him as he’s stacking up freshly chopped firewood, and wordlessly wraps his arms around his waist.

Mitch tenses for a fraction of a second, before realizing it’s just Willy.

“Uh… what’s the hug for, man?” he rasps, patting Willy on the back as he returns it anyway. His voice has improved somewhat over the past few months, but it still sounds different. Scratchy and hoarse, like someone with a really bad flu.

Not that Willy minds, of course. The main thing that matters to him is that he’s here , and not dead like Lilly had very nearly succeeded in achieving. It doesn’t bother him in the least if his voice sounds a little funny, now.

“I decided today is hug day,” Willy explains simply, letting him go after a moment. “I think everyone really needs one. Y’know, after the winter and… everything.”

Mitch instantly gives him a warm smile. “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

Willy nods affirmatively. “Totally! So, you can go hug someone too, if you want.”

Then, before Mitch can formulate a response, Willy is off once again in search of the nearest person. Which, happens to be Ruby as she tends to the horse they’d brought back from the Delta. As usual, Aasim is right there with her, though he keeps a safe distance from the animal. He refuses to admit it, but Willy knows he’s definitely scared of it.

“Hi, Ruby,” Willy chirps, and again, without waiting for a reply, simply goes in to hug her as well.

“Oh- ” she exclaims in mild surprise, but is quick to recover. She hugs him back sincerely, one hand still grasping the rope attached to the horse’s halter.

Willy wastes no time between his rounds. Once releasing Ruby, he heads straight for Aasim.

“Wait, wha-” Aasim manages to utter before Willy is enveloping him, next. He may not be much of a hugger - well, towards anyone that isn’t Ruby, of course - but today, Willy vows to make sure everyone is.

Squeezing his arms around Aasim briefly, he steps back in order to clarify, “Today is hug day.”

Aasim quirks an inquisitive brow. “According to…?”

“Me,” Willy states proudly, beaming a big smile.

“Is that so?” Ruby says, wearing a smile of her own that’s incredibly fond around the edges. “Well, in that case… We’d better participate, right, hon?”

And with that, she’s leaning up on her toes and wrapping her arms around Aasim’s neck to pull him into another hug of their own. Unlike with Willy, he doesn’t remain stiff and awkward towards the contact, having no apparent problems with returning it in earnest.

Perfect! Willy thinks, grinning even wider. It’s working!

With his trend now catching on, Willy enthusiastically moves onward. Louis gets a hug next, where he’s still cleaning arrows, and it seems to immensely brightens his day judging by how he cheerfully laughs and thanks him. Then, it’s Violet’s turn, who, much like Aasim, isn’t the biggest fan of hugs even though she returns it all the same.

Omar receives his hug as he prepares dinner, Willy even making sure to include Rosie as she begs for scraps next to the large, steaming pot of food.

Finally, Willy reaches AJ and Tenn where they sit upon the ground as they color together. Willy kneels down in order to reach AJ’s level, making sure not to sneak up on him as he remembers the younger’s particular response to such sudden actions.

“It’s national hug day,” Willy tells him as he gives him a quick embrace around the shoulders. “That means everyone gets a hug.”

As he turns to Tenn, however, he finds himself hesitating. While he’s long since expressed his forgiveness towards what happened with Mitch, sometimes, he can’t help but still feel as if it’s technically his fault. It’s taken Willy a long time to come to terms with his big brother’s injury, and after watching him be taken away by Lilly and her people without knowing whether he was even alive or not, it remains a frightening memory.

But, like he said: everyone gets a hug. It’s not like he’s still mad at him, at least.

Tenn tentatively returns the gesture when Willy wraps his arms around him. When they pull back, he’s smiling genuinely, and Willy suddenly feels better about including him. They all deserve to be happy in his opinion, and that most definitely includes Tenn.

“Um, thank you…” Tenn murmurs quietly. Willy gives him a friendly nod.

And as he turns to survey the courtyard once again, he’s met with a promising sight. Louis can be seen moving in to dramatically hug an obviously annoyed Violet, and Willy laughs to himself as he catches sight of her one-eyed glare from around her eye patch.

There’s still one person left, however. As if right on cue, he spots her hobbling out from the dorm building, and Willy races forward to meet her.

He spares a fleeting look towards the prosthetic leg she’s currently balancing on. It’s the newest model, worked painstakingly hard on by himself, Mitch, Aasim, and AJ. He’s happy to see her getting used to it, and he’s sure she’s happy to finally be rid of those pesky crutches.

“Hey, Willy,” Clem greets with a smile.

This time, Willy does at least manage to spare a quick “Hi ” before moving in. He makes sure to be extra careful, however, not wanting to knock her over with an overly forceful hug. Yet even as slow as he winds his arms around her waist, he makes sure to squeeze with an equal amount of force as he showed towards everyone else.

“Today is hug day,” he explains again, for one last time. “We can all celebrate it every year.”

He can hear Clem chuckle softly as she returns the sentiment. “Every year, huh? Then I guess we’d better make sure to have Aasim write it down on his calendar.”

“Yeah! That’s what I was thinking!” Willy exclaims as he backs away.

And with that, his task is done. He and Clementine part ways, and he watches with bright, sparkling eyes as the first thing she does upon approaching Violet, is hug her.

Their first ever hug day? He thinks it’s safe to call it a smashing success.

[booyaxboy]

Thoughts on The Surge

If you ask any Dark Souls fan what that game was missing, somewhere on list someone is boud to say “robots”. Action/RPG title The Surge attempts to tackle this exact issue. Released in 2017 The Surge is the second attempt by Deck 13 to make its mark on a relatively new genre.

WHAT IS IT?

In the simplest terms The Surge is a “Soulslike” or an Action/RPG title with an emphasis on timing and the conservation of precious resources against relentless foes, each more devious than the last. Where The Surge blazes a new trail is the added layer of having to target and sever specific limbs off enemies in order to collect their sweet sweet loot. Like all Souls-likes defeating an enemy rewards the player with currency that can exchanged for upgrades to their character or gear with ever increasing cost, known here as “scrap”. Engaging with the limb targeting system will also reward the player with new gear and upgrade materials. The system is simple: decapitating an enemy wearing a helmet will reward the player with said helmet, if the player doesn’t already own it. If that piece is already part of your collection than the player is rewarded in upgrade materials that correspond to that particular body part. If the arms are targeted there is the added bonus of collecting a new weapon or weapon upgrade materials. Each part (head,body, arms, legs and weapons) uses their own unique material so there is no worry of overlap, and any farmer of materials can be focuses with no worries of a random drop not given you what you need. There are also many enemies that may not have armor equipped, these areas can be stuck for bonus damage bring the fight to a quicker close. The system even extends to non-human enemy types, as different parts of the robot enemies can be targeted and broken to slow them down or reduce their offensive vocabulary.

The Surge is also visually distinct from the Souls games that inspired it. This adventure trades the Souls medieval fantasy swords and sorcery setting for a high tech future of robots and exo suits. The story begins with a man named Warren who signs up for a new job with tech giant CREO. Warren begins the game bound to a wheelchair but thanks to the exo suit technology of his new position is able to walk again. The player takes control after the surgery to graft the exosuit to Warren’s body goes very, very wrong. Instead of being put under for the operation the automated process begins with Warren fully conscious and what could only be described as pure torture plays out. Screws and bolts are drilled directly into his body, including his head, until Warren eventually passes out. The game begins in earnest an unknown amount of time later when Warren awakes in junkyard with most of the CREO facility in ruins. From here its up to the player to survive against malfunctioning robots, exosuit wearing psychos, and a militaristic security force trying to keep Warren from unraveling the secret of what CREO was really up to.

THE NEGATIVES

The biggest issue that I had was, funnily enough, with the mechanics of the combat. Not the controls or the UI elements, but with the invisible numbers behind the scenes. Back when I first tried Dark Souls I got a grip on the flow of combat fairly early. After leaving the initial tutorial area I wandered, like many into the nearby graveyard. Unlike the enemies in the tutorial zone that felt in line with my stats, the skeletons in the graveyard were taking whole chunks of my health with a single attack with I did barely any damage at all. I had come into Souls knowing its reputation for difficulty, but this initial outing led me to think that difficulty came from a lopsided power curve opposed to any form of elegant design. I eventually figured out by watching a Let’s Play that I was heading the wrong way, and would go on to become a fan of the series. The surge is this first feeling of lopsided stats, but through the whole game. No enemy save the small drones is more than 2 hits away from taking Warren down. But said drones are never alone, and should a hit land they present a very real threat of stun locking the player until a heavier hitting baddie finishes the job. The amount of times I was one-shot but a scrub level enemy was absurd, and the amount of ambushes that occur mean there will be many a loading screen between being able to learn what you did wrong and being able to execute what you learned. Unlike in Souls when each level up gave the player a slight boost in defense, The Surge’s upgrades are tied to a plug-in system. Health and stamina boost, healing items, and this game’s version of a ranged attack are all mapped to one of a limited number of slots, and limited in effectiveness by the players power level. They system works and brings something new to the table (more on that later) but having any kind of survivability meant loading up on health boosters and heals, leaving little to no room from anything else not related to being able to tank 3 hits at a time. I can see advance players being able to do without the boosters, and a no damage run is definitely possible, but for a newcomer learning the games patterns and traps it was choice between limiting add-on to health or getting very familiar with the games loading screen.

Other smaller issues are present as well. The game takes place entirely in the CREO complex, as such doesn’t have a lot of diversity when it comes to environments. Warren moves from on ruined concrete structure to a darkened factory and back again. Literally back again, close to a full third of the game takes place backtracking through a single manufacturing complex at different points of the story. Each of the locations is also honeycombed with identical maintenance tunnels, that can keep the player running in circles if they are not careful. Adding to the confusion is a lack of general direction with level design. While most times it works fine just working through the path of least resistance, there were two spots in particular where I had to look up what my next move should be, due in combination of a lack of signaling that I should return to a previous zone and the level’s labyrinthian design preventing the game from presenting a clear goal. The visuals area to area are so similar it prompted by wife to ask, after three evenings in a row, if I had made any progress at all as what was on screen now was so similar to what was there all week, despite my location in the game being two zones later.

The sameness of the environment also bleeds into the enemy roster. An overwhelming majority of the foes in Warren’s way are other humans in different armor types with one of a limited type of weapons. Most of the games later half has Warren facing off with the CREO security force, all wearing identical armor and weapons. One new heavy variant is introduced in the second to last area, but that is also a de-powered copy of boss from just minutes before that area. They are also flanked drones, but even those are just palette swaps of enemies seen through the whole game. The truly imaginative designs come in the games last area with two new types of enemy. Both are based on nanomachines: one a shape shifting blob and the other another humanoid, but one that can change his armor locations and weapon type on the fly. Of course the earlier statements of difficulty by numbers holds true, and I never bothered engaging any blobs that weren’t immediately outside a safe room due to the myriad of ways an encounter could go south.

THE POSITIVES

If it seems like I’m down on this game I’m not, it’s just kinda like that friend you only want around occasionally because he gets really aggressive for no reason, makes every one else really uncomfortable and once in a while breaks something, but mostly he’s a good time.

The general feel of combat is the games strongest point. Weapons, even those in the same class, feel distinct thanks to variations of moveset. Animations and sounds create a visceral portrait of the future that had me looking for the next fight. The aforementioned upgrade system allows for a wide range of experiments without worrying about being locked into a build, if the player is competent enough to shed some of the health upgrades. Even in the face of the blandness of the levels, the intricate design of each on a wireframe level was very cool. Following the path forward would eventual cut back into itself, unveiling a shortcut back to the level’s safe room. If a player got the layout down then no destination was more than a minute or so away, despite a level being hours long from start to end.

An undeniable win was the games approach to boss battles. Each fight could be approached is classic video game style, hit the guy till the bar goes away, or in a new way unique to each fight. Fighting a bibedial machine not unlike the big thing from Robocop I was able to trick its own homing missiles to hit the boss instead. A late game example was being able to trick a boss into damaging the environment around us to prevent reinforcements from joining the fight.

THE SUMMARY

The Surge was worth the time I put into it at the end. I can’t say it was worth the money, as I got the game for free through Xbox’s Game Pass program. It presented a new wrinkle in the Souls-genre and unlike the studio’s last outing, Lords of the Fallen, kept me interested enough to see it through to credits. The game presents a challenge for those looking for one, and the number of options presented to the player makes the road to success feel like your own despite the limited number of actual options. Fights are tense, enemies are readable if overpowered, but no challenge ever feels impossible despite seeming unfair.

Overall: Positive

[+] Intense, gritty combat is always engaging

[+] Criss crossing level design makes every shortcut a welcome sight, and keeps whats around the next corner a mystery.

[+] Limb targeting for loot makes farming player driven without the worry of random drops.

[+] Boss battles are unique and memorable

[-] Enemies and environments lack distinguishing features, leaving a feeling of sameness past the game’s second area.

[-] Most of the games challenge comes from over powerful enemies, even basic units can kill in a single hit.

[-] Conveyance of the next objective is not always clear, often going objectives are found by following the path of least resistance as opposed to being presented as a goal.

[n3rdybird]

A Hound’s Purpose

This is written for @frejahertziswritingthistime #TropeChallenge.  Hope you enjoy!

My trope was:  Person A is working at a movie-theater, and is cleaning up, ends up talking to person B, because they are the only one left, and is ugly crying

Crowley (Human Blood) x Reader

The steady patter of rain outside made you yawn as you watched the world go by.  People with dark umbrellas passed the old theater with barely a glace.  It was to be expected, being the middle of the week.  Your family’s old fashioned cinema wasn’t terribly busy on the weekends, let alone on a wednesday afternoon.

You had never expected to run the old theater when your parents retired.  Sure, you worked for your parents for most of your teenage years.  Back when you wanted to get out of your hometown, to leave it all behind.  But with the years working every position, from the ticket booth, to concessions, to projection, the old theater and the regulars had grown on you.

One in particular.

The first time you had met him,  you were just shy of five years, treating the theater as your playground while your parents worked.  You had snuck into a dark theater that was empty, aside from a single man.  As a child, you didn’t even notice how he was overdressed for a movie viewing, nor the glass of alcohol that wasn’t available in the concession stand in his hand.  You just crawled into the seat next to him, and quietly watched the movie.

When the house lights came on, your mom came looking for you.  When she saw who you were sitting with, her face went white.  She shuffled you away, apologizing to the man in the suit.

It became a ritual of sorts.  If you ever saw the man in the suit, you’d always join him.  He was always by himself, and you believed movies were best watched with friends.  You told him so yourself.  In the dim light, you saw him smirk and introduced himself as Crowley.

As you grew up, you began to notice that your movie friend never seemed to change. When you asked, during a particularly boring part of a movie, Crowley seemed unphased by the questions asked by ten-year-old you.

“I am a demon little one,” he explained, watching your reaction out of the corner of his eye, while keeping his face forward.

You furrowed your brow in disbelief.

“Demon’s don’t wear suits.  Where are your fangs, and your claws?” you asked matter of factly.

He chuckled at your forwardness and lack of fear.

“Why? Do you not believe me?”

You shrugged, chewing a mouthful of popcorn.

“I’ve never met a demon before. So I wouldn’t know.”

In the dark theater, Crowley’s eyes turned blood red, causing you to miss your mouth and drop popcorn on your lap.  He looked at you expectantly.

“That’s pretty neat,” you started, before noticing the scene on the movie screen.

“Ooh, this part is my favorite, watch!” you exclaimed, your childish enthusiasm for the movie overriding anymore questions you had.

If you had been watching his expression, you would have seen a dumbfounded expression on the demon’s face as you completely disregarded the demon next to you.

“Well that’s interesting,” he muttered, before turning back to the movie.

So that’s how you became ‘friends’ with the demon known as Crowley.  Regardless of his lack of soul, he was a well versed cinephile.  So many afternoons were spent watching films and discussing them.

Your parents didn't like the time spent with Crowley.  They knew exactly who and what he was.  Apparently your great uncle entered into a deal with the sly demon, for the success of the theater.  When his ten years was up and he died, your newlywed parents inherited a movie theater and a demon regular.  But regardless, Crowley never seemed to have any muderous intent toward you, and your parents figured it was better not to piss of an actual freaking demon.

And now, many years later, you were in charge.

You hadn’t seen Crowley lately, but he that wasn’t suprising.  From Crossroads demon he had become the King of Hell, and all the responsibility that came with.  The last time you had seen him, he was tense.  Not even relaxing during the movie which he had done in the past.  When you asked, he snarled that had better things than watch movies with a human and snapped out of the theater without so much as a goodbye.

Not gonna lie, that hurt a bit.  But you resigned yourself to the fact that you were just a human.  You supposed you should feel lucky that he didn’t kill you.  Either way, the weekdays were boring without him.

So you watched the rain from the box office, doodling on a scrap of paper.  Your daydreams were interrupted by one of your part-timers clearing his throat.

“So I went to theater 2 to clean, and there was still someone in there.”

You raised your brow, motioning him to continue.

“And?’

“He won’t leave… and he,” he paused, trying to figure out what to say.

“And he is crying.  A lot.  He yelled at me and might have threatened to rip out my entrails and shove them up my ‘arse’? It was hard to tell between the sobbing and the accent.”

That caught your attention.  That and the fact that you didn’t recall selling a ticket to theater 2.

You took in the pleading of his expression.  He was young, just a teenager trying to make enough money to take his girlfriend out.  And apparently shuffling a crying and belligerent customer was above his pay grade.

“Just watch the booth, I’ll deal with it,” you sighed.

You crossed the marble floors of the lobby, your eyes catching the scuffs of the abused floor.  This place was well past its heyday, but you loved it all the same.  As you climbed the red carpet steps, a throwback to the golden age of hollywood, you saw two more employees peaking into theater 2, whispering between themselves.

“Don’t you have work to do?” you asked dryly, shooing the pair away.

Theater 2 was currently showing A Dog’s Purpose, not the usual choice for a single man.

The film’s credits were still playing, the film theme doing little to mask the sobs coming from the middle of seats.

“You alright?” you called out.

The only reply was muted curses between heavy breathing.  You decided to venture closer, sitting down a few seats away from the emotional man.  The house lights turned on, revealing exactly who you thought it was.

“Crowley,” you said simply, taking in his appearance.  He had a few weeks worth of stubble on his jaw.  His normally crisp suit was creased and soiled in some areas.  His cuffs were undone, as was his collar; his tie loose and askew.  Top that with his blood shot eyes, he looked like a wreck.

“Damn, you look like shit,” slipped out of your mouth.

His eyes flashed red with annoyance, and you coughed.

Awkward silence reigned and you turned your eyes to the screen.

“The corgi scene got me,” you admitted, making him look at you confused.

“I watched this when it first came. Quality check, you know.  But the corgi scene. That was the worst to me.”  It was true.  For being a family friendly movie, that movie had torn out your heart.  Anyone who had ever had a pet dog would not be leaving the theater without some dried tear stains on their cheeks.

“Made me go home and hold my dog for awhile,” you finished lamely.

Crowley rubbed his face, cutting back a sniffle.

“Juliet… I haven’t seen her in months.  Raised her from a wee hellhound.  She’s my favorite.  Such a good girl, I remember her first contract, tearing the man to pieces when he tried to run.”

He clenched his fist around his traditional glass of scotch, and threw it towards the screen.  You flinched hearing the glass break, hoping there wasn’t too much damage.

“And now that bitch Abaddon thinks she can rule my home?  Keep me from my Juliet?”

Not sure who he was talking about, you nodded sympathetically.

“Ex girlfriend?” you asked hesitantly.

Crowley snorted.

“Girlfriend? When hell freezes over.  Which might happen if those two plaid imbeciles don’t get their act together.”

He continued to rant, his anger going high and then he would stop and sniffle, trying to reign in his emotions.  You just watched the demon, taking in his expressions and movement.  It was all too animated, too human.  Crowley crying? You didn’t think it was humanly possible. (Or demonly you should say.)

You moved seats, taking the one right next to him.  He seemed unaware of your movement, til you put your hand on his.

“Are you okay?” you asked seriously.  He seemed taken aback by your gesture.  Genuine confusion blanketed his face as he looked from your hand to your face.

Feeling awkward, you went to remove your hand, when he gripped it tightly.

“No one ever asks about me,” he said.  His tone was soft, almost broken sounding.  It made your heart clench, which was a weird feeling for the demon who had wormed his way into your family years ago.

“Even the King of Hell needs back up sometimes,” you told him truthfully.  The two of you sat in silence.  The weight of his hand pressing on yours was very odd.  After all these years, you couldn’t recall ever touching him before.

You were broken out of your reverie when the credits finished.  But Crowley kept his hand in yours.  You pushed up the armrest, keeping the two of you apart.  Leaning over, you wrapped your arm around his neck, hugging him.  His arms slowly wrapped around your waist as you settled half on the seat and half on his lap.

“You know, when most women are in my lap, there are less clothes involved,” he whispered into your ear.

You rolled your eyes and pulled back, giving him your best “not impressed” look.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” you scoffed, moving to get off him.  His arms tightened around your waist, keeping you in place.

“Oh I can,” he murmured, moving his lips close to yours.

Just as he was about to kiss you, you fell forward.  He had disappeared.  You cursed as you caught yourself on the cushions.  A piece of paper fluttered through the air, landing in front of you.

Dinner, Friday at 8 o’clock.  One of those teenage mouthbreathers can cover for you.

Thank you

Crowley

You sat back in the seats, re-reading the note and laughing to yourself at the absurdness of the situation.

Fucking demons.

[dailythranduilproject]

Username(s) we can find you under: 

TheMirkyKing - @themirkyking

> What Media do you create?  

Writing, Drawings-pencil and occasional colored pencils/pens, and some edits.

> Where can we find your work?  

A03 and tumblr .  I have a DeviantArt account(under different name) but that is just to look at all the wonderful art out there.

> What would you say you are best known for in the fandom?  

Umm…not really sure as I don’t think many know me…I would have to say for my writing??  LOL

> Do you have a favorite pairing?  

Too many! But my true love is Barduil, then Thrandolas.  Thranduil and Elrond, Sigrid and Legolas (Looking right at @Moonofmorrigan for sucking me into that one!)  And Elrohir and Ela (OC of @damnitbarduil)

> What other fandoms are you part of?  

Yuri on Ice, Avatar the Last Airbender, Game of Thrones, more as a spectator.

> Any advice/words for others in the fandom?  

Don’t shame/troll/hate anon others for what they enjoy, write and create.  There is enough ugliness out there, don’t add to it.  I know it sounds Pollyanna, if you don’t have anything good to say then say nothing- there is REAL person on the other end.  Creative criticism is fine, as is disagreeing with someone, but do it in a constructive way. And if you are thinking that your writing, art or anything sucks, so what?  If you enjoy doing it then do it.  We all have different skill levels and talents- explore them and grow.  Have someone you chat with read or look at them and get their feedback- most people are their worse critic’s, so get that other opinion! Respect others works-no stealing- everyone deserves their work credited! HAVE FUN!  There are so many wonderful people out there, ready to share their joy of this fandom.  :D

PERSONAL > Favorite color?  

Not fair, I like almost all colors but I would have to say greens and blues draw me.

> Favorite Book? 

Really unfair!  So many books have a special place in my heart.  Two Towers- J.R.R. Tolkien; American Gods-Neil Gaiman; All Creatures Great and Small- James Herriott;  Dragonsinger- Anne McCaffrey; Dune- Frank Herbert.  Just a few ;)

> Favorite movie?  

Again- So hard to single out one so here are some of my faves- Singing in the Rain; Spanglish; Howl’s Moving Castle; The Secret World of Arrietty; To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar; Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World.

> Do you have a pet peeve? 

Aside from the usual; rudeness, ignorance, intolerance; it’s people who chew their mouths open-shudder!  (Only children are forgiven…barely.)

> What country are you from?  

United States

> Who do you think you might have been in a past life? 

Depends on what time period, but some sort of household staff member- like maid or kitchen help.  Or a squirrel…yeah, probably a squirrel.

>What do you like to do in your spare time other than create the media you work on?  

I enjoy cross stitching, gardening and reading.

>When did you join the fandom?

I have been a Tolkien fan since I was 10 but didn’t really join in the fandom stuff till 2015.

Followers Questions

@mewardy:

1- How long have you been writing?  

I have always enjoyed writing, my mom still has stuff I wrote in elementary school (so embarrassing), but didn’t really start writing and posting after I discovered A03 and Tumblr.  It was great knowing that there was a place to share my stuff.

2 -Why fantasy - especially Thranduil?  

I have always been drawn to fantasy/sci-fi.  I find it more freeing- the options are limitless.  While I usually write modern AU’s there is still an element of fantasy.  Thranduil just drew me in. I liked Legolas in LOTR, but nothing like Thranduil.  While I didn’t really like PJ’s vision for Thranduil, I did love Lee Pace’s portrayal of the Elven King.  For me, Thranduil sparked my imagination- he comes off as cold and arrogant.  He is, but there was more to him, just hiding it.  That is what I enjoy.  Exploring his private life.  He allows for so many different versions and I love writing him and reading how others see him.

3 -Where are you from?  

United States- Seattle.

@sweetfairy1:

1 - How did you develop your super cute drawing style?  

First off- thank you!  I like Chibi styles so I kind of base my stuff off that style.  A mix of Chibi/Shojo??  I think of my stuff as cartoonish.

2 - When you drew Thranduil and/or Bard the first time, did they look similar than they do now?  

My first drawing was Thranduil, and I think they look similar, just a few changes.  And it really depends on what I am trying to draw.  Some I do just as portrait drawings, then the cartoon type and every so often, I try for the more realistic style, as in Manga style-lol

@eldritchmage:

1 - I enjoy your artwork very much, so would like to know how long you have been drawing?  

You are so sweet!  I have been doodling and drawing since I was a kid, nothing serious, I only took a calligraphy class in school and then one art class in college.  I keep thinking of going for more formal learning cause I would like to have a stronger skill set then I have now.

2 - What prompted you to start?  Drawing Bard and Thranduil??  

I saw a chibi Thranduil and I loved it.  Thought, hmmm…lets see how mine would look.  That was it, now I have notebooks, scraps of paper, sketchbooks filled with them.

3 - Do you have other favorite subjects as well as Thranduil and Bard?  

I usually just draw random figures.  I tend to do portrait, and I struggle with full figure- my other half is always at me about drawing whole figures, especially the feet!  And not to draw on lined paper!  LOL

4 - Also, how did you come to develop your distinctive style?  

I really like Manga so that is a big influence.  Then the usual culprits of seeing other artist styles, animated films and such, then wanting to incorporate and explore it in my own fashion.

@bellevox:

1 - Can you tell us about your family and your country?  

I have two older siblings, a sister and brother, but I was the surprise baby so I pretty was ignored by them, unless they needed a punching bag-lol.  My parents are still feisty and active at 80 plus.  I have been cohabitating with my wonderful mate for 23 years, one day he will make an honest woman out of me ;) I was born in the United States, currently live here, but lived in Australia for 2 years- enjoyed it very much.   I like to travel when I can, work permitting.  Over all, I live a pretty quite life, enjoying time with family, going to good breweries and playing games, nothing too exciting. :D

@moonofmorrigan:

1 - What do you consider to be the most challenging thing to write? (Like angst, fluff, etc.)  

ANGST!  I love reading some good angst but I find that the hardest to write.  There is a fine line with it and I just don’t know if I have the skills!

2 -We've worked on a couple of writing projects together. What is your favorite part so far of our current story?  

What I enjoy most with writing with you is the unexpected turns that the story takes.  How I will have a whole course of action planned for Bard and then- WHAM- Thranduil goes in a direction that surprises Bard and now a new course needs to be followed.  I just love that!   Case in point- when Thranduil fell ill and almost died…. I loved the mystical elements that took place.  Of course I would be lying if I said I didn’t like the more nsfw moments, cause those are a lot of fun!

3 - What kind of stories would you like to see more of in the fandom?  

I would love to see more Sci-Fi Au’s.  I am a sucker for elves in space!

@floranocturna:

1 - what is your dream destination to travel?  

Lord, everywhere!  I would really love to be able to travel the world, spend months at a time in a country, getting to know the area and people.  Nothing fancy, just kicking around and seeing more then just the “famous cities”.

2 - If you could change one thing about Thranduil's outfit, what would it be?  

My least favorite of his was that robe he wore in his private chambers!  It was so shapeless, like some frumpy housecoat!  I would have loved to see him dressed in the greens and browns, like how I imagine him before he became King.

3 - Are you an organised writer or do you just write and sit down when the inspiration strikes?  

Soooooo disorganized!  Inspiration with hints of structure.  My notebooks are a mess with hastily written stuff!  Arrows and bullet points everywhere, change this, add that, oh here- he says this!  And my crazy short hand- even I sometimes puzzle over it!

Thank you Mirky, for this great interview.

[novocaine-sea]

About Me As a Writer

Tagged by @foxyena Thank you so much!!

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean? My tumblr username obviously comes from Aizawa from BNHA. He’s one of my favorite characters and he’s voiced by one of my favorite seiyuu’s, Junichi Suwabe. My old username novocaine-sea (which is novocaine_sea on AO3) came from a song by the band Senses Fail! The lyrics go “I wanna drown in a sea filled with novocaine” I had that username from my bandom days and couldn’t part with it

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/subscriptions/hits/kudos).

Fruitless has the most of all of these things, over 200 bookmarks, 726 kudos, almost 9000 hits and 100 subs! But as for active fics Side Effects is the second best with 90 subs!

3. What is your AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

My AO3 icon is a sleeping Bakugou cap from the anime bc he looks like such an angel I love him so much

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

Yes!! My fav commenters are @vairenna, @emotabek and @mirikiri93 but i also love every single person who comments on my stories anyway because they’re all so lovely and supportive and I cherish every single one of them

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

Right now I’ve been going back and reading Feathers Are the Least of These by mousapelli (I’m unsure if they have a tumblr account). It’s a Tokoyami x Deku fic and it’s really wonderful I love it a lot.

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

I have 830 bookmarks (it’s a mess I had more but went through and deleted a bunch one day, I need to do it again) and I don’t know how to see the exact number of works I’m subscribed to but there are 5 pages worth, though half of them are most likely completed

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

Well I tend to keep coming back to serial killer AUs, are AUs that are particularly blody. I think I have at least one planned for each fandom I’m in, and have already accomplished that with Haikyuu. Though I do wanna write more. 

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

I have 145 user subscriptions and 1655 bookmarked

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

I have a, uh, cannibal fic planned? Which I feel like a lot of people wouldn’t be cool with so I’m gonna keep it to myself for now lmao

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

Fluff mostly. I’m not very good at it and i feel like compared to my angst and smut even it comes out really lackluster

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

I really love rarepairs, my favorite pairs are SemiSuga and MatsuAka, but lately I’ve found myself writing IwaOi which is strange bc they’re not even one of my main ships. But I love both rarepairs and popular ships equally!

12. How many stories have you posted on AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

Okay so my AO3 says 56 but I’ve deleted at least 5 or 6 from it so it’s more in the 60s.

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

Oh god I don’t even want to count but I have at least 5 WIPs for Haikyuu, BNHA, and YOI respectively

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

I do the bad thing of keeping some of them in my head but I really try to write down a lot of them.

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

I have not! But I was planning to cowrite something with my friend Erin! I think it would be fun to cowrite with somebody :)

16. How did you discover AO3?

My best friend Faith made me read this one Teen Wolf fic called “DILF” and I’ve been on AO3 ever since!

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on AO3?

Oh no not at all

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

Do fandom authors do that?

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

A lot but I would credit @thewiselearnfromhistory as my biggest inspiration. Idk where she disappeared off to but she’s a wonderful friend and an amazing writing (she’s ConesofDunshire on AO3)

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

Write what you want to see. Don’t try and copy other writer’s style; develop your own while reading their works. It’s okay to be inspired by other people’s writing. 

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

I’ve done both! I had a really intense outlie for Fruitless but it ended in a way that was not plan. Half of what happened in the fic was not planned until I actually wrote the completed chater. I really thik it’s fun to let the fic take you where it wants to go. Currently I’ve planned out all the chapters of Side Effects but they’ll probably end up being scrapped, at least half of it.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

Yes! I have been told that my grammar is awful and the story would have been more readable and enjoyable if I had a “better grasp on my grammar.” I’ve been told that the way I write certain characters is extremely OOC. I’ve been told that characters would never do that because they’re monsters and not kind souls. But the amount of positive comments I’ve gotten outweighs the bad ones tenfold

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

I’m really bad with action scenes but I’ve been writing BNHA which is an action packed series so I’ve been trying to use that as my “training” I guess

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

My biggest priority right now is Side Effects as that is my main work on AO3 right now. But I will return to Untucking and the TodoMomo fic eventually. I am also working on some Kacchako secret Santa stuff!

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

Lmao yes it’s an ISSUE

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

No but my only goal right now is to finish Side Effects chapter 23 because it’s been giving me issues so that’s my goal every day right now

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Oh my fucking god yes. I read the UshiOi smut that I have posted on AO3 and I cringe SO HARD. My friend told me that,that was their favorite fic of mine (or one of them at least) and I was like why... please....

28. What is your favorite story that you’ve written?

I would say Fruitless, but I also really love Golden. IT evoked a lot of emotion from me and I really love that piece of writing. But also Side Effects. And Wisteria. I can’t pick a favorite

29. What is your least favorite story that you’ve written?

Ahhhh the UshiOi story aforementioned. And anything I’ve deleted from AO3

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

I hope to still be writing for fandom because I do enjoy it, but I also hope to be writing my own original work and maybe have a short story or two published? I think it would be nice to get into a fandom zine too!

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

I think putting intense emotions into the characters and everything around them is my strong suit. I love breaking characters down and getting to the root of their problems

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

Keeping things happy! I always return right back to the angst and I need to fucking relax with it it’s bad

33. Why do you write?

I write for myself, to get my ideas out there, and hopefully write something that other people love and enjoy fully. I write to make friends and to meet people who will inspire me and who I can inspire too. I love the way writing and art in general in fandom connects people. It’s really special :)

Tagging: @hamletsprozac @tenacioustooru @caelestisxyz @tootsonnewts @meimagino @seekingsquake and anybody else who wants to do it! don’t feel pressured

[greyias]

What kind of gift do you think Theron would give to her as an anniversary gift and vice versa? :D

(I, uh, may have gotten a little out of hand with this one. Whoops.)

Theron Shan considers himself one of the greatest spies the Republic has ever seen. He’s snuck into so many places that the Empire was so convinced were locked up tight – and managed to acquire intel and items no one thought possible. Hell, he even managed to acquire a Black Cipher right out from under their noses and they never realized it. So when he looks at the calendar, and suddenly realizes it’s a year to the day when he first said “this feels like destiny” to a certain Jedi Knight, he reacts completely appropriately and just like the adult he was raised to be.

Which is to say, he freaks the kriff out.

A year? It’s been a whole year? Time is supposed to pass by much slower, and when did Theron Shan, walking SIS disaster cleverly disguised as a human being actually form a long-lasting relationship? Crap, he doesn’t know what to do. What does the HoloNet say? Maybe he can find a manual somewhere. Wait, the traditional first year anniversary gift is flimsi? What does that even mean? Is he supposed to write something on a sheet and just hand it to her? That’s called a letter and he sucks at those too. Okay, the HoloNet is officially useless – it’s fine. It’s fine, he just has to step up his game. Maybe if he can remove every single calendar on base. That will work. Can’t have an anniversary if there’s no calendar, right?

Okay, that’s probably the reaction in the wrong direction. He’s an adult, he can do this. So, he sets off to find the person who seems to be in the most successful, stable relationship. Unfortunately that person is Hylo Visz, and she has mysteriously disappeared. But her other half is there, and out of desperation Theron asks what an appropriate anniversary present would be, and immediately regrets it when the conman grins.

“Have you thought about–?”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ’Skytrooper Helmet’ just keep in mind that I know how to kill someone without attracting any suspicion.”

“Well, then I’ve got nothing.”

Theron starts to wonder about the long-term chances of success in the Alliance if one of the resident experts on adult relationships is Gault Rennow. They probably should all just pack up and go home now. He passes by Koth and Lana who ask what’s wrong. Theron Shan - Super Spy - Worst Sabaac Face ever. He briefly considers asking for their advice – they’re almost reasonable, mature, sensible people – and then remembers that Koth will still on occasion shove random objects off counters if someone flirts with Lana. Yeah, they’re out. He walks away without a word.

“Anniversary gift?” Jorgan asks. “I don’t know, our go-to gift in Havoc Squad was always ammo. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like making sure you can easily blow away an enemy target from fifty meters.”

Theron’s eyes widen at the mention of the ‘L’ word, makes a strangling noise, and just slips away to the sound of the Cathar’s deep chuckle.

“Oh, a token of affection for your paramour! What a delightful tradition! Why, I’m honored that you would bring me in on such an occasion, Agent Shan. This reminds me of when I was still working for the Hutt Cartel, and Bareesh needed–Theron, where are you going? I have just the thing that would work. If you just gave it a moment’s consideration, then you would realize that the Commander would love a time-released capsule of–well now that’s just rude. Why ask for my advice and then leave while I’m talking? Very well, I must return to creation.”

“For my cyar’ika, I always started the night with an ori'skraan. Then after the  hetikles, I would present her a dinui. Last one was the teeth of a hssiss.” Torian recites the old ritual with a fond, faraway look in his eye.

“Uh. Huh.” Theron nods. “So, what you’re saying is… I should go slay a dark side dragon?”

“Kell drake might be more your speed.”

Theron almost proudly declares that he can kill a hellish lizard steeped in the dark side of the Force if he really wants to, but stops himself just in time. “Kind of running low on time to go big game hunting.”

“Get her a pretty ruus then.” Torian shrugs. “And yourself a day planner so you don’t forget again.”

“Did someone say planner?”

“No, Vette, no!”

Theron starts to run, but the Twi’lek easily keeps pace.

“Oh, wait! Did I hear you right? (Of course I did, I was eavesdropping!) it’s your anniversary with the Commander. Ooh! I could plan a party!”

“It’s in a few hours, Vette.”

“I’m great at last minute shindigs!”

“I was actually thinking something a little more intimate.”

“Ew, I don’t want to hear about that!”

“Well, I wasn’t inviting you!”

“Yeah, the Commander doesn’t really seem like she’d be into that anyway. Then again, it’s always the quiet ones–”

This is why he doesn’t ask people for help. Or anything. After he finally manages to convince Vette, that no, he does not want to plan a surprise orgy for the Commander (and he’s a little perturbed she latched onto that idea so quickly and ran with it), he finally manages to get some peace at a lone data terminal in the War Room. He’s most definitely not burying his face into his arms as he tries to think of anything that might make sense. None of the suggestions from today work for Grey in the slightest. She’s a Jedi, and doesn’t need ammo. Although now he’s wondering if Jorgan was just yanking his chain. Damn Cathar. And aside from… uh, whatever else Torian was suggesting, Theron is certain if he shows up with the carcass of some animal she might burst into tears, or you know, something less dramatic but still just as sad. And shiny rocks and jewels also aren’t exactly her thing. (No, because that would be easy.)

She likes the souvenir skyshell trinket he picked up at a market for five credits because it matched her eyes. And traditional Dantooine tea he bought once because he thought it might remind her of home. Or the fact that she still wears that random scrap of leatheris he gave her as a “friendship bracelet” on Manaan to shut her up about it. And when he recalls that he’s wondering when he’ll be nominated for Boyfriend of the Year Award.

Anytime he sees something that he thinks she might like, he always just, you know, gives it to her. No point in hanging on to it for a specific date. Not that those piddly trinkets really would be appropriate for this kind of thing. Then again, exactly what is the appropriate gift to say “thanks for putting up with me for a whole year”? Stars, he’s horrible at this.

He’s just about to resign himself to the fact that he’s about to blunder into a major milestone without anything to show for it, when he feels a slight nudge at his knee. He lifts his head and T7-01 lets a soft questioning trill.

“No, no, I’m fine, buddy.”

The next series of beeps sound very doubtful of that.

“Okay, yes, maybe it is something. But it’s not Alliance business. Nothing to worry over.”

The astromech’s next whistle is long, and has a knowing air about it.

“Yeah, it’s, about her… it’s just, kind of a special occasion. And I’m at a loss. You would think I’d know her well enough to think of something to get her. Something nice, special, but my mind just keeps going blank. She’s just, so, well, y’know…”

If Theron didn’t know any better, he would think the sharp series of beeps are meant to be the droid equivalent of laughter. Great, just great, he’s now being laughed at by an astromech. Teeseven gets over whatever passes for digital humor and twirls around excitedly.

“Well… I suppose you have known her the longest. Yeah, I’ll take any suggestion at this point. What do you have in mind?”

It’s a long series of trills, beeps, and whirls before Theron starts to get an idea of where the little guy is going with all of that, and he can’t help but smile.

“You’re a genius.”

“Well, there you are,” Theron says a little accusatory to a harried Hylo Visz as he finally strolls up to the Commander’s quarters. Technically they’re more or less his too at this point, he just hasn’t moved the last of his stuff over. Somehow that all seems so official.

“Let me guess,” the Mirialan says, “you needed help picking out an anniversary gift. On the day of your anniversary.”

“How’d you guess?”

“Well, first I’ve met you.”

“Okay, fair enough. And second?” 

“Let’s just say, you two deserve each other more than anyone else I’ve ever met,” the smuggler said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I’m half surprised I don’t need to remind you both how to tie your shoes.”

“Well, see, that’s why I never wear anything with laces.”

“Well, at least you try to make my life easier on occasion. This is the point where I leave you two to pretend like you have the slightest clue what you’re doing.”

“We’re leading the Alliance!” Theron reminds her.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” She gives Theron a patronizing pat on the cheek. “Have fun.”

Considering the last time Hylo offered help in the romance department Theron wound up fighting in a Zakuulan arena in an attempt to free a bunch of slaves, he’s starting to wonder what fresh horrors lay beyond those durasteel doors. Oh well, only one way to find out. 

“Did a bomb go off in here and you forget to tell me?” he asks, cautiously stepping into the room, carefully stepping over a mound of what might be ration packs. “Or is this a new decorating scheme? Balmorran Warzone from the looks of it.”

“Theron, hi,” Grey says nervously, trying to shove a large crate out of sight. “What a surprise to see you.”

“I live here.”

“Right,” she says slowly, cheeks quickly turning a lovely shade of red, “there is that.”

His eyebrow arches as he sees a small crate filled with a bunch of schmaltzy knick-knacks. Some Voss courting jewelry, a Hutt affection token, Corellian love stones, and stars, one of those annoying Tashelin serenading droids. He’s about to make some wiseacre remark, but from the haphazard way everything is stacked up he’s guessing this is a reject pile of sorts.

“So… whatcha been doing?”

“I have a confession to make,” she says with a sigh, and gives up trying to shove the crate next her out of sight. “With everything that has been going on, I… might have forgotten the significance of today until Teeseven mentioned it.”

“That sneaky little astromech,” Theron whirls around as if the little bot will be there, but the hall is completely empty. “Left me hanging all day and then pretends to swoop in like a little hero at the last minute!”

“What?” she frowns at him, and then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I should have remembered that it was a year ago that we began…”

She flushes, trailing off as she can’t quite come up with the right words, and his innate need to tease her melts away. 

“A new chapter?” he suggests helpfully.

“That works.” Her face lights up with a smile so bright it’s almost blinding. “Hylo says we’re hopeless, by the way.”

“She might be right.” He carefully navigates the minefield of several discarded and rejected gifts. “In the spirit of honesty, I kind of have spent the entire day doing something similar. Just, uh, with a little less mess.”

“I couldn’t pick a gift,” she says helplessly, “none of them seemed… right.”

Theron can’t help the quiet laugh as he pulls her into a hug. “What, am I so hard to shop for?”

“Yes,” she huffs, “you are.”“Wait… is that an entire crate of Gree nanite paste? How did Hylo even find that much?”

“I was told not to ask,” Grey says quickly, “and what do you even use that stuff for?”

“That has to cost a small fortune!”

“I’m sending it back,” she assures him. “I was afraid it was too extravagant. Giving gifts isn’t exactly a common practice among my Order, but that seemed like it might have been overboard.”

“Then why all of this?”

“Hylo was getting a little frustrated by the end of the day,” Grey shrugs lightly, “I think she was hoping to overwhelm me into choosing them all.”

“Oh? So did you pick?” he asks curiously.

She sighs. “I did, but I’m afraid it’s not much. You can have the crate of paste if you prefer.”

“Why don’t you show me it anyway?” he asks gently. “Let me decide.”

She gives him a look, like she’s expecting him to start cracking jokes, but leads them over to the table at the far end of the room where a simple set of comet-stone glasses sit inside of a box, set next to a bottle of Whyren’s Reserve. Single blend, thirty year. Very nice indeed.

Her head cocks to the side as she studies it, worrying her lip between her teeth. “It should be more personal. I thought if I could get something from Rishi where we first–”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupts, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You have enough to worry about. Don’t add ‘extravagant gift giving’ to it. Besides, I have all I need right here with me.”

He emphasizes his point by wrapping his arms around her, and a flush rises from her cheeks. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he says without a hint of hesitation. “Besides, you haven’t seen mine yet. This makes it look a little… sad.”

“Theron,” she says with a hint of exasperation, “I’m sure it’s very nice.”

“Yeah, but it’s not thirty year old Corellian whiskey nice.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small holoprojector, starting to feel a little self-conscious. It had certainly seemed like a good idea after hearing Teeseven chatter on. “I’ll do better next year.”

That gets an arched eyebrow. “That almost sounds like a commitment.”

“It is. I’m not going anywhere.”

The flush in her cheeks darkens, and to try and distract from her reaction, she flicks on the holo. Two images flicker up side-by-side. The first is taken from a distance, of her standing side by side with his mother, and the rest of her old crew while accepting their Cross of Glory medals. The second is from her first official speech as Commander, standing tall with the rest of the senior staff ringed around her. Her fingers lightly trace all of the figures of her friends – old and new.

“Where you’ve been. Where you’re going.” It sounds lame when he says it aloud.

“Theron, this is…”

“Yeah,” he winces, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She blinks up at him, and he swears there might be a slight shimmer in her eyes. “This is… I… haven’t seen their faces in so long… I was starting to forget… thank you.”

The words are soft, but the emotion laced behind them make a small lump form in his throat. Apparently he owes that sneaky little droid some thanks. 

“It’s my pleasure. Always.” He manages to swallow past that small lump as he presses his lips against her forehead. “Happy anniversary.”

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Meihem Movie Night (They Watch Mad Max)

“Movie night! Movie night! Oi, Roadie! Where the hell are the clean sheets! I know you said we had some!” Junkrat called, his voice muffled from where he was buried halfway inside a half-broken wardrobe. Both arms moved rapidly in an almost digging motion, throwing out bomb casings, spare traps, scrap metal bits, and other garbage into a growing pile on the floor behind him. A few moments later, and he emerged holding an armful of white cloth that was streaked with black and gray. “You said you were gonna clean them! These ain’t clean!”

The gargantuan junker didn’t look up from his book on the other side of the room, sitting on his special-made bench that was still starting to sag in the middle from the sheer weight of him. He had discarded his usual armor, and wore nothing but a pair of Pachimari! Say Hello! print pajama pants and some slippers that might have been white at some point in distant history. “They don’t stay clean if you put dirty things on top of them.”

“She can’t sleep on these!” Junkrat snapped, unfurling them and inspecting the grease and soot as though it suddenly bothered him, even as his own fingers left dirty prints on what remained of the white cloth. “I’ll go get some clean ones, love. They think I can’t get into that supply closet down the hall, but I know h-”

Mei held up both hands quickly. “It’s fine, honestly. I brought a clean blanket just in case, I can sleep on top of it.” She held up one of her many cozy flannel comforters, this one a dark blue print that she knew would be the easiest one to clean after withstanding a night in bed with Junkrat. Even after showering, the man just attracted grime to the point where she honestly thought of studying him as a scientific anomaly. Her own sheets had testified to that many times over now. “This will be just fine.”

“Sleepin’ on top of it? What if you get cold?” Junkrat looked unsure, scratching at the back of his singed scalp.

“Well…You’ll keep me warm, won’t you?”

A pleased flush warmed his cheeks, his grin widening. “Yeah! Yeah I will!”

“It’s not the first time I’ve slept over here, Jamie, you don’t need to make a fuss every single time. We can always go back to my room again, and I’d hate to put you out or anything, Mr. Roadhog.” She glanced over to the larger junker, who merely turned another page in his book.

“Mm. It’s fine.”

“Naw, you ain’t putting him out. Or me. Just thought I’d really remember the damn sheets this time…Well, if it don’t bother you, just sleep on your blanket and I promise I will keep every little bit of you nice and toasty.” He licked his chops rather lecherously, and she half lidded her eyes at him as he continued. “From your cute lil’ button nose, all the way down to your adorable little toes, and then maybe back up to your-”

“Jamison!” She elbowed him hard in the side before he could finish the thought. “Tài dà shēng le! I’m going to get changed. Jamie, you get the movie queued up. Mr. Roadhog, would you keep him away from the food until we’re all ready?”

Junkrat was already starting to creep towards the table, where two large bags of Chinese take-out (with the closest things she could find to her native cuisine) were steaming merrily away into the air. Roadhog nodded, and then launched out one enormous hand, two fingers that were as thick as Mei’s wrist suddenly pinching onto the top of Junkrat’s ear and pulling him away as the younger junker complained loudly, single foot scraping for hold. “Owowow! I was just going to get a whiff, mates, swear it!”

“Well last time we had to order more because all Roadhog and I had to eat was soy sauce, after you ‘whiffed’ it all with your mouth!” Mei called back, shutting the bathroom door behind her.

She was fairly certain she heard him call something crude about the other ways he was going to use his mouth, but she merely rolled her eyes, navigating the disaster zone that was the junkers’ shared bathroom. It looked like someone, probably Roadhog or one of the cleaning bots, had at least made an effort to do some repairs and tidying up, but there was still a fine layer of soot on every surface, cracked tiles on the floor and walls, Junkrat’s signature smiley face drawn in soap on the mirror, and a hastily patched ceiling where he had been caught making an escape tunnel above the toilet ‘just in case’. Still, even all this was an upgrade compared to the first time she had ventured in here…She shuddered a bit, trying not to think of it as she changed into her pajamas and plucked out her snowflake pin, hair tumbling down around her shoulders. She heard the sounds of a scuffle outside, but after hearing a thump and a few indignant squawks, she was fairly certain who had won.

By the time she padded back out to the main room, the movie was paused on the title screen, and Roadhog was sitting on the ground with his book, his enormous weight pinning the scrawny flailing form of his employer under him. It was amazing that Junkrat hadn’t been completely crushed, but he was still putting up a rather vicious fight, swinging both fists uselessly against Hog’s legs. “Oi! Get off, you giant pig of a drongo! Mei! Mei, darl, gimme a hand here! Do you see what I got to deal with every day?”

Mei shuffled past him, polar bear slippers passing inches away from his seeking arms as she went to the table, counting over dishes and setting up drinks. Satisfied, she nodded to Roadhog a moment later. “All right, it’s still all here. Come and get it. I ordered your favorite, Mr. Roadhog! Baozi dumplings!” She held up one of the bags, bulging from the amount of food meant all for him.

Roadhog huffed inside his mask, groaning as he shifted his immense weight up off the floor, abandoning the rather flattened young man under him still half pressed into the linoleum. He settled down onto a half-broken armchair a moment later, which creaked ominously under him. “Mmm. Thanks.”

Mei nodded, busily setting up the other bag of food and popping the tops off of several bottles of Chinese beers, taking a seat on the sagging couch and leaving Junkrat to peel himself off the floor and stagger towards her. “Jamie, there you are!” she called cheerfully. “I ordered you some char siu barbecue and chow mein…and for me, vegetarian luóhàn zhāi and zongzi!” she said, ignoring the face he was making at the pile of vegetables and greenery that made up her own dish.

“Still not too late to share a proper tucker with me, love,” he said, wrinkling his nose before turning more eagerly on the piles of pork and noodles in his own take-out box. “Come on, come on! There’s a reason they always try to make tofu taste like somethin’ else, ya know. Crispy pork belly, now, that’s a meal. Can’t believe I was missin’ out on all these China dishes before, you lot can make even the arse-ends of the animal taste good! Uh..uh, xièxiè. Hǎochī? Means uh, tasty, right?”

“Hǎochī! That was very good! And also, no thank you, I’ll leave the meat to you two,” she beamed, even though his accent mangled the syllables. She sat watching as Roadhog set out stack upon stack of trays of bao buns, holding two tiny-looking chopsticks between his giant fingertips and lifting the edge of his mask, delicately starting to nibble with his scarred lips, above the mangled flesh of his stubbled chin. She looked away quickly after. It would be rude to stare, and even after all this time, Roadhog was still not keen on anyone seeing his true face.

Maybe one day…

“Oi, Mei. Got a treat for us tonight! It’s a Mad Max!” Junkrat joined her on the couch and covetously pulled his food into his lap, hunching over it like a vulture as he sipped his beer. Roadhog grumbled slightly around a mouthful of dumpling, and Junkrat shot him a glare before continuing. “We haven’t watched it that many times, Roadie. And it’s a real good one.”

“Is it a new one?”

“Nah, one of the ones in the middle. It’s called Fury Road!” His eyes went dreamy. “One of the best ones. It’s got everything a man could want. Or, uh, a lady. It’s got everything anyone could want, I mean. Explosions, cars, fire, red storms, sexy ladies, more explosions, a guitar what shoots fire, cars, explosions, war boys, heroics, a guy who’s not all there in the head just like me but he’s still mostly good kinda, explosions…”

Mei looked confused, chewing on a mouthful of sauce and broccoli and speaking around it. She could afford to be at least a little more rude around the junkers without them minding…or usually even noticing. “Mmf? Izzat shequel to Thunder Dome?”

“Nah, nah, it’s like, I dunno, it’s all Mad Max but it’s not the same guy and it’s the same place but things are different.”

“What?”

“You’ll see! You’re gonna love it!” He crowed, and slammed the play button with one calloused thumb.

Roadhog started in on his fourth tray of dumplings, and Mei leaned up against Junkrat’s side as they ate, the screen going dark as a guttural voice began to narrate an all-too-familiar tale to their rapt junker audience.

“My name is Max. My world is fire…And blood…”

***

The credits rolled.

Roadhog was sitting in his comfy chair with his hands folded over his enormous belly, snoring softly inside his mask from where he had fallen asleep halfway through, abandoned empty trays scattered around his feet. Mei wondered to herself how he slept through a movie that was basically one action-packed and explosion-filled car chase, but she figured that he and Junkrat must have watched it a hundred times over, and he had probably lived and slept through worse.

Mei lay wrapped in her blanket, head resting on Junkrat’s thigh, atop the striped boxers she’d insisted he start wearing at night. His flesh hand toyed idly with her hair, combing his fingers through the length of it as he asked aloud, “Well? What did ya think? Great movie, ain’t it!”

“I liked it. And I can definitely see why you like it. You know, it’s pretty impressive considering how old it is.”

“Right? It’s sort of like if the whole world ended, not just Oz. So, whaddaya think, I’m just like Max, ain’t I?” He fumbled with a lock of her hair, idly trying to figure out how to braid it. “Just like him.”

She kept her head still, though her eyes rolled up behind her glasses to try and see him, the edges of his features blurred without her lenses. “You’re not Max.”

“Oi!”

“You know who’s Max? 76. The brooding soldier sort with the haunted past, and he mostly speaks in stern grunts?”

“…You know what, Snowflake, I’ll give you that one.”

“You’re more like Nux,” she said, sitting up. “…It was Nux, right? The nice war boy?”

“Yeah! Arright, Nux is a good sort. Still think I’m like Max, though. Ya know, I used to joke around and call Roadie, Imporkan Joe. But he said he found it ‘distasteful’, whatever that means. What about you, you wanna be my ferocious truck-revvin’ Furiosa?”

Mei smiled a little, starting to clear away the bottles and plates of bones and food scraps. “Oh, I’m not really the Furiosa sort.”

“You can be a wife, then.”

“So I’m one of the wives? Doesn’t that mean I belong to Imporkan Joe? Did the wives have names? I can’t remember.”

“Of course they did! And you don’t belong to him, you can belong with me, that’s like the whole point.” He wrapped both arms around her waist, abruptly pulling her back into his lap and bringing his sharp teeth to nibble at her neck. “You can be Toast, she’s the smart one. Or Capable, she’s the brave one, and she’s in love with me. I mean, Nux.”

“They have very strange names. Although I guess the junkers do too. How did you even choose Junkrat?”

“Didn’t choose it per se, just sort of happens. You’d get a name too, eventually. Like…Mei the Mag, Mistress She-Panda, Frigi-vicious, or IceTits…”

“Those are horrible!”

“Don’t put me on the damn spot then, darl! I’m just sayin’, names happen. Take it from your favorite rat.” He soothed her with several kisses to the top of her head, even as she squirmed in protest. “Aw come on, we don’t have to decide on a name now, you can still be my sexy battle wife on the Fury Road…Kinda liking this idea more and more, actually. Say it with me, Mei. Sexy battle wife.”

“Y-you spout the most outlandish things, I swear,” she murmured, looking away to hide the redness of her cheeks. “Although…”

He brightened, smushing his cheek against hers. “Although?”

“This might be the beer talking but I have a really silly idea and…Just go to your bedroom and I’ll see you in a minute?”

Junkrat’s eyes widened, and he was so eager he almost threw her right off his lap in his excitement, half tumbling off the couch as his peg creaked in protest. “Bedroom! Right, yeah! Do I uh, do I need to get anything ready, or…?”

“No, no, just…go in there and close your eyes, and I’ll be in before this idea has the chance to sound even sillier than it is,” she said, waving him off.

The junker scrambled into his cramped sleeping quarters, a tiny side room from their main living area, with little more than his bed and an overflowing dresser full of his personal hoard. Hopping up onto the squeaking mattress, he waited. He heard the bathroom door open and shut again, over the sound of Hog’s snoring, and clamped both hands over his face when he heard a soft knock at his door. “All right, love! I’m not even peekin’, not even a little! Come on in!”

He heard it creak open and shut behind her, before her voice piped up sheepishly, “Okay. Honestly, I just thought it might be fun, but now it seems a little…Well, you can look now.”

He pried apart two fingers, one eye peeking through. Mei stood looking a bit embarrassed, wearing nothing more than the dirty off-white sheets from before, wrapped around her in a poor attempt to emulate the wispy gowns and cloth strips from the wives of the movie. It had ended up as more of a crude toga of sorts, and she had to keep one arm wrapped around her chest where the cloth kept falling away, and she laughed as she hiked the skirt back up around her hips.

“I was just playing around,” she said, “Honestly, I don’t see how anyone could fight while wearing stuff li-”

Junkrat’s arms were suddenly around her, and she found herself being dragged down onto the bed, dirty sheets and all. His dilated pupils stared up at her, rimmed with vivid yellow as he started to wrestle her down onto the mattress as she fought to keep her wraps in place, his toothy jaws already starting to kiss and bite hungrily at her exposed skin. “Nope!” he said, throwing one leg up to pin her hips into place, her ragged sheet-toga pulled up along with it. “Nope, you come in here dressed like one of my favorite things, you’re committed! Movie gets my blood pumpin’ already, and now you’re my sexy battle wife!”

She tried to stifle a laugh, and it came out as a rather nasal little squeal as his fingertips tickles her bare ribs. “Jamison, āi yā! It was just a joke!”

“No jokin’ now, love. This is serious as the grave,” he said, even as his maniac grin spread across his face. “Brace your tits for impact. Now I’m gonna take you for a real ride on the Fury Road!”

***

Roadhog awoke, yet again, to the muffled sound of squeaking springs and moaning behind the door. Grumbling at the inconvenience, he shuffled a slippered foot amongst the discarded boxes to see if perhaps he’d left a dumpling behind.

He hadn’t.

Rubbing at his masked face wearily as he heard Junkrat crowing again about what a lovely day it was, in the middle of the damn night, he groped blindly for the remote. With a few clicks, the movie skipped back to the menu and restarted itself, as the narration started about fire and blood once more. He turned the volume up as the soothing sounds of explosions and bloodshed returned, drowning out the noises he knew were still happening in the next room.

Folding his hands back across his belly, he bowed his masked head and fell back asleep.

[dindjarindiaries]

The First

summary: You’re alone and in need��and the Mandalorian notices

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: insinuations of past harm/abuse, soft!din

rating: G

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

The wind hasn’t been this bad in a while. It whips through the alleyway you’ve been accustomed to hiding in, shivering into the crates left abandoned by the local shop owners. Your hands grip at the sleeves of your run-down tunic, hoping that you can somehow fill the small holes that have started to tug at the fabric. You have no idea how many days it’s been since you ran from your old life, from your everyday torture—but you know whatever suffering you face in this alleyway now is much better than what you’re used to.

The galaxy isn’t kind and you’ve learned that the hard way. Years of trying to work as a servant to earn your freedom, instead getting shipped around like the items circulating in the nearby marketplace, has been enough to make you come to such a conclusion. You’d only been shown love by the animals that have crossed your path—and sometimes the children of those you served.

But this last one had been different. The entire family was out to get you, working you to the bone and barely paying you a single credit for it, constantly berating you about the Rebel past of your parents. They would purposely forget to feed you most days and nights and they’d make sure you went to bed late and then had to wake up early. Although most of the pain was psychological, you felt so worn down that you thought you’d break—and so you left it all behind. You ran as far as your feet could take you and now you’ve ended up here.

And shivering in an alleyway is a much better alternative to the life you used to lead. At least out here, you have freedom.

Your face hides in your arms as you cross them over your knees, hugging them tight to your chest. You can feel yourself trembling but many things have since become numb. The alleyway has always been windy thanks to its build, but today, it’s whipping harder than usual and you can practically feel every hair on your body standing on its end as you grit your teeth.

A shadow suddenly passes over you and you think it must be an oncoming storm. But then, there’s the sound of spurs treading the ground lightly, as if they’re trying to keep their steps light. The coldness of terror grips you as you dare to look up, instantly meeting the blank visor of a Mandalorian. His silver armor reflects the light of the overcast sky, making blink a few times as you adjust to it. The metal of his armor clinks as he bends down to your level, one of his elbows resting against his knee. You swallow hard.

“What do you need?” you ask, your voice hoarse from its lack of use since running away.

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his helmet tilts at you, as if he’s observing you more closely now. You flex your fingers nervously. “I would like you to answer that.” His voice is modulated and comes out in a rasp, sounding gentle yet also revealing how rough he’s used it in the past. It makes a chill run through you.

You shrug, fingers starting to grip at the dirty fabric of your pants. “I’m all right.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t move. You hold your breath, waiting for the moment he cuffs you and announces that your previous employers had sent out a bounty for you. Surprisingly, he stays in place and asks a question that knocks the breath from your lungs. “Has anyone asked to help you?”

You hesitate, wondering if this is somehow a trick. In your desperation, you decide it’s not, and you shake your head.

A grunt falls from the Mandalorian’s helmet in disapproval as he looks away from you for a moment. When his visor returns to your gaze, you watch him gingerly reach a gloved hand out to touch your upper arm. “I will be the first, then.” He pauses, never moving. “Do you like bone broth?”

You nod, opposed to refusing any kind of food when you’ve been living off scraps even before you ran away. The Mandalorian nods in understanding and stands up.

“Stay here. I’ll return with some.”

You nod again and hold your tunic close as your shivering continues. The Mandalorian hesitates, and you watch as he suddenly unclips his cape from his back and sets it over you. Your hands tug at the rough fabric graciously, your cheeks heating up a bit at his kindness. “Thank you—very much, sir.”

The Mandalorian simply nods yet again, heading off in the same direction he’d came. You notice now that he has a circular metal compartment following him, floating wherever he goes. You wonder what he’s bringing along as he disappears from sight, and you feel your shivering slightly beginning to subside thanks to the warmth of the Mandalorian’s cape. Though his actions seem gracious and nothing short of kind, you can’t help wondering what his intentions are, and you can only pray to the Maker that they’re not unkind.

You’re lost in these thoughts until the Mandalorian returns, a bowl of broth in hand that he gives to you once he kneels next to you again. You accept it with another word of thanks, holding it between both hands as you sip at it almost viciously. The Mandalorian remains silent beside you as you eat, nearly tearing up at the feeling of such warmth and fullness inside you. You’re amazed at the fact a Mandalorian finally got you to such a point.

When you finish, you set the bowl down onto the ground beside you, facing the Mandalorian with gratitude and curiosity. “Thank you,” you say genuinely, your voice low as you keep the conversation between him and yourself. “You’ve been very kind.” You hesitate, swallowing hard as you go on. “Now, may you answer my first question? What do you need from me?”

The Mandalorian lets out a sigh, crackling through his modulator as his visor never leaves you. Despite the fact there’s no gaze there, you can feel it burning through you, and you writhe a bit under its intensity. “You are alone.” The Mandalorian pauses as if waiting for confirmation of his statement. You nod. “You have lost your family.” You nod again. “You have no home.” You nod yet again. This time, the Mandalorian returns your nod. “Then I will provide you with both.”

Your brow furrows together as your mouth falls open in shock for a moment. “I... I—I’m sorry sir, you said you’ll provide me with a family and a home?” The Mandalorian nods again. You’re still at an utter loss for words. “How much will it cost me?” You expect there to be some work you must do in exchange for such hospitality.

Instead, the Mandalorian shakes his head. “No cost. No work.”

“But surely, you must need something in return.”

The Mandalorian simply bows his head. “This is the way.”

For a quick moment, you smile, but you fade when you remember that a stranger is the one offering you this deal. Things could quickly become worse should his intentions switch up as soon as you leave with him. Your guard goes back up immediately and you can tell the Mandalorian notices.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I will not hurt you.” As if to prove it, the Mandalorian taps something on his vambrace, and the metal casing from before splits in two to reveal a small, sleeping form inside. Your eyes widen to see a tiny green baby, his ears like petals as soft snores tumble from his lips. He looks at ease—and you realize you won’t be the first one this Mandalorian’s taken in. “I was trained to protect and to uphold my Code. This includes being of service to you—should you accept it.” The Mandalorian closes the contraption and faces you again. He’s now proven his ability to be true to his words and keep you safe, and so you let your smile return as you answer him.

“I will accept your gracious offer, Mandalorian.”

The Mandalorian nods at you, standing up and offering a gloved hand to you. “Then come, kar’ika. It’s time to bring you home.” You accept his hand as he helps you stand up, supporting your unsteady legs as he leads you to the life you never realized you were destined to have with him.

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @nettyklecan @javier-djarin

[thereviewsarein]

A lot can happen in a few short months, even when the world feels like it’s crawled to a standstill. And that couldn’t be more true for Nice Horse.

Since we last had the chance to chat with the four-woman country band back in January, the pandemic hit, shows were cancelled, and festival season was scrapped – but there have also been two music video releases, the band’s first Top 40 single, and a Canadian Country Music Association nomination for Interactive Artist of the Year.

Recently, I had the chance to get on the Zoom with Krista to talk about the last few months and the upcoming CCMAs, and what we were able to hash out is that it’s hard to say that anything can make up for the downs that artists, fans, and the industry are going through this year, but at least Nice Horse has had some things to smile about.

Related: 2020 Canadian Country Music Association Awards Nominees & Fan Poll

When we last caught up with Nice Horse in Toronto, they had just filmed the music video for Hot Mess, and in hindsight, we wish we had asked a lot more questions about it because it is a romp.

Filmed mostly at The Darling Mansion in Toronto, with a superb guest-starring role from Toronto Drag Queen, Jezebel Bardot and special appearances by RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars season 3 winner, Trixie Mattel, the Hot Mess video is a ton of fun, offers amazing visuals in a perfect filming location, and packs as much Drag fun as possible into a country music video. Oh, and the song is a banger too!

When we spoke to the band in January, Krista told us that she had taken on a lot of the last-minute Producer duties because indie bands have limited budgets – but as an added bonus, as a group of Type A individuals, having their hands on the control switch is also a comfortable position to be in.

Nice Horse – Hot Mess

Note: I also want to take a quick second to give some much-deserved props to Nice Horse for making this video and using Jezebel Bardot and Trixie Mattel as performers and personalities. This isn’t the norm for country music and it was awesome to see that kind of inclusion in the genre. Well done ladies.

Hot Mess isn’t the only music video released by Nice Horse during the pandemic though. More recently, the band dropped the official music video for their newest single, Cowgirl, and it’s a doozy, too!

The animated clip features all four band members joining forces to fight a giant robot – and if Drag Queens were high on the list of unique features in a country music video, this has to be on there too.

Krista said that once the decision was made to go animated, the band had an opportunity to do things that they would never be able to do in real life. From there, the decision to make themselves superheroes was easy. And fighting a giant robot, why not?! Nice Horse teamed up with Tivoli Films for the video, and while they didn’t have a hand in creating the visuals, they were by no means hands-off.

Krista told me that they went back and forth with the animation team on sketches and details like faces and clothing to make things accurate and cool. She said that the band also took care of writing all of the comic book style captions in the video, putting another stamp of ownership on the creative process.

In the end, Cowgirl is another empowering anthem from Nice Horse, bringing women together, whether they were “raised on Reba, Aretha or Patsy Cline. Shania or Alanis, rocked like Janis. Whatever makes you feel alive.” – and we love it.

Nice Horse – Cowgirl

Cowgirl has also officially become Nice Horse’s first Top 40 single at Canadian country radio. It’s a significant accomplishment for the band, even if the timing is a little… weird.

Krista told me that she hasn’t reaped the full experiential reward for the Top 40 status, because she hasn’t been out in her car as much listening to country radio. She said that it took a couple of weeks for things to really sink in that they had reached their place on the charts, and while the four members of the band haven’t all been together to celebrate, they have had the chance to connect for some online celebrations together.

As much as there has been to celebrate though, it hasn’t all been strawberries and champagne.

Krista admitted that there were thoughts that, you know, maybe this is the end of the line. There was and is so much uncertainty in the music industry right now that it’s hard for a band that fights for every piece of anything they get to hold on. But, with the Top 40, their well-deserved CCMA nomination, and more music and content on the way, they’re not ready to hang it up yet.

Nice Horse has taken to the internet to write together, and record with award-winning producer Jeff Dalziel. It’s not the same as being in the same room, it’s not ideal, but it’s also not stopping these women from putting in the work so they can take the next step, whenever it’s time to do that.

While we were on our call we did take a few minutes to talk about the band’s CCMA nomination for Interactive Artist of the Year. Nice Horse puts a lot of work into creating great content (outside of their songs and official videos) to share with fans and entertain folks. They take pride in that work, and to see them recognized for it is fantastic.

When we were talking about what’s coming next and what fans might expect, Krista said that the best thing to do is keep an eye on their social feeds. She also encouraged everyone to comment, send messages, get in tough however with their questions or requests or comments. They love to see it. They truly love to be part of the Canadian country music community. And social media allows them to really showcase how great they are with those tools in this time when it’s kind of all we’ve got.

So, check ’em out on Facebook / Instagram / Twitter / YouTube for all the latest and what’s coming next!

Before we go, in case you missed it, hit play on our round of 5 Quick Questions from earlier this year, recorded in the back room at Steve’s Music Store on Queen St. W in Toronto.

5 Quick Questions with Nice Horse

Related: Hot Mess, Nice Horse Interview & 5 Quick Questions

Thanks again to Krista for taking the time to chat. We can’t wait until we get to see Nice Horse again face to face, and live on stage!

Photos of Nice Horse (2017-2020)

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Cowgirl Talk with Nice Horse’s Krista Wodelet A lot can happen in a few short months, even when the world feels like it's crawled to a standstill.