#he’s literally 25 beginning his career and he just

[fcb-mv33]

One of the things I absolutely love and adore about Max is the way he genuinely doesn’t want to and absolutely won’t talk about breaking records. Like all he wants to do is win and at the end look back on what he’s done. Like he could do so much and break so much but he won’t let himself think and get caught up in it.

The lack of ego with Max is just really one of his best qualities🥺

[pedgito]

𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: your career was built on luck and fortunate circumstances, but that was bound to run out at some point. enter eddie munson, rockstar extraordinaire, the reason for your life being thrust into chaos—but, fake it til you make it, right?

cw: 18+ (minors dni), fem!reader, small age gap (25/29), establish friendships with steve & reader (hints of musician!steve), enemies to…something, fake relationships, mentions of misogyny toward reader, awkward first meetings, mentions of substance abuse, social media posts inserted through the fic (texts), fingering and handjobs, drinking and messing around inebriated, use of rings for nefarious purposes, lots of teasing and cocky eddie. i might have missed something so lmk!

word count: 12k

The call happened on a random Sunday morning, following a long night of partying with not nearly enough alcohol, head still pounding from the music and flashing lights of the club. You buried your head further into your pillow, swiped the screen to answer, and muffled a gruff, “What?” into the air.

Thus thrusting you into the most ridiculous conversation you’ve ever witnessed, immediately pushing from your bed and snatching the phone between your fingers, staring at the black screen of your phone, the monotone voice of your agent boring through the receiver—this had to be a joke.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t—and it’s how you ended up standing in the office of your show’s executive team, arms crossed firmly over your chest as they laid out the plan. The fucking plan. The seemingly full proof, highly thought out plan that would not only boost the ratings for the premiere through the roof, but would also bring in an insane amount of attention to the other party.

Him. Eddie Munson, who stood on the other side of the small room, similarly positioned and not believing a single word of shit spilling out of their mouths. If there was anyone who you could care less about, or even despise the idea of having a fake relationship with—it was him. 

Known womanizer, constantly getting caught with groupies after shows, one scandal after another, it was like putting a wrecking ball to a career you had spent a decade building. You didn’t care how good the money sounded, the benefits to it, none of it.

“Absolutely fucking not,” You reply snidely, earning wide eyes from your team, and an even more surprised look from the higher-ups seated at the table, all buttoned up their suits and poised to seem professional, “—not a chance, no.”

“Listen—“ One of the men starts, pen flipping nervously in his hand. He had to be new, less experienced in this world, his voice shaking as he spoke, “just hear us out.”

“No, I heard you,” You chuckle lightly, pointing vaguely in the direction of Eddie, “you want me to sign your stupid little contract and tie myself to a man who, just recently, was caught hanging out with underage girls after a concert—“

“Hey, that’s not my fault—“ Eddie defends weakly, “I can’t control what my bandmates do.”

“You’re literally the lead guitarist and singer,” You say defensively, “—that shit directly affects you.”

How he didn’t realize that was beyond you, his face caught up in a sudden realization, he stayed silent. 

“The ratings will be record breaking,” It was one of the main producers, offering up a small morsel of positivity, “brand deals, appearances—this stuff has worked in the past.”

“How?” Eddie asks curiously, catching your pointed gaze, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. He shakes it off, turned toward the group of men seated at the table. “What do we have to do?”

“Public appearances, obviously.” They begin, “We’ll stage some candid pictures by tipping off paparazzi, maybe even some interviews, it’s all strictly professional—it just depends on how much you two want to sell it.”

“We’ve never been seen in public together before,” You say defensively, “how will that look?”

“I don’t think that’ll matter.” 

“His band is covering the opening song for the show—isn’t that suspicious?” You ask, trying to find any reason to hope this plan would fall apart.

“People eat that stuff up,” Your agent provides softly, trying not to step on any toes, “I don’t think they’ll care.”

“I don’t think it’s a horrible idea,” Eddie says with a slight falter in his voice, just as unsure as you were, but still hanging onto the small glint of optimism, “but it can’t be one-sided—we both have to be all in or it’s going to crash and burn pretty quick.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” You add, “How the hell do you fake a relationship?”

“You do it on television, don’t you?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm, far too inappropriate for the situation at hand. “Is it really that hard?”

“With you?” You ask redundantly, “Yes.”

“This is pointless.” He relents, hands thrown up in defeat until they fall back to his waist, standing like a petulant child, annoyed at his inability to one-up you.

“Look, I get it—you two hate each other.” The producer interrupts, glancing slowly between you both. “It’ll be maybe a few months—that’s it. Long enough to grab some good ratings and bring in some press and then you two can have your dramatic break up. You two don’t even need to interact outside of what’s contractually obligated.”

There’s a long silence, neither of you answering or looking in the direction of anyone. Eddie didn’t have anything to lose—but you had just about everything. It was the perks of being America’s hottest rockstar; do whatever you want and get away with—also just the perks of being a man. For you, one wrong misstep and you were out, permanently.

“Look, you’ve had two failed pilots over the past year, right?” The producer inquires, slyly shoving the small stack of papers and a pen your direction. “Another one and you’ll probably be blacklisted—this is guaranteed success. You can’t pass it up.”

And you hated that it was the truth, heart pounding angrily in your chest. Maybe if you had time—time to really think it through, it wouldn’t be so bad. But, there wasn’t time for that. Your show was premiering in two weeks, Eddie was preparing to leave for a tour across the country, the only thing you two lacked was time. 

“I can back out at any moment?” You ask hesitantly, glancing over at Eddie who remained mostly emotionless, ringed fingers gripping his waist still. “No problem?”

“You won’t want to,” The man tells you, “not after the media swarm picks it up. But—if you really want to, yes. You’re not obligated to stick to this relationship, but you have to make it seem believable.”

“As in?”

“A break-up, if needed. By signing this, you’re signing an NDA—this is private and if you intend to break it, there will be consequences.” 

It sounded like a threat, Eddie picked up on it too—surprisingly interrupting the conversation. 

“Like?”

“It’s basically signing away any rights you have to telling anyone about this outside of this room—if you break the rules of an NDA, suing is on the table, for either of you.”

You hated all the formal jargon, rolling your eyes at his drawn out, half threatening explanation. You snatch the pen, signing the paper lazily before tossing the pen toward Eddie. He’s startled for a moment, quickly recovering to grab the pen and do the same.

“I hope you realize how exploitative this is.” You remark, shoving the paper back at the men, grinning like the greedy sharks they were, already wet-dreaming over the amount of success and money they were bound to pull in.

“It’s just business, sweetheart.”

You grimace at the word, bile pooling in your throat at the tone and wandering eyes of a man who surely had a lot more power than you. 

For your career, it was a mantra you’d repeat in your head until the day you died.

The elevator ride down is long, silent, and awkward—a lack of either of your teams as you stood beside each other in the small confines of the four glass walls, descending down the several flights at a snail's pace. Eddie speaks first, much to your dismay that he even decides to speak at all.

“I really didn’t know.” Eddie says to you, eyes trained toward his scuffed up sneakers, “The girls—I didn’t know they were underage. I didn’t—I’m not like that.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself, “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I don’t care.”

“I just—I didn’t want you to think I was some creep.” He says defensively, voice soft despite his hardened features. “The guys—they let it get to their heads, they make stupid choices.”

“And you haven’t?” You counter.

“I have—but not like that,” Eddie replies, fingers fiddling idly with the ring of his left hand, “I went to rehab—I’m clean now, but I’m not like that. I promise”.

Eddie never meant for the drugs to overtake his life for that short, brief amount of time—but it did and he regretted it daily. It wasn’t him anymore, though. Eddie could say that proudly. He enjoyed his life, his career—he cherished every moment of being on stage and performing, meeting fans, it’s what drove him. 

And you don’t want to pry, so you leave it be. Your hands shuffle behind your back, posed on the silver handrail as the elevator shook gently, you tensed.

Eddie notices but doesn’t say anything, figuring you’d probably bark another insult his way. He could manage the semantics though—faking a relationship, how hard could it be?

“We should exchange numbers.” 

You look at him weirdly, eyebrows pulled up in confusion. 

“You realize I have your number already, don’t you?” You ask. 

Eddie pulls back slightly, head tilted up in thought. It didn’t make sense, he’s never even spoken more than a few words to you outside of work, mutual friends, it didn’t seem possible.

“You’re unbelievable.” You scoff lightly, pulling out your phone to send him a quick text, one simple emoji, middle finger poised in an effort to send a very clear message. “Steve introduced me to you two years ago.”

Still wasn’t ringing a bell—though most of that time was blurry.

“You tried to ask me on a date,” You explain with amusement, “I said no—so you proceeded to ask me if you were down to ‘just fuck’,” You mock with dramatic air quotes, “I never deleted your number, but that’s only because I give it out to the guys that try to hit on me now.”

It dawns on him then, the absurd amount of phone calls from strange people—sometimes the unassuming person you could give a fake name to, sometimes not, Eddie never pieces it together, not until now.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Eddie asks with a slight disbelief, “That’s why my phone is constantly blowing up? I thought it was just a bunch of spam bullshit. God, you’re evil.”

You shrug, a devious smile spreading across your face as the elevator pulls to a stop in the parking garage, you step out first.

“Watch your back, Eddie Munson.” You warn, “You try to destroy my career and I’ll take yours down twice as fast.”

It’s an empty threat, but Eddie knows you're capable. 

“There’s no way this is going to work.” You grumble, hands shoved deep into the pockets of your sweater, held snug under the arm of Eddie, who’s trademark leather jacket stretched over your back—it made your neck itch, shoulders wiggling slightly in discomfort. His sunglasses tipped over his nose, eyes scanning the surrounding streets, catching glimpse of a few poorly sneaking paparazzi, cameras posed at the ready. 

Eddie wasn’t approached often in public, mostly because he’d kept up a reputation that it wasn’t a good idea—he liked to keep his private life separated from whatever this life was, and it was clear; to his friends, his family, and anyone who knew who he was. People respected it to a degree, but by agreeing to this, it felt like he was throwing that all away. He didn’t even know why—the potential benefits sounded nice momentarily, but what was he really gaining from any of it—other than eternal misery from having to deal with your constant negativity toward the situation. 

“I’d think twice about that.” He motions sneakily toward your left and you see it too, instantly freezing at the sight, like you’d been caught—which you had, but not for the reasons you were feeling. “Chill out,” Eddie says quietly, “just walk.”

You fisted your hands in your pocket, chill air stinging your face. You weren’t nearly as famous as Eddie—but enough to be noticed, it was weird to not be approached, in fact, it was almost like people were avoiding you. Eddie really did have a presence about him—maybe it wasn’t a terrible idea to keep him around if he repelled everyone so easily. 

“Remember what they said,” Eddie comments into your hair, lips pressed against the shell of your ear, subtly posing for the photo as the camera clicked in the distance, “one kiss for the shot and we can go, but it has to be good.”

“This is ridiculous.” 

Eddie laughed at your pessimism, stopping at the crosswalk. You couldn’t bare the thought of making the first move, too riddled with nerves to pull it off believably, so Eddie takes the lead, nudging your face with the hand draped over your shoulder.

Your face tilts toward his, his fingers tilting your head up slightly, lips pressed against his in a chaste, formal kiss—nothing different from the kisses you’ve had on screen. It wasn’t all the bad, actually—and if things remained like this, maybe you could handle it. 

“Hold it.” Eddie mumbles against your lips, your eyes fallen shut as he stills—surely they’ve gotten the picture by now, but you hear the familiar click of a phone camera and you quickly realize why; Eddie really planned to sell it and it was working.

You pull back with a fake, sweet smile, eyes riddled with a restrained amount of disgust that only Eddie could see—his eyes returned the sentiment, pulling back with a toothy grin, tongue peeking out between his teeth slightly. The act continues halfway down the block—light touches, looks of endearment as the cameras push in now, less restrained, questions being thrown at you haphazardly. 

The hold Eddie takes on you is real, sturdy—it felt protective and safe, and truly he felt that way. He knew how vicious and bizarre paparazzi and people could get, keeping you close by and away from grabbing hands and eager flashes of the camera. It all ramped up quickly, a crowd gathering down the busy road of the shopping mall. Eddie ignored it all, leading you toward the designated black SUV at the end of street, gently shoving you inside to follow after, breathing a sigh of relief when you were both finally inside. 

He taps on the window—it’s his driver, because of course he had one. “We’re good. Take us back.” He says simply, hands squeezed together in his lap as he fidgets again, something you couldn’t help but notice. He did it often.

“God, that was horrible.” You complain under your breath, head resting back against the seat, eyes pulled up toward the roof of the car. “And super fucking overwhelming.”

“Never dealt with that before?” Eddie asks curiously, eyes glancing up toward you for a brief moment. “Look—I was trying to make it seem real enough, sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking over at him with a blank gaze, his expression just as unreadable. “I have dealt with it—but not on that level. It's almost like inducing a panic attack almost, feeling like you can’t breathe.”

You pause for a moment, feeling a slight tinge of guilt.

“It was believable,” You admit, “I didn’t mind it, it’s like kissing a co-star, I guess.”

“It is acting after all,” Eddie shrugs, “you’re pretty good at it, I assume.”

“Have you never—“ You linger on the question, not wanting to sound too self-centered, but you feel obligated since you know so much about him, whether by force or by your own guilty self-indulgence. 

“I barely have time to relax.” Eddie admits. “I eat, sleep, do my work and it repeats. I haven’t taken a vacation since I started.”

“What?” You ask with an immense amount of shock, “Are you serious—“

There's a ding of a notification on your phone. A few seconds later, another. Then Eddie’s, his hand pulling it from his pocket roughly. Your eyes lock, fingers swiping at the screen simultaneously as you hold your breath, not entirely sure what to expect. 

“Well,” Eddie begins.

Met with a similarly toned, “Oh my god.”

Both of you glanced at the article, smack on the cover of one of the biggest celebrity publications in the online word, headline reading—

INFAMOUS ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON HAS FOUND NEW LOVE IN STARLET ACTRESS?

The article is plastered with picture after picture, but the one that really mattered, the kiss—it was right there, front and center. It was gaining traction quickly, the sudden influx of your social media being bombarded with notifications.

“You might want to turn them off,” Eddie suggests, scrolling haphazardly through his phone, like it was just another day, “otherwise your phone is gonna be unusable.”

You scroll through the list of trending tags, eyes practically bulging out of your head at the number one spot. Albeit, it was just Eddie’s name—but every post was a picture of both of you, snuggled up close, people wondering and listing off a mountain of questions.

To be fair, you weren’t nearly as well known as Eddie—so most of it was geared toward finding out exactly who you were. But, the other questions revolved around how long this had been going on, how it had managed to fly under the radar, and just how serious you two were—it was all comical, in retrospect, knowing what you knew. 

“How are you so normal about this?” You ask with a pitch to your voice, dealing with the increasing flurry of texts from friends and family suddenly interested in your personal life. “These people are fucking quick—holy shit.”

“It’s incredible how quickly things change, isn’t it?” Eddie asks knowingly, having been at the brunt of it multiple times. “Give it a few hours, it will die out a little—not by much, but it’ll be more manageable.”

“I didn’t really think everything out this far.” You admit, trying to think up responses to people you care about, people you never planned to lie to. Your fingers hover, but nothing comes out. In a moment of vulnerability, you look at him.

“What do I do?”

Eddie smirks softly, tossing his phone to the side. He motions with his forefingers, beckoning your phone toward his hand. You hesitate for a half second before handing it over, letting him work away at the keyboard, typing furiously. 

“There,” He says with finality when his fingers finally come to stop, placing the phone back into your waiting hands, “that should work.”

‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ll talk more when I’m ready.’

You drop your phone, giving him a defeated look, face pulled down in a frown.

“My family is going to think I’m hiding a pregnancy if I send that,” You tell him honestly, “I need something less serious sounding.”

“You’ll figure it out,” He assures you, “Act it up, right?”

“But, this is my life.”

“Not when you’re with me,” Eddie counters, proving a point, “we’re just playing an exaggerated version of ourselves, if you think about—you know, maybe I could take on acting after this, depending on how believable I can make it.”

He’s joking, but you can’t be bothered to laugh.

“Shit—maybe even a guest spot on your show.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” You smile meanly, writing out a quick dismissive text to the eagerly waiting recipients in your phone, “I’d never let that happen.”

“I can be very persuasive.” Eddie responds, much to your ultimate dismay, wishing he’d stay quiet. “I mean, you’re kinda mimicking my life in a way, although there’s no way you could handle that lifestyle—actors are always entitled.”

Your mouth falls open, an offense taken by his line of conversation. 

“It’s a good story line,” You reply defensively, “I can play it up better than you ever could, regardless of it being real.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise slightly, as if proving his point by your response. 

You side-eye him with annoyance, arms crossed over your chest as you recline back, suffering through the long, bumpy ride back to the office, dying to be out of Eddie’s presence.

“I’m not entitled.” You say softly, “I don’t think you understand how hard it is for women—we can’t even try to defend ourselves.”

And he doesn’t know, he can’t even compare—he’s always gotten off relatively easy, a gentle slap on the wrist. He wouldn’t even be able to imagine half of the problems you’ve had to deal with. But, that’s just it—they weren’t his problems. Just as similar as his problems not being your own; you couldn’t be more polar opposite, at this point. 

“I have this weird feeling.” You tell him after a long silence, hesitantly.

“Like things are about to get crazy?” Eddie answers for you, feeling that impending tension and doom of yours and his reality. 

You nod slightly.

“Me too.”

Unfortunately, it was only the beginning of a dangerous, winding road that would upend your life, career, and everything you had left to hold onto.

The media does swarm significantly, overwhelmingly.

It’s two weeks post kiss picture and the growth on your accounts and attention in your life had turned into a frenzy, some sickness that you weren’t prepared to handle. But, it’s the big night of the premiere for your show—the cast, producers, huge names in acting, and more importantly, all of Corroded Coffin would be in attendance. As far as you knew, Eddie hadn’t told a soul, neither had you.

But, neither of you had talked much to each other in return, aside from the occasional ridiculous headline that gave you both a good laugh —unfortunately, with such a big appearance tonight, you took the initial leap and texted him first.

Eddie calls you then, his contact name showing up on your phone, awaiting a tense FaceTime. You swipe to answer, catching the dizzying fury of hands as they worked around him, plucking at his well-formed hair, curls more defined than usual. He fiddles with his sleeve, alerting you to the fact that he wasn’t even holding his phone. He had a well-oiled team working behind the scenes, making him look presentable. Meanwhile, you sat curled on your bed, still shuffling through a small selection of appropriate outfits; it felt ridiculous.

“How are you not ready yet?” Eddie asks with a lilt of annoyance, despite his notorious mark of being late, whether on purpose or accidentally. “We have to be there in an hour.”

“My hair’s done—my makeup,” You motion toward your face obviously, “I’m just stuck on trying to pick out something to match.”

“Where’s your team?” Eddie asks, “Like, your stylist and shit?”

“Eddie,” You deadpan, “I don’t have one. I do this stuff myself.”

“Why?” His face pulls up in confusion, unable to grasp the concept of it. “Nevermind—show me what you’ve got.”

You glance at the phone with a fair amount of shyness. You didn’t have anything, nothing that would work well enough. A black, slick suit over a sheer shirt, the smallest sliver of his chest peeking through—trademark rings shoved on his fingers; he never took them off.

“Is it too late to cancel?” You ask with a grown, Eddie eyes turning up in frustration, nearly rolling back in his head. He laughs, pointing off camera somewhere.

“Do you still have that rack with you?” He asks an unseen person, “Yeah—no, further down. Not that one—no—yeah, that’s it.”

You watched with apt attention, his mysterious mind at work. He yanks the phone away from whoever was holding it, pulling at the cigarette tucked behind his ear, shoving it between his lips. There’s a lot of shuffling and then an eye-blinding brightness as he steps outside, hair windblown as he squints to stare at his screen.

“I’ll send you my location,” He tells you, a familiar flick of a lighter as he leans down to light the end of his cigarette, a slow drag as his lips pucker around it, “don’t be late—we have to arrive together, so we’ll leave from here.”

“You’re really bossy,” You grumble, shoving yourself from the bed and toeing on your shoe—Eddie smirks, “stop that.”

“Just hurry.” He tells you lightheartedly, swiftly ending the call.

The ride to his place is short, but grueling—stuck in the middle of some of the worst traffic you’ve ever experienced, it didn’t help that he wasn’t far from the venue, the chaos was evident and only made you panic further.

When you finally make it into his long, winding driveway, it’s like a small moment of peace, sitting in the driver’s seat of your car, one deep breath after another. The silence is quickly interrupted by a text from Eddie, another impatient reminder.

You sigh audibly, making the quick trip to his front door and pressing on the doorbell with a poorly manicured finger—it was something you overlooked, but you didn’t think it would matter much—all anyone really cared about was Eddie Munson. 

You weren’t expecting to be face to face with him, waiting for one of his assistants to answer the door, but now he’s standing there, a smile plastered over his face. 

You pull your face up in subtle disgust, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m trying to get into character,” Eddie replies with a soft chuckle, motioning a grandiose wave to lead you inside, “—you should too.”

“I will after I see what you’re making me wear.” You comment absently, glancing around his home curiously. 

Home was…generous. It was a mansion, a massive step up from your downtown apartment—you couldn’t even imagine the amount of rooms, expensive furniture, pointless items. 

Eddie noticed, “I’d give you a tour.” He tells you honestly, trying carefully not to crease his suit, expensive loafers tapping against the intricate tile, “But, we don’t have a lot of time.”

You make a small noise, Eddie can’t decipher it. He’s handed the dress during your distraction—a sheer dress with a black bodice covering your more intimate parts, long sleeves cuffing at the wrists, nearly floor length as it led a slit up the side. You turn to look, eyeing it suspiciously. The heels are just as intimidating, a mess of lace that you were bound to get tangled up in. 

“Trust me.” He says, eyes glancing up at you pointedly. “They’ll help.”

He nods at the small team of people—stylists and assistants, primed and ready to go. 

“So, you’re dressing me then?” You ask with a soft laugh, “I didn’t know you were into fashion like that.”

“I’m not,” He shakes his head, “not really—but I’ve learned what works—now go, seriously.”

And for once, you don’t put up a fight, letting the strangers lead you off to an enclosed room.

They work quickly, managing to somehow fix your half-assed attempt at hair and makeup—you weren’t used to being grand or extra, just barely making a statement, it’s how you skated by so easily, never drawing attention to yourself when it wasn’t needed. But with Eddie, that wasn’t possible. 

There’s a soft knock on the door after the fury ends, things finally calming down, “Yeah?” Your voice is soft, nervous.

“The driver’s here,” Eddie says behind the door. “Is she ready?” 

You huff to yourself in amusement at his lack of addressing you, “She’s ready.” You reply snarkily, hearing the faint turn of the doorknob, his full figure coming into view.

Eddie looks smug, proud of himself. “Don’t say it—“ You begin, taking his outstretched hand hesitantly, letting him do a slow turn to take in the full outfit.

Eddie shakes his head in indifference, “I wasn’t,” He tells you, “These lips are sealed.”

You weren’t seeking any type of approval, but you couldn’t ignore that nagging feeling of hearing his opinion, wondering how loud his thoughts were—if they were as harsh as the things that fell from his mouth.

And the reality doesn’t hit you until you’re pulling up at the event, an overwhelming crowd already gathered along the guardrails—it wasn’t your first time experiencing it, but that attention felt magnified, every single movement being analyzed. Eddie seems calm, as expected, and you hate it.

Eddie speaks to your nerves, watching you scoot near the edge of the seat, squeezed in beside him in the backseat as you peered out the window.

“You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to,” He reminds you softly, arms slung over the back of your seat, “they’re like vultures—but they’ll only take what you give them.”

You avert your eyes away, pushing back in the seat until you hit his arm, jumping slightly at the contact. He pulls away, trying to respect your boundaries. Despite your mutual friends and awkward run-ins, you two were practically strangers. He didn’t want to overstep where he shouldn’t, even if the situation was unorthodox and special, he still had enough self awareness. 

“I’ll stay with you, if you want.” He offered—he wasn’t sure if it was necessarily allowed, given his obligations to make appearances with his bandmates, but he didn’t care too much. “Just say the word.”

You nod slowly, “Okay—okay, yeah.”

You weren’t prepared for the magnitude, the door opening to a flurry of flashing camera lights and loud noises, it was a storm of rapid media attendees and celebrities. But, you mask it somehow, by some goddamn miracle, and push on. 

Eddie leads you down the carpet initially, arm hung loosely around your hip, rings grazing the inside of your wrist. It jerks you back to reality, forcing a joyful smile on your face—you play into it, fingers hugging over the outside of his own hand, dancing along the jewelry carefully. You could fake a smile easily, but words—you were at a loss.

It was the last thing you two cared about, a backstory. But, it was also the most important—and while Eddie may be an expert at bullshitting his way through life, you were terrible. 

Eddie fakes a small kiss against your temple, nose burying into your hair as he speaks loudly, still barely audible over the noise. 

“Still with me?” He asks.

You turn to him with a sickly sweet smile, nodding with a force. 

Eddie scoffs in amusement, hand dipping down to your back slowly. “Good—get ready.” He instructs, not giving you much of a chance to prepare before he’s dipping you slightly, leg pulled up around his waist, fingers held carefully along your thigh as he pulls you in, kisses you deep, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

Eddie lifts you up just as quick and you’re forced to hide your shock and abhorrent disapproval at his antics—it was fully his personality, wild and shocking—but it worked, the crowd cheering with even more intensity. 

“You’re dead.” You smile kindly, still reeling from your racing heart, “Never do that again.”

Eddie laughs tensely, arm finding its place around you again, leading you toward the line of interviewers with haste, ready for the assault of obligated professional and personal questions. 

You’re great at talking about your work—it surprises him and all he can do is watch in stunned silence, praising not only the show but his work; it didn’t take much research to gather up most of his discography and background, it was work after all—and you were damn good at it. 

But, it inevitably hits you.

“So, the world is curious; how did this become a thing?”

This being you and Eddie, together, as a couple—a thing.

“We’re trying to keep things private,” Eddie offers nicely, a stark contrast to his abrasive manner, “but we met a while back—and stuff took off from there. I don’t want to speak for my lady, but we’re happy—that’s all that matters.”

You take a silent breath of relief, quickly recovering to add, “Really happy.” You say, voice filled with a fake sense of adoration, grasping tightly at the jacket of his suit. 

The rest of the night is filled with the same monotonous questions, repeating yourself constantly, but it’s your job and you can deal with it—but to say that you weren’t relieved when you finally stepped foot into the theater adjoining the event; well, that would be a lie. 

It all seemed believable enough, and you weren’t feeling hostile toward Eddie in the moment, despite his outrageous act of kissing you for the public, bound to make headlines the next morning, if not already—it was all easier than you expected and if things kept up like this, it would all be over in no time. 

“I’m getting weird deja vu right now,” Eddie speaks absently, following closely behind you into the packed theater, “—this is—“

“The same place you met me in two years ago,” You tell him, turning haphazardly over your shoulder to look at him, loose ringlets curls following over his face as he leaned in to hear you, “—and then tried to turn me into a random hookup.”

“Oh, like you’ve never done it,” He bickers in response, defending his previous actions steadfast—frankly, it was a little embarrassing that he thought his game was that good, “why are you so bitter about it?”

“I’m not,” You laugh slightly, “you were hammered and couldn’t even look at me straight—I ended up going home with someone else that night.”

Eddie balks slightly at the admission, earning a dramatic eye roll from you in return. 

“Women can have casual sex too,” You remind him, head still thrown over you shoulder as you looked at him, “it’s not just me—“

Eddie was too distracted by you to witness the collision at first or even prevent it, bodies colliding harshly as he reached out to grab you, pulling you to him.

The unassuming victim in this situation isn’t even you—it’s the opposite person who crashed into you, a man—younger, meeker, clearly intimidated by Eddie’s presence as he backs away quickly, barking a squeaky apology. It isn’t until you turn to see Eddie’s face that you realize why, his face scrunched up in anger.

“Sorry,” You quickly apologize, pushing away from him to squeeze through the aisle and take your seat, he follows silently behind you, “I’m really uncoordinated, obviously.”

“It’s not you,” Eddie brushes you off slightly, “—kid’s been following us all night, he’s probably a journalist.”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, so Eddie elaborates.

“He’s either trying to get information on me,” Which seemed likely, “or you,” less likely, “or on our relationship.”

“I thought we were doing a good job,” You reply honestly, watching Eddie’s eyes linger out into the crowd, landing on something in particular, your eyes follow—Eddie was good at this stuff, it freaked you out too much. The younger kid was staring back for a moment, before averting his eyes in slight shame at having been caught, “I guess not.”

“People’s jobs are to pick at this shit,” Shit being—you and him, “you always have to be aware—always.”

You shuffle in your seat, attempting to scoot closer, lights turning down—you can barely see Eddie now, just a faint glow against the outline of his face. 

“That’s good—I’m going to put my arm around you,” Eddie instructs softly, “look—when we’re out in public, we have to be on. There’s always going to be someone watching.”

“You make it seem like you’ve done this before.” You comment with a faint hint of snark, leaning into his touch with guarded weight, “how do you know so much?”

“I’ve never not had a relationship ruined by the public,” He says admittedly, “you pick up on things.”

You don’t press on the admission or let your eyes linger, face held steadily angled at the screen as you spoke. 

“Well, at least one of us is a professional at faking it.”

There’s a deeper meaning to it all, something just below the surface, begging to be scratched at, Eddie shrugs it off. He gives a small head shake, a friendly laugh, and the rest of the night is spent in tense silence—he’s never been more eager to be cooped up in his home, away from the limelight and peering eyes. 

Fortunately for you, that night is the best bout of sleep you ever receive, in the post bliss of a high note in your life and career—it’s like things couldn’t get better, but surely they had to level out at some point.

They do, sadly. Your phone buzzes off the bedside table, clambering to the floor with a loud slap, it startled you awake as you fished blindly for it..

Another call from Eddie—he clearly hated texting, calling you at nearly eight in the morning. You rubbed at your tired eyes and swiped to answer, greeted with the deep, gruff voice of his. It shouldn’t stop you in your tracks the way that it does, but you can’t help it.

“Why are you calling me this early?” You complain, shoving your wild bed-head hair out of your face, squinting at the screen. “Are you throwing in the towel?”

“No,” He says with annoyance, “have you not checked online at all?”

“Eddie—I just woke up,” You tell him, staring at his face through the screen. He was still in bed too, shirtless from what you could see, hair mussed and messy from sleep, “what’s happening now?”

“I’ll send you the link,” He says, voice muffled as he shifts around, you receive a message a few seconds later, clicking in the hyperlink that brings you to a page, headline plastered in large black text—

ALL FOR SHOW? DATING FOR RATINGS AND VIEWS, ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON OF CORRODED COFFIN CAUGHT IN ANOTHER WILD SCANDAL.

“You’re fucking kidding—” You groan, scrolling down the page.

“Scroll to the bottom,” Eddie tells you, gaze boring through the screen as he watches you, you glanced up sparingly, “do you see it?”

It dawns on you then, “That fucking guy,” You shout excessively, sitting up in your bed, “what the fuck is wrong with people?”

“Do you understand why it has to be taken so seriously now?” Eddie asks, like a soft scolding. Your eyes narrow but he continues, “I don’t care if you hate me—but we agreed to this, we have to make it work.”

“So, what?” You ask flippantly, hand thrown down dramatically against your blanket, “Do I move in with you and start following you around like some pathetic housewife?”

Eddie makes a face of faux consideration, but he quickly wipes it away when he sees your face, scrunched up in frustration. 

“I’m going on tour soon,” Eddie explains, “so, we won’t even be around each other much anyways and you’ll have an excuse—but—maybe—we might go on a date or something.”

“Or something?” You ask with an emphasis on the word.

Despite your obvious distaste for him, you didn’t agree to anything other than what was necessary—public appearances, interviews, that was it. Dates—absolutely fucking not.

“Something to cease the doubt,” Eddie explains, moving to prop himself up on his elbow, the phone shifts and is propped up against something, his chest shifting as he leaned over to grab at something—his cigarettes, you realize when he comes back into frame, “a date—or a sex tape if you really want to cut all the shit out.”

Your silence is deafening and Eddie chuckles loudly, lighting the cigarette tucked between his lips.

“I’m fucking with you, sweetheart.” Eddie says warmly, eyes squinting as he blew out the smoke, you tensed as if it would reach you, the small endearment making your stomach twist in annoyance, “I’m just saying a date might help, out in public, just us—“

“We need to figure out a backstory,” You interrupt, “I can’t keep basing everything off of your lame excuse of ‘not wanting to talk about’,” Your finger raises in air quotes, mocking his deep voice.

Eddie makes a soft noise, a silent laugh as his body shakes.

“Why are you laughing?” You ask, bothered by his lack of concern.

“Nothing,” He says lowly, “I’ll talk to you later—I’ve got a meeting in an hour.”

“Whatever,” You reply halfheartedly, “just figure it out.”

You hang up with a cold, brisk goodbye, forcing yourself to begin your day following the rude awakening.

It’s spent mostly in long, grueling phone calls—meetings with agents, adjusting your schedule, all the necessary boring stuff that you hated about this lifestyle—interrupted briefly by the occasional texts from Eddie.

The first one is fine, you’re not really bothered by it.

But then they’re more frequent, less pointed toward a certain objective, and maybe Eddie was just attempting small talk, but you really didn’t have the time.

You huff a loud sigh, placing your phone face down on the table, browsing through computer to answer emails, typing away furiously when another buzz comes through, breaking your focus completely. 

“I’m going to kill him.” You mumble to yourself, flipping the phone over to glance at the message, typing out a snarky reply. 

Okay, maybe it was a bit much—but you couldn’t be bothered to care, annoyed with the situation you’d wrapped yourself up in, even if it was partly your fault.

Eddie never responds and it helps you feel satisfied that you’ve finally gotten in the last word—unfortunately, it’s short-lived.

You sent your address to him earlier that day, knowing there was no way to weasel your way out of the date—it was all necessary, it’s what you kept telling yourself. 

Your head is shoved in your closet, searching for a pair of shoes when the voice startles you from behind, causing you to bump your head painfully.

“Ow, fuck,” You wince, pulling away to peer behind you, face falling immediately, “Dude, what are you doing in here?”

“Your assistant let me in,” He answers simply, motioning with his thumb to the door, “—they said you’d be up here.”

“So you couldn’t wait downstairs?” 

Eddie shakes his head, reaching in his pocket for something.

“Here,” He says, pulling the dangling chain from his pocket and placing it in your hand, fingers wrapped firmly around your limp arm, “put it on.”

“Eddie, it’s just a necklace—no one’s going to care.”

His face tightens but his eyes soften, almost pleading.

“God—fine,” You relent, pulling at the clasp to wrap it around your neck, fumbling with the chain as you tried to connect it blindly—it was more difficult that you expected, “fuck—I can’t—“

Eddie holds his hands up expectantly, awaiting your request for help. You sigh softly, turning your back to him as he reaches for the chain, your hand wrapping in your hair to lift it out of the way. His fingers drag along your skin gently, clipping the chain together with ease. He adjusts the chain slightly until it sits comfortably around your neck. You glance down, watching as the puck settles in the dip of your breasts. The pick is engraved with a small E, unnoticeable to anyone but you and him. 

“Wait—is this one you actually use, like, when you perform?” You ask hesitantly, turning to face him.

His eyes glance down briefly—normally you’d feel uncomfortable with someone staring directly at your breasts, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest and you hate that. 

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie answers, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I figured it was just some cheap one you bought for show.”

Eddie huffs slightly, “That hurts, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that.” You mumble, turning away to reach for your shoes. “—and you can’t get mad at me if I lose this. I’m terrible at keeping track of things.”

“You won’t lose it.” He reminds you, putting a little too much hope in your abilities. “You ready?”

You slip on the converse, opting for something more casual and discreet—you could blend in quite easily, like a chameleon. But Eddie, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Have you ever thought about cutting it?” You ask curiously, flicking at a lock of hair that rested on his shoulder. “Maybe it would be easier to go unnoticed.”

“I’m known for my hair,” Eddie replies, leading the way down the stairs, “why would I do that?”

“That’s exactly why,” You shrug, “your life would be so much easier.”

“People would be heartbroken, you know.”

And as ridiculous as it sounds, they would be. 

“Yet somehow, the world will go on.”

The drive is longer than you anticipated, not that you had much to go on to begin with—Eddie was being unnaturally secretive and he opted to drive himself, which felt even more intimate—it took out the professional aspect completely, but maybe that was what Eddie wanted. 

Eddie noticed your watchful eyes, clearing his throat subtly.

“You can stop acting like I’m trying to kidnap you.”

You shake your head at the absurdity, replying kindly.

“I’m just curious where we’re going, that’s all.”

“Oh—well, it’s good, I promise,” He smiles slightly, “my uncle took me here as a kid, I know the owners pretty well.”

“This isn’t a real date,” You remind him, “we agree on that, right?”

“Obviously,” He offers a smug smirk, hand tightening around the steering wheel, “—I already know I’m not your type anyways.”

“My type?” You mock harshly, “I have a type?”

“Are you asking me to answer that for you?”

“I mean—I didn’t know I had a type, so I’d love to hear it.”

And just like that, that small moment of blissful peace is ruined. You two couldn’t even pretend that you liked each other. 

“Nevermind,” He laughs airily, “it doesn’t matter.”

You stare at him heatedly, legs crossed tightly over the other as you stiffened. 

“You’re so fucking annoying.” You bite at him.

“Likewise.”

Eddie turns it on like a switch, his act—as soon as he parks the car around the back he’s a different person entirely. You weren’t sure how the paparazzi found you, but it wasn’t completely unfathomable. They’d started camping outside of your apartment building, waiting for the opportunity to bombard you with questions and flashing cameras—you were smart to turn it on to, letting Eddie take the lead as he opened the door for you, grasping your hand to help you, wrapping his arm over your shoulder as he led you inside and away from the slowly growing audience of people.

“Eddie,” A voice booms down the hallway, a man dressed in a nicely kept chef’s uniform, “how have you been?”

Eddie smiles at the man, shaking his hand firmly. “Good, great,” Eddie answers indecisively, “I can’t complain.”

“And your uncle?” The man asks inquisitively, “I haven’t seen him in a few months.”

“He likes to hermit himself,” Eddie replies with a friendly chuckle, “I’ll bring him in next time.”

“Ah—no rush,” The owner answers, “—I see you’ve brought your lovely lady, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.”

The ma’am feels too professional but you smile anyways, shaking his outstretched hand. “You too.” You reply with the same intensity, glancing up at Eddie’s watchful eyes.

“I’ve got your table ready, follow me.” He instructs, your hand tightens around Eddie’s instinctively, allowing him to guide you down the hall and out into the dining area—it was mostly quiet, more high-end than you were used to and intimidating nonetheless.

You take your seats, order your drinks—and like Eddie suspected, you settle on a burger, hoping to maintain some sense of normality.

“I can’t understand half the stuff on the menu.” You tell him honestly, glancing up at him from where his face is buried in his phone. “You really used to come here as a kid?”

“It’s changed a lot,” Eddie explains, closing his phone and sliding it back into his pocket, “—I actually own half of the place, it’s part of some of the property I invest in, but yeah.”

“That’s a little—“ Your voice wavers, biting back a smug smile, “aren’t you obligated to think it’s good then, since you own it?”

Eddie laughs slightly, shaking his head as his eyes drift off to the side, glancing around the place leisurely. He’s so desperate to switch the topic that he can’t help it, “So, how did we meet?”

“Oh, right,” You smile, drumming your fingers against the table lightly, smiling at the waiter as they drop off your drinks, “you know—it wouldn’t feel that far off to just play up our first time meeting each other. I get that it was probably a super embarrassing moment for you—“

“It wasn’t—“

You ignore him, “—and maybe we could just say we met at one of your after parties, you asked me on a date, the rest is history.”

“One, it wasn’t embarrassing,” Eddie holds his finger up, “and two, I could’ve came up with that.”

You take a sip of the beer, foamed up in the pint glass. Eddie follows suit, eyes tense as he stares you down.

“It works though, right?”

Eddie shrugs indifferently. 

“You’re impossible.” You sigh, trying to remember that you were definitely being watched and that your facial expressions were important, you fixed yourself accordingly, throwing on a fake smile. 

“You act like you’ve never been in a relationship before.” Eddie counters, chugging half the beer in one go. It was going to be a long night, clearly. 

“I haven’t.” You answer honestly, Eddie nearly choked at the admission. “I mean, I’ve hooked up with a few people, don’t get me wrong—but dating in this line of work, it’s horrendous.”

You had a point, Eddie was all too familiar with it.

“You’re, what—twenty five?” Eddie asks, a confirming nod in return. “Not even high school, college—anything?”

“I never went to college,” You admit, “and I wasn’t interested in dating in high school—I’m not interested in dating at all, actually.”

“Then why did you agree?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” You stress, leaning forward over the table with a hushed voice. “If I had said no, there’s no telling what could’ve happened when you left the room. I would’ve lost my job, I’m assuming.”

“They can’t do that.” Eddie replies with a thick tone of naivety. 

“They can,” You nod, “and they will—let’s just hope the ratings were good enough that they won’t pull the show completely.”

Eddie pulls back slightly—he’s never considered your side, where you were coming from or feeling about the situation. His life was set, made, he had enough financial stability to last him a lifetime, but you—you were fresh-faced and new to all of it, an unwilling victim. 

“Look, we’re in this together.” Eddie assures you, hand reaching across to intertwine with yours—you two were nestled by an open window, so you could only assume it was for show. “We can be friendly about it, at least. I mean—I don’t have any reason to hate you.”

“Other than me turning you down.” You joke, conversation stalling as your food arrived—it was like heaven, truly. Eddie had been right on the money about all of it. You moan at the first bite, the second, to the point where Eddie has to physically stop you.

“Are you okay?” He asks with a chuckle, having finished his first beer and now onto the second—you were nearing the same.

“I haven’t had food like this in a while.” You tell him. “Sorry—“

Eddie shakes his head firmly, “Nono—I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

There’s a calmness that washes over you both, sharing small talk over your meal, meaningless conversation that neither of you would remember when you went to sleep that night—Eddie orders a third beer, a fourth, and you couldn’t help but pile them on too. You weren’t sure how sore the subject was of his stint with rehab and everything that came with it, but you trusted him enough that he had it under control.

You hum slightly, poking at the shared dessert.

“What?” Eddie asks with a mouthful of cake, covering his mouth haphazardly. 

“Can I take a picture of you?” You ask oddly, Eddie doesn’t know where the inquiry comes from, but he agrees. You smile, pulling out your phone to focus on him—the camera flashes, bright light shining in his face as he squints, a half grin still plastered over his face. “Shit—sorry, I forgot I had the flash on.” You laugh lightly.

Eddie doesn’t question your motive, but it feels better to explain, even through your drunken, giggly haze.

“It’s for your contact picture—and for my socials.” You admit, “It’s not official until you post about it, right?”

And you hate yourself for the fluttering feeling that shoots through your body at his smirk, faint but noticeable. A lot of your anger and frustration was geared toward the tenseness that you felt around the situation—you didn’t hate Eddie, per day. You hated the position you’d been forced into and the way it had to be handled; Eddie was still overwhelmingly annoying at times, but the edge that alcohol took off made it easier. 

Not that you wanted to be drunk every time you were around him, that seemed illogical, but it helped you realize that it wasn’t all his fault or yours, it was just the reality of the situation.

“Are you busy next month?” Eddie asks.

“Uh—not really, I’m wrapping most of my obligations up this month and that’s as far as I have planned—why?”

“You should go on tour with me.” He suggests and you nearly choke on your drink, liquid spilling down your chin. You cough harshly, covering your mouth. “—or not?”

“No—I’m just—what? Why would you want me to go with you?”

“We’re stuck in this situation at least until the end of the year, right? Visiting me on tour seems disgustingly loving enough that people wouldn’t have any doubt about us.”

You make a face of amused disgust, laughing at the idea but also hating that he was actually right—it was the perfect idea.

“What?” Eddie asks with a chuckle, poking at the small bit of dessert left, he lifts up with his fork, motioning toward you. “Do you want it?”

You shrug, letting him bring the fork to your mouth, lips closing gently over the utensil. If it was for the cameras, you couldn’t tell, your eyes glued to his as let the subtle art of intimacy happen, his gaze flitting down to linger at your mouth.

You pull back with a grin, chewing thoughtfully. 

“It’s a really good idea,” You admit begrudgingly, “and I hate myself for actually wanting to do it.”

“Hey—my music isn’t that bad.” Eddie says defensively.

“I wouldn’t know—I’ve never listened to it.”

That seems highly unlikely, an act of absurdity, a crime against humanity. Eddie couldn’t believe it, but it was the truth. He looks offended as he sets his fork down, grabbing for the final sip of his drink. 

“Oh my god—“ You gasp, “you really are conceded—Eddie, are you serious?”

“Not even one song?”

“No,” You answer seriously, “I mean—I know what you play and that you sing but I’ve never actually listened to a song. I told you—it’s not my thing.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Eddie says petulantly, turning his nose up jokingly. “My own girlfriend, that hurts.”

You roll your eyes lazily, “Shut up.” You respond warmly.

It makes Eddie laugh—a genuine, deep laugh that you’ve never heard before; maybe the alcohol was getting to him too.

When you’re finally finished, Eddie leads you out the same way you entered, avoiding the mass of cameras awaiting you outside, managing to get you inside the car with minimal commotion, pulling off before things turn hectic. It’s the one thing Eddie has learned to master—that and he scared most people off. 

“They never stop.” You say into the quiet rumble of the car, engine revving as he sped down the street.

“It’ll get better,” Eddie says, “—or more manageable, at least.”

You hiccup, “They camp outside my apartment most days—in shifts and stuff, there’s—there’s always someone out there.”

“Do you have security or anything?”

It was another luxury you weren’t accustomed to. You shake your head slightly, peeking up at his burning gaze.

“Are you sure you should be driving?” You ask hesitantly, “We were drinking a little more than we should have.”

“I wouldn’t have tried if I wasn’t sure,” He assures you, holding his hand out to showcase his steady fingers, rings knocking together slightly, “—see, I’m good.”

You weren’t sure how that was supposed to help, but you shrugged it off, grabbing at his extended hand. 

“Do you ever take these off?” You ask with a short laugh, twisting the jewelry around his fingers, noting the tiny cuts along his fingertips. 

Eddie huffs an offended laugh, “Yes.” He snatches his hand away gently, returning it to the wheel. “I shower and dress myself too, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

You nod thoughtfully, “Damn—you read my mind.” You reply smugly, silenced growing over as Eddie pulled into the parking garage to your building, coming to a gentle stop. You hesitate leaving, wondering if you should say anything—even a simple goodbye.

Eddie speaks first, sensing whatever emotion you were giving off—you couldn’t even put a finger on it. 

“I can walk you upstairs if you want,” He offers, “if you’re worried.”

“Please?” You ask softly.

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate.

Eddie leads you up with a hand on the small of your back, the dip above your ass, and it feels like fire through your clothing, his touch burning hot. You fumble with the key at your lock, feeling the buzz spread through your body, eyes squinting to concentrate. Eddie never leaves your side, scooting even closer when someone passes down the hallway—their looks linger, but they don’t say anything, not with the stern gaze Eddie shoots back.

“Stop scaring people,” You mumble, finally fitting the key into the lock and turning it. Eddie follows in behind you, clicking the door shut silently, “—thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie slips your wallet into your hand, something you’d shoved into his hand earlier while you searched for your keys, almost forgetting about it. You snatch it without a word, pressing it down against the counter. 

“Are you good then?” Eddie asks, nodding toward the door. “If you are I’ll just—“

“Do you want a drink?” You ask randomly, already sifting through your cabinet, reaching in for a wine glass.

It’s almost like Eddie was waiting for it, agreeing eagerly.

“Yeah—yeah, sure.”

You smile knowingly, reaching for another glass. You place them on the counter gently—Eddie roamed around aimlessly, taking in the space, glancing over occasionally as you sifted through your copious bottles of wine. 

“This is cute.” Eddie says, holding up a small picture frame. It was you and Steve as young kids, young enough that you two weren’t even communicating in full sentences yet—Eddie could spot Harrington anywhere; it was a gift.

“Our parents are friends,” You explain without prompting, carefully filling up the glasses, “I taught him how to walk, according to my parents.”

“That explains a lot.” Eddie laughs softly. 

“Here,” You nudge him gently, handing him the glass before taking a seat on the couch, shoes slipped off to the ground, “you can sit, if you want.”

Eddie moves slowly, still lingering about as he looks around, the cushion dips slightly when he finally takes a seat. You sip quietly, feeling more relaxed in the comfort of your own place. Your legs extend, pressed gently against the outside

of his thigh. Eddie doesn’t mind, glancing further around the homey environment you’d created. 

“I’m really sentimental.” You tell him, nursing the glass in your hands. “It’s why I have so much stuff from back home.”

“Home being…” Eddie pushes further, curious.

“Hawkins—Indiana. It’s where Steve and I grew up before we moved to California. He went his way and I went mine but we’re still close. I just miss it, sometimes. So it’s nice to have small reminders.”

Eddie nods slowly. He didn’t care much for pictures or gifts or things from his childhood—his guitars were his babies, his records, littered and hung throughout his house like a museum, his own small collection. 

“Oh shit,” You panic, placing the wine glass on the end table as you searched for your phone, grabbing it from your back pocket, “I almost forgot about the picture.”

Eddie chortles, leaning over to peek at your screen.

“Did you want to look?” You ask, tilting the phone toward him, “Before I post it?”

Eddie nods silently, setting his glass down too. You scramble toward him, lifting onto your knees to shift that way. His fingers wrap around the back of your hand, eyes scanning over your screen. It’s the same photo as earlier—he looks ridiculous, but you find it endearing. It’s nothing like the magazine covers or posed photo shoots you’ve seen of him; it’s a small glimpse of the real Eddie, unfiltered and raw.

“Is it okay?” You ask, not sure why you’re seeking his approval, but the question slips out regardless. 

“Yeah—“ He pauses, considering a thought before he can’t help but speak, “but, maybe we should—like, take one together? Is that weird?”

You weren’t sure why you didn’t think of it before him, but it’s a brilliant idea, actually—you’re blaming it on the slight intoxication and the heat of nervousness that ran through your body around him. You couldn’t control it. 

“Uh, sure.” You agree, shifting closer then, nearly falling into his lap as you do. Eddie catches you with ease, his hand resting against the outline of your hip bone as he adjusts you slightly, body angled as he lifts you over his legs. “Here—maybe I should—I’ll just turn this way.”

You’re fully settled onto his lap now, turned sideways as you lift the camera. It wasn’t hard to force a smile, no matter how fake, and that’s what you’re expecting Eddie to do, but instead he speaks. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks politely, almost comically. “For the picture?”

“Oh—uh, yeah?” You respond with a soft laugh. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, his fingers dragging under your chin to tip your head up, lips connecting with yours gently.

The camera clicks a few times, his lips held steady. You laugh slightly at the absurdity, pulling away gently to sift through the photos. Your head turns, swiping through your screen.

It’s astonishing how believable it looks from the outside eye, both of you caught mid-smile as you tilt the phone toward him to show it off. You glance up briefly, but Eddie isn’t even looking at the phone, eyes locked on you.

And you’re not naive, not in the slightest. You’re half guided by the alcohol, half guided by the unrestrained horniness you felt from having deprived yourself of connection for so fucking long. It’s just one time, you tell yourself. Just once. It doesn’t have to be anything—it was nothing. 

Your phone slips from your hand to the floor, Eddie’s own fingers wrapping around your face, encompassing the sides and digging gently into the nape of your neck as he pulls you to him, but it’s you who kisses him, a small tinge of hesitancy as he glides his lips against your own—you couldn’t take it, skipping past every last bit of hesitancy you had and gliding your tongue over his bottom lip. 

Eddie is just as intense like this as he is normally, giving into his urges just as easily. He can’t remember the last time he’s ever had a genuine, casual hookup—not that he expected this to turn into that, but it’s freeing, liberating. 

His tongue dips into your own mouth, swiping against yours, you moan outwardly, shifting until you're more comfortably, thighs stretched over his own, straddling his waist. Your mouth never leaves his, speed increasing with fervor as you kiss him soundly, pulling away for a quick breath, the sheen of spit as you disconnected, a small string connecting your mouths. 

“Take your pants off.” He breathed hotly, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at you. You stand clumsily, reaching for the button of your jeans as you wriggle the denim down your hips, Eddie assists the aid, yanking roughly until they pooled at your ankles, he leans down swiftly, helping you out of them fully.

His hands slip behind the fatty expanse of your thigh, squeezing gently to guide you back over his lap, sitting directly against the cold denim of his own pants.

Eddie’s mouth connects with yours quickly, moving with the kiss as you lean in forcefully, rubbing the front of your chest against his own, the tight squeeze of your thighs reassuring your movements as you delved into his mouth, tongue hot and flat as it mingled with his, all saliva and muffled groans as he consumed you, the tinge of cigarette hitting your taste buds, mixed with the faint subtleness of beer. 

“We gonna regret this in the morning?” Eddie asks with a break to his tone, voice checked as he pulls away slightly.

You chase his lips, settling for the line of his jugular, mouthing at the skin, the faint beat of his pulse against your tongue.

“Depends,” You reply breathlessly, “Can you make me come?”

It was a feat not many could accomplish—and if you were letting things drag on this far, you weren’t going to let it be for nothing. 

“Please,” Eddie scoffs, noise dying out on a groan as you nipped at the skin, head dipping to the other side, the gentle trace of his fingers following up your back, “what type of men have you been fucking?”

“If I’m horny—I’ll take what I can get,” You admit, “I’m not picky”.

“And right now?” Eddie asks hopefully, “Are you taking what you can get?”

“We’ll see.” You remark, lifting your hips slightly as his hands dipped under the black lace of your underwear, fingers spreading through the pooled wetness, slick coating them.

“Jesus,” Eddie sighs, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You nod dumbly, a faint smile pulling at your face. It’s like instant relief when he touches you, whatever earlier ache fading away in an instant at the heat of real fingers gliding through your cunt, something other than your own hand.

“Shouldn’t you take your rings off,” You think idly, feeling the cold metal against the inside of your thigh, “won’t they get messy?”

Eddie hums a noise of approval, pulling back to glance at your relaxed expression, jaw slack as his fingers rubbing through folds.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He laughs deeply, turning his palm down so his rings pressed fully against your cunt, the outline of the skull ring catching against your clit. You gasp slightly, hand tightening around his neck where it rested. He nods knowingly, “Don’t worry—it’s really hot.”

Shamefulness aside, drunken haze filling your body, you give in, hips rocking gently against the flat of his hand, palm resting over his dick where it’s confined in his jeans, through your underwear. It’s the perfect angle, hips canting down as the ridge of the metal catches against the soft mound of your clit. He’s pulled you so close, you can’t even think about moving away now. 

“Feels good, yeah?” Eddie asks, voice strained as his hand wraps around the length of your waist, your mouth falling open in a soundless gasp as your face rests against the side of his, buried in the curls of his hair, smelling like some expensive cologne and a odd mixture of leather, probably from the jacket thrown of his shoulders.

“Uh huh,” You respond deftly, whining softly as his hand flexes into a fist, pressing firmly against you, “—shit.”

“God—you’re soakin’ my fingers, sweetheart.” Eddie comments softly—you let the endearment slide, too caught up in your own mind to care. “Is it always like this?”

And lord does he hope it is. 

You shake your head slightly, “It’s the alcohol,” You admit shyly, “—can’t help it.”

Eddie laughs gently, a small shake of his chest as you keen forward, hips searching for more, hoping for more. 

“Can I—can you—“ You fumble over your words, but it isn’t hard to decipher what you’re asking, your free hand traveling between your bodies, over the hard tent in his jeans, dick twitching beneath your touch.

“Yeah—fuck, of course.” Eddie sighs, lifting you up slightly to reach for his buttons, flipping it open in one fluid movement, letting you pull at his jeans until they’re tucked under his ass, his underwear following suit.

If there was one thing you expected for certain, it was that Eddie had a nice dick—it wasn’t hard to find online, rather willingly or unwillingly, he wasn’t shy about it. It wasn’t up for you to judge, but it’s even more intimidating in person—everyone else is dull in comparison, you can’t even peel your eyes away.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Eddie remarks, catching your expression—it feels teasing, but not in the way that makes you want to retaliate, “—here, give me your hand.”

And you do, letting his larger palm guide yours over the head of cock, down his shaft, fingers grazing the soft stubble of his balls as he sighs, head resting back against your couch. 

His still slowly working hand flips, giving you a small amount of relief against your cunt, the pad of his middle finger pressing against your opening, fluttering around the tip. He doesn’t need to ask, he can see it in the look you give him, the subtle nod.

His finger dips in slowly, testing—it’s been far too long and it’s embarrassing how little of a touch can make you feel so good.

“I know,” He soothes, seeing the crease of your eyebrows, face pulled tight in anguish, “I know.”

Your hand moves slowly, dragging along the length of his shaft. He inhales deeply, the soft touch of your fingers sends a strong jolt to his dick, your thumb grazing over the tip gently. The friction can’t feel that good, despite how wrecked he already looks. You pull your hand away, licking a wet stripe up your palm—it’s something so visceral, hitting Eddie at his core.

Your hand returns just as quickly, and he moans out at the touch, wet and slick as your hand glides easier, up and down in firm, tight tugs—you didn’t know what he liked, but by the look on his face, you were doing just fine. 

His slips his finger in fully now, forgoing the teasing pace, impatient and wanting to feel you clench around him—you do, gasping at the sudden intrusion of his thick finger, ring pressed hard against your entrance, he curls the digit and you gasp out softly.

“Jesus,” He moans, his dick throbbing beneath your touch. You can’t help but focus on anything but him, the calculated glide and twist of your hand as you work against his shaft, thumb dragging over the tip occasionally, mixing saliva with the small amount of precum pooling at his slit, “—can’t—can’t focus with you touching me dick like that.” He admits with a strained chuckle. 

His fingers release you, sticky wetness gliding against your clit like magic, that familiar buzz filling through your body, pit of your stomach like burning fire as you cry out at the slightest touch.

“Fuck—it really has been a while, hasn’t it?” Eddie asks, voice soft and concerned. You nod weakly, mouth hung open slightly as your eyes fall shut. Your hand never stops moving against him, picking up speed with every quick circle of his finger against your clit, throbbing with need. 

“Look at me,” He urges, hand finding the back of your head, cradling the weight of it, “open your eyes.”

You do, slowly, met with the same weak but intense gaze. You’ve never looked into someone’s eyes like this, not in such an intimate situation—there was never connection, just pleasure and release. This felt…palpable, real. You shoved the concerning thoughts aside and let yourself live in the moment, his pace quickening with determination, mouth falling open with each second that passed.

“That’s it,” He encourages, voice faltering as you squeeze at his shaft, “—want you to look at me while you come, okay?”

You nod, but it’s not enough.

“Say it.” He pleads.

“Yes,” You force out, “I—I will.”

“Good,” He breathes, grunting loudly as your pace overwhelms his senses, destroying his train of thought, “good girl.” He forces himself to say, voice shot.

His finger circles your sensitive clit with urgency and it hits you all at once, the sensation exploding from your core to your entire body, jerking at the high of your own orgasm, allowing Eddie to coach you through it, hand flattening against your cunt as your hips searched for more relief, satiating that lasting ache as he pressed firmly, giving you a chance to calm down, catch your breath.

“I got it,” He assures, swatting at your hand gently, “it’s okay.”

“No,” You grumble, forcing his hand away too, feeling steady enough to return to your previous pace, still breathless from your own orgasm, “stop acting like that.”

He grunts softly, his hips shifting on their own accord. He was close, it was so blatantly obvious. “Like you have to do it all yourself,” You snark at him, “just shut up and let me do it.”

Eddie laughs at your determination and clipped tone, bottom lip pulled between your teeth in concentration—but his amusement is short-lived, your hand tightening around his shaft with a feverish grip—it was too much, even for Eddie.

“Fuck,” He breathes out harshly, coming over his lap and your thighs in long spurts—the thick, sticky fluid coating your skin. You can’t even be bothered to care, his face so sweet when he does come, all scrunched up with focus, jaw clenched as he forces himself to say silent, much to your dismay, “—holy shit.”

You both take a moment to settle, catch your breath, before you’re reaching behind you and onto the table for a tissue, handing it to Eddie silently. He cleans you both up with no complaint, taking care to make sure nothing is left, before balling up the tissue and tossing it into the small trash can in the corner of the room. 

You shift off of him, feeling the sticky, cold fabric of your underwear between your thighs—you grimace and Eddie laughs at the emotion you emit. 

“Don’t say anything.” You tell him hotly, “We can act like this didn’t happen.”

Eddie holds his hands up defensively, “Like what happened?” He asks densely, shifting dramatically to shove himself back into his underwear, pulling his jeans back up his hips.

“Keep it that way.” You warn, voice holding no malice. 

You didn’t want this to become a thing. It was all a weak moment of need, of wanting to feel good, and that’s all it had to be. 

Eddie nods slowly, still lingering on the couch as you stand. 

He wants to ask something, you can see it on his face.

“What?” 

“Uh—I know this didn’t happen but—can I sleep here, on your couch or something?” Eddie asks, “I probably shouldn’t drive this late, not after that last glass you gave me.”

You nod kindly, disappearing down the hallway for a moment before returning with a pillow and blanket, switching him for your discarded jeans as you made the trade silently. 

“I need you gone in the morning,” You tell him, “I mean it.”

“No problem,” Eddie agrees with you, “it’ll be like I was never even here—promise.”

You really, really hope that was the case—too ashamed to even look at yourself now, still standing half naked in front of him, telling yourself this would never happen. 

But it did—and you hated yourself for wanting it. 

[ceciliasxx]

—:: Coffeeshop Romance

ln4 | instagram au

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: the world gets to watch as buying a coffee from a small, local coffee shop turns into blooming relationship between two people.

author’s note: coffeeshop aus will always have a special place in my heart because of how cute they are, especially because I work at a coffeeshop myself! 🫶

yourusername

liked by daylightcoffeeco and 1, 496 others

tagged: daylightcoffeeco

yoururername My second home with all my favorite people 🫶

lunaapulomaa y/nnnn you need to tell me when you’re working so I can come visit

— yourusername i’ll text you!

jasmines.garden quick question: do i still get free drinks if i come since i’m your favorite person in the world ?

— yourusername well duh

landonorris

liked by maxfewtrell, daylightcoffeeco, and 294, 385 others

tagged: maxfewtrell and daylightcoffeeco

landonorris Keeping it peaceful before the real work begins for the next race

maxfewtrell golf, golf, golf and more golf

— landonorris and even more gold

— view 81 more replies

daylightcoffeeco Thank you for visting! We hoped you enjoyed your drink, and we hope to see you visit again!

— view 4 replies

lalalandonorr f1 driver to professional golfer pipeline when

— wf1f1forever probably end of 2025

— view 27 replies

mclaren we miss you at the track 🏌️‍♂️🏎️

— view 13 replies

mcmclarensaretractors photographer lando making his return again

landonorris

liked by daylightcoffeeco and 416, 104 others

tagged: daylightcoffeeco

landonorris P5 with even more points on the board and some coffee to celebrate. Livin’ a good life

ln4 once again on the grind 💪

— view 25 replies

mclarenauto Keep up the hard work!

— ln4life you got this lando

— view 12 more replies

mcmcmcclaren congrats lando, the world championship is even closer!!

— view 6 replies

kennedywondra keep pushing lando 🧡

— view 1 reply

allison_harrmond surprised you made it to p5 in the mclaren tractor but congrats

— lizbizzz stop that’s outta pocket 😭

— view 28 replies

yourusername

liked by daylightcoffeeco and 835 others

tagged: daylightcoffeeco

yourusername may or may not be trying a drink recommendation from my maybe crush who frequently visits who i maybe am teaching how to make drinks 🫣

jasmines.garden your maybe what?? have you’ve been forgetting to tell me something???

— yourusername answer my ft rn

— jasmines.garden on it

daylightcoffeeco So, what was the rating on the drink then?

— yourusername 9.5/10

landonorris

liked by yourusername and 305, 194 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris learning, improving, and having fun

ln4 lando retiring from being an f1 driver to become a barista? always count us in. 🧡

— view 24 replies

maxfewtrell interesting change in career

— landonorris wanna join?

— maxfewtrell sure mate

— view 38 more replies

mclarenauto What can’t Lando do?

— view 12 replies

liliana_casbelt i swear lando is just good at everything he tries

— trellastella no because literally

— view 2 more replies

starsaboveserena imagine walking into a coffee shop and your barista is lando norris

— mc2023laren i’d have a heart attack

— view 6 more replies

yourusername

liked by landonorris and 1, 017 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername I didn’t think this year would have simple drink recommendations turn into dates, but I’m not complaining at all 🥹

celesteslife4u totally not jealous of you not at all, and totally not crying

— yourusername dw you’ll always be #1

in my heart

landonorris i’m finally unblocked, let’s gooooo

— andibandi @/yourusername you had

your boyfriend blocked??

— yourusername for a little bit, in my

defense, it was before we were dating

because i was too embarrassed to let

him see my posts

daylightcoffeeco Aw, what a cute couple, we’re so happy we were able to help your relationship flourish!

— yourusename <3

[theficpusher]

Kiwi by dimpled_halo | M | 6080 The last place Louis expects to see Harry again after ten years is performing at a music festival in Chicago.

the one who stays and the one leaving you by dragmedown | M | 10315 Fuck. He had just slept with none other than Harry Styles. ⛸️ OR the stolen hoodie and lost panties AU

A Few Very Good Mistakes by louisandthealien | nr | 12172 He almost wishes there were a better story. "Fucked up pop star ends five day bender by wandering into a dive bar alone and passing out in public." That would've generated press, he thinks, and if there's one thing that's constantly on his mind (or more accurately, on the mind of everyone else around him) it's that all press is good press, and good press is good press but bad press is great press. Besides, he's 25 and trying to do the whole transition from boyband to solo pop star. He's pretty sure a press-fueled meltdown is, like, a right of passage. The truth, alas, is a whole lot more boring. --- Louis falls asleep in Harry's bar. Harry takes him home to hang out.

Prelude to Forever by AlwaysAqua | M | 13503 @StylinHarry: So I kinda fell for a boy yesterday at #ChiPride. Kissed & fireworks went off. Literally. He’s a drama teacher. Goes by “Louis” but I prefer Sunshine. Very pretty. The prettiest. Got separated & I’m a fucking idiot who forgot to get his number. Anyone know him? #helpfindsunshine Or, Louis and Harry meet at Pride in Chicago and spend the day falling for each other before getting accidentally separated.

Soup Of The Day by jacaranda_bloom | E | 19958 It had been the single minded goal for them since college and seemed simple enough. 1. Study hard. 2. Open their dream restaurant. 3. Take the culinary world by storm. What could possibly go wrong? Or the Restaurant AU where Louis and Niall are chefs, Chicago is windy, and cracking the big time is harder than they ever imagined. But when a mysterious man starts grading Louis' soups by leaving little piles of rocks, could it be just the thing they need to get them on the road to success?

i talk out loud like you're still around by vaultingus | M | 24693 photographer!louis / model!harry chicago, u.s. louis sighs into empty air and takes pictures for indie labels and promises himself he’ll be better this time. harry still has pink lips but they used to smile so much more and he does his best work when he’s in a war with the camera. it’s hard to be found when you don’t think you’re lost.

Bitter Ends Turn Sweet by allwaswell16 | E | 30164 It had been four years since Harry first heard the song his ex wrote about him and far longer since they broke up. He forgave Louis long ago, and now his life was focused on his career, his family, and especially his son, Max. But Louis was back in Chicago, after all this time, and he’s not an easy man to ignore. Or a songfic inspired by the song Chicago

You're the Light by allwaswell16 | E | 31285 Before beginning a new graduate school in the fall, Louis Tomlinson decides to spend the summer working in Chicago as an editor’s assistant for the Chicago Tribune newspaper and staying with his old college roommate. What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

In The Name of Being Honest by sunflouwerhabit, therogueskimo | M | 123563 Back at his desk, Louis closed his eyes for a moment, trying to settle into the reality of this. He was leaving the UK for only the second time in his life. Suddenly, the holiday he took to Spain three summers ago felt like it paled in comparison. He was going to the U.S. - for work, it was true, but still - alone. He’d been all for seizing the moment when his boss had been looking at him with a gaze of steel, but now he felt vaguely nauseous. Louis took several shaky breaths, feeling like the air was being sucked from the room, and opened the manila folder, laying it flat on his desk. His breath caught as he saw the destination, centered in a large, block font at the very top of the first page: Robinson Publishing - Chicago, Illinois, United States of America. ~~~ After two years of living in an everlasting cycle of work, sleep, and regret, Louis finds himself wandering brand new streets perpetually haunted by the ghosts of his past. The Chicago Fic.

[ettaevie]

I hate Dead Apple not because of the actual content of the movie, but because the beginning slideshow made me aware of the characters' ages and irreparably damaged my perceptions of them and their relationships

I thought Dazai and Kunikida were like 25? 26? Idk. I shipped Atsushi and Kyouka because I thought Atsushi was like 15-16 like literally every other anime protagonist (If he's 18 then he didn't have much time left at the orphanage regardless of the tiger).

Also Mori is just out of his thirties. Talk about ambitious. Dude's had like 3 separate careers that each take 10+ years to achieve.

Fitz is like 33?! A teen father apparently? Make it make sense.

I really feel like they were just pulling numbers out of a hat.

[bbgem329]

Things Are Never As They Seem—Chapter Twenty

Pairings—Sebastian Stan x Actess!Reader, Sebastian Stan x OFC (PR relationship)

Summary

You and Sebastian Stan have been dating privately for over two years. Everything is perfect until he is coerced into a PR relationship when he signed with a new agency to advance his career. Trouble ensues…

Warnings

MINORS DNI. 18+++. Language. Smut. PIV sex. Soft!Seb. Long-distance relationships. Dark side of Hollywood. Snobby rich girls. Fluff. Angst. Mentions of drugs and overdose. PR relationships. Did I miss anything?

Notes

The creative juices are flowing. I definitely didn’t expect to have another chapter up tonight but here we are! Thanks for the support and love! Readers, you see the reason I keep doing what I do.

Series Masterlist

—————

March 25, 2020

“Baby.”

Your eyes fluttered, fighting sleep, at the sound of your name being called. The soft voice, so familiar–so warm.

You let out a long sigh and rolled over, burrowing yourself deeper in the bed, half there, half not.

Your name again followed by a gentle touch to your face, your hair, your back.

“Sweetheart.” You knew that voice, “Come on, let me see those gorgeous eyes.”

You shot up, tossing the covers off as fast you could before throwing yourself at the man standing beside the bed. He was ready for you, because of course he was, and caught you effortlessly, hosting your legs around his waist with a boisterous laugh.

“You’re here.” Your voice was muffled against the skin on his neck, “How?” You pulled back just slightly when he tugged at the hair at the nape of your neck, just in time for him to dip down and press a quick soft kiss to your lips, “Why do you never tell me when you’re coming home?”

Sebastian just laughed, stealing another quick kiss, “I love surprising you.”

“But…” You tried to hide your smile with a pout, “What if I wanted to pick you up from the airport?”

“Babe.” Sebastian glanced over your shoulder, “I’m not going to let you pick me up from the airport at two in the morning.”

“Well, maybe if you took a later flight-”

“Why are we even talking about this right now?” He chuckled, “I hopped on the first flight once we’d finished filming. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Of course-”

“Then you should be naked and beneath me in this big comfy bed.”

You didn’t even have time to react before you found yourself on your back, watching the ceiling fan turn slowly above you. It didn’t keep your attention long. Not even a second later and your shirtless boyfriend was crawling up your body with a dopey smile.

You had so many questions–How did you get in? Where was Bentley? Was the flight okay? But all of that could wait. You wanted to be right here, in the right now.

You lifted yourself up on your elbows, one hand reaching out to run along his chest and shoulders. “You lost so much weight.”

His face fell for half a second and then he shook it off, plastering on that half smile. It happened so fast, if you hadn’t known him like you did then you would’ve missed it. You knew how hard it was over the past few months, to see his body change. He worked so hard to gain the muscle and strength he’d had before, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard it was for him to lose it. He’s always been very open about his body dysmorphia and insecurities, especially with you.

And the fact he was giving it all up–putting it aside for a role–that… that was true dedication.

He was so beautiful, inside and out.

You wanted–needed him to know that no matter the shape and size, you’d love him regardless.

“You look good, Sebastian.” You wrapped your arms over his shoulders and your legs around his waist before you pulled him down on top of you. “Do you know how beautiful you are? How with just one look–one thought of this beautiful body of yours, has me melting into a literal puddle?”

He looked down at you with dark, hungry eyes, his plump bottom lip rolling between his teeth. You were sure he didn’t believe you. You understood that. He could tell you a million times every day for the rest of your lives that you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on and you still wouldn’t believe him.

Words were words. People could tell you anything these days and not mean it.

Yeah, he might not believe that you mean it with words, so you’d just have to show him instead.

Your fingers trailed up his neck, burrowing deep and tangling in the thick, tousled hair at the nape of his neck. You tugged him down, forcing him closer, his lips just barely brushing against yours.

“You don’t believe me?”

He shook his head lightly, his dark blue gaze avoiding yours as the hand not holding himself over you trailed down your side and up your left thigh.

“Feel me.” You flexed your hips up as you tighten your legs around his waist, “Feel what you do to me.”

He let out a soft groan, eyes squeezed shut as his hips involuntary bucked forward, grinding himself against the growing damp patch in your thin gray panties.

“There’s no denying that.” You were struggling to keep your eyes open as your lips skimmed along his jaw and your fingers dug into his bare back, “Do you feel what you do to me? How wet I am for you?”

He called your name, sounding pained, “You’re so wet.”

“That’s what you do to me.” You were breathless, practically gasping for air. “You are the only one that can turn me on with just one look. It doesn’t take much as long as you're near my body just,” You moaned softly as his hips rolled perfectly against yours, “lights up. Always ready to go.”

“I need you.” With a groan he pulled back, leaving just enough space to whip his old t-shirt over your head and then he was on you again, pushing you further back into the bed with his weight. “I need to feel you.”

“Please.” Your hands trailed over his shoulders and down his back, fingers pulling at the band of his boxer briefs. “Sebastian.”

You wanted them off, you wanted to feel him against, on you, inside of you.

He connected your lips in a desperate kiss lifting his own hips enough to pull your panties effortlessly down your leg, followed quickly by his own.

“I missed you so much.” He mumbled against your lips, fitting himself back between your legs and spreading you wider.

You broke the kiss, head tipped back with a loud moan when finally he jutted his hips forward, the round tip of his cock brushing over your soaked slit. You dug your nails harder into his back, clinging tightly to him with a soft cry as he rocked himself over you, wetting himself with your slick.

“Sebastian.” You could cry–you would if he didn’t get inside of you in the next three seconds. “Please. Don’t tease me. It’s been so long.”

A resounding chuckle was the only response you got as he continued teasing you with the tip–notching himself at your entrance, hardly pushing in before pulling out altogether to rub against your clit.

Your body was practically shaking with need.

It had been months–three, to be exact, and you were so wound up, there was no doubt in your mind you were going to combust the moment he got inside of you.

Not with this teasing–this build up.

“God.” Your legs trembled around his waist as he found rhythm, his hard cock thrusting perfectly though your slit, bumping your sensitive little bud with each deliberate rock of his hips. “You’re gonna make me cum. I fucking love when you do this.”

“I know.” He sounded out of breath, like he was struggling to hang on as he kissed and sucked at the skin along your throat and collarbones. “I had this whole plan–was going to eat you and then fuck you nice and slow.” He chuckled, his breath hot against your neck, “But I can’t bring myself to move. I need my body on yours just like this—needed to kiss your lips and feel your heart racing against my chest.”

“Sebastian.”

The build up in your belly was growing, swirling deep and tingling just below your naval. You were almost there, so damn close.

“I’m trying to be so good.” He gritted out, teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder, “I’m trying to get you off first before I fucking snap and absolutely rail you into this matress.”

And there it was.

One more deliberate grind of his hips and a harsher bite to the skin below your ear and you were falling right over the edge.

No.

Not falling, but careening, over the edge and into bliss.

You threw your head back with a loud cry, vision tunneling in and out as your body trembled with nothing but pure pleasure.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. Gotta feel this.”

Your gasps were simultaneous as he notched himself at your entrance and pushed in with drawn out thrust. Your body reacted immediately, tightening around him in pulses.

“Fuck.” He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his own body trembling with restraint. “Fuck. I almost forgot how good you feel.”

You loved this part.

The part where he lost himself completely in your body–accumulated himself with everything that is you after so much time away.

“You’re…oh my fucking God!” He was quick to find a rhythm, hips rolling steadily, cock sliding all the way to the hilt and then all the way out with each and every thrust. He was holding himself back, trying to keep his cool. “You feel so, so good. Could live in this pussy forever. Fuck.”

“Sebastian.” You breathed out, “Faster.”

He needed to let go. To give into the pleasure and lose himself.

“Harder.” You gasped out, nails digging into his shoulders. He drew back, changed the angle and shoved forward again.”Oh..Oh. There.” You nearly sobbed when he tilted his hips forward as he thrust in, the trimmed curls at the base of his cock brushing perfectly against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure bursting through your already wired body. “Oh. Right there. Please.”

“Please tell me you’re almost there.” He sounded absolutely wrecked and when he lifted his head from the crook of your neck you found that he looked absolutely wrecked too. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction from all your tugging, his pupils were blown wide making his like darker than ever before, and his face was completely flushed.

Gorgeous.

Always.

He called your name, and it almost sounded like a whine.

“Baby.” He gasped out, “I need you to be there.”

“I’m almost there.” You yanked him closer, your own hips lifting to meet him thrust for thrust, “Just keep going exactly as you are. Feel so good.”

Sebastian dipped his head down, connecting your lips in a hard kiss, tongue darting along your lips until you opened up from him, allowing it to slip in and tangle with your own. All you could do was hold on tight, arms wrapped around his beck, legs around his waist as he picked up the pace, cocking pistoning in and out of your pulsing hole. The build up in your belly had returned at full force, every thrust and grind pulling the coil tighter and tighter.

All that could be heard throughout the room was the sound of skin slapping loudly–obscenly throughout the mostly quiet room and your breathless moans and groans shared between your open mouths.

You find your mind wandering, picturing what the two of you looked like in this very moment if someone where to look in—Sebastian’s strong body covering yours completely, the low sway of his hips as he fucked you harshly into the matress, your legs wrapped over his hips, ankles locked over his ass, and your hands trailing up and down his toned back, nails biting into his skin and leaving a mark.

The image alone paired with the sounds echoing throughout the quiet and dimly lit room was enough to send you over the edge.

“Yes. Yes. There we go.” Sebastian gasped into your open mouth, pulling away to drop his head to your chest, mouthing at one of your breasts as his hips picked up speed. “Fuck it feels so fucking good when you come on my cock. God. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum inside you, baby.” He thrust harder, deeper, body beginning to tremble, “It’s been so long. Need to fill you up.”

“Oh, God.” You cried out, body shaking and pulsing with the aftershocks of your drawn out orgasm, “Fill me up, Seb. Please.”

A call of your name and he collapsed on top of you, thrusting his cock as deep as possible before letting go, painting your walls with his spend. “Fuck. Fuck, I love you so much.” He rocked his hips forward lightly, milking his pleasure completely, “I fucking missed you. Needed you so much.”

“I love you.” You were practically floating, body buzzing contently, “I missed you so much.”

You didn’t think you’d ever felt this good–this comfortable in your life.

If it were up to you, you’d never leave this bed. You’d stay right here, with him just like this.

“I’m so happy to be here.” It was as if he read your mind. You couldn’t help the smile that grew across your face when he shifted his weight slightly to one side and nuzzled your bare breast, “I missed my pillows.”

You scoffed to hide your laugh, smacking lightly at his shoulder, “You’re a pig.”

“But I’m your pig.”

You laughed, your body shaking his own. You wrapped your arms back around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze, “You’re my pig, Sebastian Stan.”

“Damn straight.”

“You know, I fucking hate surprises,” You sighed, fingers lifting to comb through Sebastian’s hair. “But in this case it’s okay. I don’t know how you always manage to get me but…” You leaned forward, kissing the top of his head, “Best surprise ever.”

“I knew you would like it.” You could feel his grin against your breast, “And I do it because I like your reaction and it makes our reunions all the sweeter.”

“You’re such a softy.” He tilted his head up to look at you just in time to see your beaming smile, “Who knew?”

He leaned up slightly to peck your lips, “Only for you.”

You stole a few more soft kisses before settling back, this time with the covers pulled over the pair of you and the bedside lamp off for the night.

And for the first time in months, you slept perfectly content though the rest of the night.

—————

You stirred to a phone ringing loudly throughout the room.

“Turn that off.” A grumpy mumble came from behind you. “So fucking loud.”

When you moved, half awake, to grab your phone from the side table next to the bed, your lovers arms tightened around you, pulling you back with a groan.

“Sebastian.” You chided softly, wiggling out of his grip, “Let me just turn it off.”

You managed to snatch it between the tips of your fingers and nestled back into his awaiting arms, his warm body pressing into you from behind, his limbs wrapping you in a cuddle cocoon.

“It’s your publicit.” Your brows furrowed as you swiped to answer the call and putting it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you. It’ll only be a second.” A sigh, “I’m assuming Seb is with you?”

“Affirmative.” He responded, tone short.

You nudged into him with a pointed look.

He rolled his eyes playfully, “What’s up, Elaine?”

“I’m sorry, Seb. I know it's… early.” You could practically hear the grimace on her face, “I just wanted to let you know that Catalina threw an absolute fit over the birthday post you made for Jessica Chastin yesterday and is demanding something be done.”

You didn’t miss the way his body tensed against your own and the sigh that left him was practically felt in his soul. The way he reacted, to literally anything and everything she did, be it bad or good, made you hate her.

Hate was a strong word, you were aware, but who could blame you?

This rich, little spoiled girl had forced herself into your lives by essentially renting your boyfriend and controlling his every movement–his entire life.

“I know.” Elaine sighed again, “I’m so tired of making these calls. We will handle it. I just need your permission to log into your account and comment on a picture she just posted. I know it’s not ideal but it keeps her happy and that's all we can try to do at the moment. She’s not been very happy or cooperative lately.”

“Whatever.”

You tried to steal a peak at him over you shoulder but he pressed himself closer, burying his face in your hair.

“Thank you.” Elaine responded and you could tell from her tone alone how sorry she was. And how fed up too. “I’ll try to leave you be for the next few days at least. And Sebastian, I hate to tell you this but maybe you should reconsider posting for other… female friends birthday-”

“Not gonna happen.” He interjected, tone final and harsh. “I won’t let her control my life, Elaine. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” She sighed again, sounding more resigned. “You’re right. Forget I mentioned it. You guys have a great day and just call if you need anything.”

With that she hung up.

And Sebastian shoved his head into your back, face pressed between your shoulder blade and let out a loud groan.

“Sebastian.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Before you could argue, your phone rang again.

You laughed a little, wiggling away from him as his grip tightened on you again, “Saved by the bell.”

“You don’t need to answer it.” He whined, arms banding around your middle, drawing you back against his chest, “You can turn it off and we can hide from the world.”

Your smile dimmed a little when you took in the familiar number lit across your screen.

The hospital. In New York.

You knew what that meant and you were surprised your heart didn’t pick up like it usually did when they called.

Sebastian called your name, a warning. He knew damn well who–or more like, what it was too.

Just as you moved to answer it Sebastian snatched it from between your fingers and answered it himself.

“Hello?”

You watched his expression closely, more than a little relief that this burden has been lifted from your shoulders.

“Yeah, she’s here.” He momentarily held the phone to your ear and you did as you were told before he brought it back to his own. “Just say this is she.”

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, you wanted to sit close to him but you didn’t want to risk hearing what was being said on the other line. You hadn’t realized how much you didn’t want to be part of this–didn’t want to deal with until Sebastian had made the choice for you and took upon himself just now.

How many times had you received this same call in the past decade?

You didn’t even know. Definitely couldn’t count on both hands.

No child should have to do this for their parent, no matter how old.

Sebastian touched your face, drawing your attention onto him and your heart clenched painfully in your chest at the soft look he gave you and the way he intertwined his fingers with yours, thumb brushing soothingly over the back of your hand.

Today, in this moment, he was your strength. He knew exactly what you needed without even having to ask.

“And is there anything we need to do?”

A pause.

“You have our permission to do what is necessary moving forward.”

You caught his eye again and tried to muster a smile.

“Okay, thank you.” He nodded to himself, “You too. Bye.”

He hung out and then he did what should’ve been done first thing last night, he powered off your phone and tossed it on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“He OD didn’t he?”

You appreciated that he didn’t look at you or treat you like you would break. He knows well enough now that it doesn’t hurt like it used to, you’d spent a lot of time in the past six or seven months working through the trauma that is your father in therapy. You’d somehow managed to distance and disconnect yourself emotionally from him and his terrible choices.

He is sick.

It has nothing to do with you.

You just have to accept that you’re healthier than him.

You’re better off without him in your life.

You have people around you who willingly fill that void with love on a daily basis.

You are not your parent.

Before you could blink you found yourself wrapped in Sebastian’s embrace, tucked safely into the same position but this time you were facing each other. You let out a soft sigh as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and then carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ears, “Yeah, he did but he’s alive. He is stable.”

You closed your eyes, inhaling sharply.

You waited for the tears. For the resounding ache in your chest.

But it didn’t come.

And for that you were relieved.

“Thank you.”

You felt him relax and his hold on you tighten, pulling you harder against him–nestled perfectly in his arms. “You’re welcome, beautiful girl.” He paused, nose pressed to the top of your head, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Do you?”

He shook his head, pressing his lips to your forehead again.

“Can we just ignore the outside world,” You asked softly, “at least for a little while?”

He chuckled lightly, “Of course, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

—————

TagList

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[floatingcatacombs]

Macross Frontier and the Hilarity of Giving Your Protagonist a Recap Movie-Only Gender Dysphoria Arc

12 Days of Aniblogging 2022, Day 5

Thanks to the defusal of a 20-year legal nightmare that prevented the distribution of the franchise outside of Japan until last year, this year I got to watch the Macross Frontier movies in theaters, and they were a blast! I've been a Macross fan for years but these movies hooked my girlfriend on the franchise, so we've since watched through the original Super Dimension Fortress series and the TV version of Frontier together.

Since I’ve gone through both this year, I get to compare and contrast Macross Frontier’s original broadcast version to its movie series reimagining. Specifically, I want to focus on how the movies rework the character arc of our prettyboy protagonist Alto Saotome, because it’s genuinely effective on top of being executed in the funniest way imaginable.

You see, Alto Saotome is an delightfully beautiful boy. He's frequently called “princess” by his classmates and peers in the military, and looking at his hair, it’s not exactly surprising as to why. But this isn’t just for bishounen eye-candy purposes, there’s a narrative purpose for his feminine grace. Alto comes from an esteemed kabuki troupe, where he was a child prodigy consistently cast in female roles. This naturally gave him all sorts of Complexes, and he ultimately ran away from his stifling and abusive upbringing in order to spread his wings. This is both metaphorical and literal, as he joins a flight school and later the military. So in the present, Alto is faced with the conflict of wanting to be free, but facing pressure from his father who is seeking to pass the family troupe down. It’s a decent character arc, and we see it in action through how Alto approaches piloting as a craft and not a military routine. He acts through flying. It also explains why he’s such a stuck-up and dense male tsundere of a character, especially around the seasoned idol Sheryl Nome – he has a huge chip on his shoulder when it comes to performance.

Everything I just described is how it happens in the Macross Frontier show, where the narrative gets 25 episodes to breathe. The movies don’t have this luxury, clocking in at just under 4 hours when put together. How do you speedrun Alto’s struggles? By giving him gender dysphoria, of course. Believe it or not, this makes his attitude towards art and performance way more poignant.

On a nighttime streetcar ride in the first movie, Alto opens up to his friend Ranka about his past in kabuki performance, since her own singing career is just beginning to take off. In a significant departure from the show, he goes into intense detail about how he ran away because his acting roles were beginning to consume him. The power that came from being on stage was so intoxicating that he felt his identity outside of the stage begin to crumble, with all the gender crisis that entails when you’re a guy playing female roles. This confession is a moment of serious vulnerability, one that overtakes anything we see in the show.

In a follow-up scene that defies any cisgender explanation, Alto sits alone in his military quarters, staring at a candle (a symbol of his kabuki past, as seen in the previous scene) and an earring, which belongs to Sheryl.

After plenty of deliberation, he lets his hair down, appearing even more feminine than usual, and puts the earring on.

He’s hit with an overwhelming wave of emotions, and when he buckles and stares into the locker mirror, he sees Sheryl reflected, not himself. There’s plot reasons for this – Sheryl’s earrings are Fold Quartz and can transmit feelings, yada yada – but the sheer symbol language of the scene overpowers any of that. Beautiful beautiful boys are letting their hair down and trying on earrings and feeling insurmountable emotions that lead them to parse themselves as women.

That’s all for the gender stuff in the first movie, as Alto is subsequently required to play the role of mecha pilot hero and save the day against a government coup attempt and an insectoid giant robot hive-mind. But the second movie does not leave this narrative thread behind, and instead makes it an essential part of Alto and Sheryl’s relationship.

I’ve been trying to keep plot details as slim as possible because the Macross Frontier movies are nigh impossible to follow at times. But basically, in the second one Sheryl ends up wrongly accused of espionage and is sent to Space Alcatraz. The gang brainstorms ways to rescue her and comes to the most obvious conclusion: they need to hold a prison concert and send Alto in to rescue her. It’s a tribute concert to iconic Macross 7 band Fire Bomber, and everyone on stage cosplays the part. Except for Alto Saotome, who, I shit you not, dresses in a gothic lolita maid outfit.

No explanation is given. Is this him coming to terms with his gender trouble described in the first movie? I can’t think of a better explanation for now. The funnier part is that Sheryl is completely unphased by this upon being rescued.

After throwing off his maid getup to reveal an honestly even sluttier sleeveless bodysuit underneath, Alto and company escape, gearing up for a final battle that is wildly hype-inducing for how unclear it is who they’re even fighting at times. This is Macross, so the mecha battles are amplified by idol music to create the flashiest audiovisual feasts you've ever seen. In order for Sheryl to regain the will to sing, she reflects on what inspired her to become an idol in the first place, as well as where her love first bloomed – watching Alto perform as a kabuki actor when they were both young. This is another movie-only detail, and it rules. On top of establishing Alto and Sheryl’s relationship as a desire to constantly one-up each other as artists, it posits that Sheryl loves Alto specifically as a feminine boy. No wonder she wasn’t even surprised by the prison breakout crossdressing!

This is great. More of this in every anime please. This is how you get me to care about heterosexual romance – make the boys look and dress like girls and have the girls love them precisely because of that. Alto’s breakdown in the locker room is caused by feeling all of Sheryl’s emotions on top of his own while he wears that earring – having him dress like a female idol afterwards decisively closes the empathy gap between them and serves to strengthen their relationship. And that’s so good. Unlike in the show, Sheryl decisively wins the love triangle for Alto’s feelings here, and she deserves it. Ranka is in love with Alto as a big-brother type figure who can protect her. Sheryl is a fellow artist who wants a peer and a rival in her lover, and also to dress him up like a girl. It’s not a contest.

So that’s the Alto Saotome movie-only gender arc. On top of being goofy as all hell, it’s a genuinely effective way to explore his relationship to performance and techne, more so than the filial piety angle the Frontier show takes.

I'm gonna conclude by posting a gif of the slutty outfit change. It only seems fitting.

[1bringthesun]

have any of you read “Dancing Girl?” gosh, it just made me sad. Mori Ougai is a really good author haha, hahaha. hah… h-

.

..

…

yeah i’m relating this to bsd! Mori. BITE ME!! ahem. so in this essay i will be talking about Elise and Mori’s relationship. i’ve already established i don’t see her as his “wife” or the object of his sexual desires, and i’ve also mentioned i like the “Elise is his daughter,” way of seeing things, however … well, there’s more than just that.

1) Elise represents his inner child

2) Elise preserves the memory of a dead lover and is his “partner”

3) Elise is a child-figure to him

those numbers will be reused in that order to mean the same thing later, but first, background and “Dancing Girl!”

so i think that, within the definition of his and Elise’s relationship, Mori embodies Toyotarou from “Dancing Girl” more than Kanei from “Vita Sexualis” (i think i learned which type of media went in italics and which sort in quotes some time in third grade, but it’s been entirely too long and therefore i’ve forgotten all of it and you’ll have to excuse my poor grammar if im messing it up). why, you may ask? well, first of all, Elise is literally from that novel. second of all, i’ve just skimmed vita sexualis (- an asexual) while “Dancing Girl” managed to catch my attention a lot more. plus, Mori was one of the characters that Asagiri explicitly stated he wanted to add in, and we all know just how evil Asagiri Kafka can be when he feels like it.

… why is the space so long ? why are these spaces different sizes?? this is really bugging me … but whatever, i’ll try my best to ignore it … (nevermind it looks perfectly normal when i post it i guess it’s just a. draft thing)

ahem, so, in “Dark Era,” Mori basically goes “damn Dazai you’re suicidal as hell! you remind me of myself hahah!” and i feel like that’s pretty concrete evidence Mori Did Not have a happy childhood (i mean, duh, considering he was trigger-happy to friendly fire as an important military man at 20 some years old) and was likely suicidal in the past too, to some extent. in that sense, the chains that tie Dazai down, if they’re Odasaku’s last words, are the Port Mafia for Mori. he cannot die as long as he’s sane and capable of leading the PM, because he’s basically the very embodiment of it.

⚠️SPOILERS FOR “DANCING GIRL!”⚠️

alright, onto “Dancing Girl.” i’ll give you a quick rundown. it’s basically about this college dude (25 or so) (haha that reminds me of the, “am i the asshole?” posts. i (M26) just fell in love with a girl (F18) of whom i’ve known since she was a minor and i was still an adult. i got her pregnant by some time after she became of-age, then i left her to pursue my career. am i the asshole?) (godamn it tai you just spoiled the whole novel) (i’ll put a spoiler warning up somewhere in the beginning) (bear with me) with depression who falls in love with a… looks at the parenthesis and sighs deeply.

he doesn’t see any point in anything because his life was just a glorified projection of his mother and school’s desires, so he starts being a little more hedonistic and learning about the arts instead of becoming a lawyer like they wanted him to. he meets Elise (her name) and basically immediately feels attracted to her in some way he can’t put into words (she’s 17ish when they meet btw) and starts teaching her things and basically acting like a sponsor to her. they don’t start getting romantic and/or sexual until some unsaid period of time passes. now i personally choose to interpret this as her turning 18 before they do all that stuff, but since it never explicitly says, well… yeah. Toyotarou is used to living his life in a cushy-ish manner as a child prodigy and what have you, but he eventually gives that away to live with Elise. that being said, his “giving it away” was less of a choice to be with her and more of a digression from a perfect machine into a person with his own stunted feelings.

she makes him satisfied, and he makes her very deeply happy, but eventually he chooses his career over her and she goes crazy because of how betrayed she feels- she really deeply loved him, after all. he pays her mother enough to keep her afloat and to take care of the baby he left in her stomach, and went back to Japan without another word. Toyotarou! you bastard!! (it’s not like he was without remorse, though)

anyway back to the numbers.

1) Mori’s past is pure speculation, but he was a military doctor ranked quite high as a very young man, one that didn’t hesitate to shoot someone on his own side no less (like i said) so it’s probably a given he didn’t have a stress-free childhood. this is an excerpt from “Dancing Girl,” in which i think explains the possibility that Elise represents the angry child inside of Mori that he never got to let out as a real child.

2) given what i said above, this also feels pretty self-explanatory. we basically only know two things about Mori, that he would do anything for the greater good (which is usually the PM/yokohama), and that he longs for a “partner” who will understand and not leave him. it’s possible Fukuzawa filled that role for a while, but Mori is a little unhinged and did some bad things out of obsession, which severed their ties because of Fukuzawa’s innate nature. Mori has called Elise his partner (tsuma, AKA person who stays by my side) (i know nobody says tsuma and means it that way but considering “Yatsugare san” exists (yes i’m looking straight at you, AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE), i wouldn’t put it past Asagiri to use tsuma in that manner) before and acts dramatic as all hell when she dies. it’s almost like … someone called Elise really DID die before?

3) this requires the least explanation. we already know Mori likes children in a non-pedo way, shown by things like how he helped Atsushi gather his courage in Anne’s room (which did nothing for him, btw) and his profession in the beast AU. but what sort of mafia don has a cute daughter?? that’s like ASKING for her to be killed. so Elise, the product of Vita Sexualis, is the next best thing he can have!

Elise also is a lot like the Toyotarou, while Mori acts more like Elise when they’re together. it’s just something i noticed watching the two interact in BSD and DG. the whole idea of having no autonomy is kinda Elise’s (BSD) thing, isn’t it?

my phone is now 20% and i have no charger. i have probably 69 viruses and also since i have apps like tiktok, wechat, and discord… you can imagine how much this poor device suffers, but i regret nothing. yahoo! hope you enjoyed my rant~

[distantlaughter]

"My life belongs to me"

By Cathrin Gilbert for Die Zeit, 8 December 2016 (x)

From the very beginning, Nico Rosberg was a stranger to the laws of Formula 1. What's amazing is not that he's quitting now, but that he's lasted this long.

Let's not fail again, thinks Nico Rosberg. It's the last race of the season, late November, Abu Dhabi, 32 degrees. The asphalt is sweating, and so is Rosberg. The wind whirls desert sand across the track. Rosberg can't help but think back to the race two years ago, when he narrowly lost to his teammate Lewis Hamilton. Who cares about second place in a world championship? Back then, after the defeat, his wife Vivian took him in her arms, he cried, promised to make it next year with the fulfillment of his life's dream: to become world champion for once.

Perhaps this dream was the only thing that belonged to Nico Rosberg in recent years. His name, his face, his talent had become a brand. A money machine that brought millions in profits not only to Rosberg himself, but also to Mercedes and Formula 1. The price he paid for it: a life he was never really cut out for. Polarized at risk. Clocked to the rhythm of Formula 1: sleep, eat, train, abstain.

Never before has it taken a racing driver so long to become world champion

While Rosberg is sitting in his race car in Abu Dhabi, he hears a voice over the radio link. "Nico, it's getting tight! You have to overtake Max Verstappen!" his engineer shouts. Damn, thinks Rosberg, "Mad Max" of all people, 19 years young, a highly talented racing driver who stops at nothing. At the Grand Prix in Mexico, Verstappen touched him, so hard that it was almost over for Rosberg in the first corner.

Never before has a racing driver taken so long to become world champion as Nico Rosberg. He tried in vain for nine years. He was never an attacker, always driving in the slipstream and trying to avoid risk. Now, in Abu Dhabi, if he wants to win the title, he has to do what he shied away from for years: attack at the right moment.

Rosberg waits one lap, then pushes his Mercedes past "Mad Max." An hour later, after 205 races and 23 victories, he has finally done it: Nico Rosberg is world champion.

Just five days later, he ends his career, at the age of 31. As an explanation, he writes on his Facebook page, "For 25 years in racing, it has always been my dream, my one big goal, to become Formula One world champion." He mentions "all the work, the pain, the renunciation." Now, he says, he has reached the summit. It feels right to leave.

On Monday evening this week, Rosberg is back in the car. This time in London, without a helmet. His suit is not made of fireproof aramid fiber, but of fine blue fabric with pinstripes. A chauffeur drives him from the hotel to an honorary gala at the British Racing Drivers' Club, a club for old British men, among whom Rosberg, with an estimated fortune of 40 million euros, is exceptionally not the richest. The gala dinner is one of many obligatory events Rosberg has to attend after winning the title: on Tuesday he visits his sponsor in Kuala Lumpur, Wednesday he travels to his birthplace Wiesbaden, Thursday to the Mercedes racing factory in Brackley, Friday to the Automobile Association in Vienna, Saturday to the Mercedes plant in Sindelfingen and the "A Heart for Children" gala in Berlin, and finally to Monaco, where he lives. Jackets and bags pile up on the back seat, the world championship trophy lies in the trunk, a heavy colossus, he drags it along to all his appointments.

Before the future can begin, he has to work off the past; after all, he is still employed by Mercedes. He earns 15.72 million euros there per season. For the Mercedes brand and for the Nico Rosberg brand, the weeks after victory are decisive. A Formula 1 racing driver only becomes visible at the moment of triumph, and only then can he be marketed well. Fans can identify better with the smile of a winner than with the technical data of the F1 W07 Hybrid, 1.6-liter V6 engine, turbocharger - that's the name of the race car in which Rosberg drove to the title. The fact that he is announcing his retirement in these very weeks is something of a total meltdown for Mercedes.

"When I explained my decision to my wife, she laughed and said, 'You'll never do it,'" he says. He had felt the desire to quit since the beginning of September. "It was funny: the thought of quitting motivated me, but at the same time I couldn't give it too much space, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to concentrate properly."

In the back seat of the sedan, Rosberg looks even slimmer than his 67 kilograms would suggest. It's hard to imagine that this frail man can race toward the apex of a curve at 360 kilometers per hour and keep a 700-kilogram race car under control. He would so love to sleep now, he says. In the last few weeks of the season, he has been able to do that less and less, "because of the pressure." The lack of sleep has turned the whites of his eyes red. His skin is pale, and sometimes his voice fails him. But if there's one thing he's learned in his career, "it's to persevere."

Rosberg's path to racing was preordained. Father Keke became Formula One World Champion in 1982, three years before Nico was born. When the son was a year old, the father quit. "Isn't it funny, my daughter is one now, too," Rosberg says. At the age of six, he drove his first go-kart race. The father kept the time. Rosberg began looking at the world through the slit of a helmet. He had doubts about whether he would really make it to the top, he says. But the question of an alternative never arose.

When he gives TV interviews, he talks slowly, in platitudes. Now he speaks quickly, without fear, pointedly. "For years it was written: 'Nico is too soft! He's too tough! Now I can just answer freely: I'm just right." Or: "Sure, I could still drive on, try to defend the title. But why? It doesn't get any more beautiful than this." The limo steers past Notting Hill Gate. He continues to talk. "If you're part of this racing business, you belong to Formula One and your team," he says. There's little room for self-determination, he says. "But my life belongs to me."

Rosberg has 2,563,762 Facebook friends. Besides his wife, he says he has three friends who really know him with all his fears and longings. Of course, his life up until now has also included his "racing family." He has done everything not to disappoint them, he says. "If it had just been up to me, I would have preferred to take my time until Christmas announcing my retirement," he says, "but I couldn't have done that to the team." He said he wanted to give them planning security.

In competitive sports, family is one thing. You get a lot of support - but rarely without expectations. Rosberg learned what happens when you don't live up to them over the weekend. Niki Lauda, head of the Mercedes team's supervisory board, publicly reprimanded his behavior. Rosberg should have warned the team, he said. Where would they stand now? He added that this was causing a huge amount of uncertainty. Rosberg says: "I don't understand what got into Niki's head. He must have misunderstood something." He says he was one of the first to inform the Mercedes team boss of his resignation. "He understood my decision."

There are probably no two people in Formula One more different than Nico Rosberg and Niki Lauda. Lauda, 67, won three world championship titles between 1971 and 1985. In the process, he crashed and almost burned to death in his race car. He fell into a coma with lung burns and burns - 42 days later he was back in a race car. Lauda's return after his accident made him a hero; his drive was to fight. Rosberg's drive was to fulfill a personal dream. Lauda needed the public's attention, the pressure. Rosberg always tried to minimize pressure. He preferred to hide his face behind the helmet he had worn since he was six years old.

Rosberg looks as if he is collapsing under the weight of the World Cup trophy

"I've never felt such an intense adrenaline rush as I did at the race in Abu Dhabi," says Rosberg. The reason was not just "Mad Max," but his teammate Lewis Hamilton. While in the lead, he went against the team's orders and slowed down so much that he slowed down the entire race. The other drivers were able to catch up to Rosberg. Hamilton wanted to beat Rosberg for the win, hoping to win his third consecutive world championship title. After the race, Rosberg got upset about Hamilton's behavior. Today he says, "He's just a racer like everyone else." It gets quiet in the car. "We had a comparable situation in Monaco this year, but there I let him go first for the sake of the team."

Lewis Hamilton is the Robbie Williams of the sports scene, the perfect entertainer, the tattooed star who flirts with the pit girls and can become an ice-cold strategist at the decisive moment. Athletes are always able to captivate when they put themselves in the limelight. When you can see the effort, the joy, the agony. In Rosberg's case, all of this remained hidden behind his helmet. In Formula 1, he was the man without a face.

Rosberg says he received an e-mail from his engineer two days after winning the title in Abu Dhabi. Subject: "Timetable 2017.” As early as this week, it was supposed to start again: sleep, eat, train. Like being on a hamster wheel.

He gets out of the limousine. The room of the Racing Drivers' Club glows in blue neon light. Gentlemen in black suits sit at the tables. A montage of the 2016 impressions is shown on a screen: Rosberg jumping out of his Mercedes after the victory, Rosberg passing "Mad Max". While he waits for his entrance, he watches the video show through a crack in the door. An attendant presses the World Cup trophy into his hand. The slender Rosberg looks as if he must collapse under the weight. He smiles. Then he disappears into the applause.

[corhore]

So… Zeb Wells totally intended on the kids actually being MJ’s and Paul’s biologically and chickened out (rightfully so, fucking idiot) at the last minute right?

Because in issue 24, Rabin has no idea the kids exist, nor that they’re in the bunker. In issue 25, it’s implied he creates them and the first person he meets when he attacks the bunker is one of the kids. And then issue 26 reveals he created them as a tracking beacon to follow MJ back to her universe, except he could already travel universes and follow and locate her at will way back in issue 21, BEFORE the kids were ever a thing. And the farm life that the “happy family” lives shows they were safe for years, not under constant attack/danger like we assumed, meaning MJ and Paul totally had time to *make* the kids the old fashioned way. Plus Rabin saying he made the kids look like them so they’d get attached more easily feels like some quickly made-up bullshit to justify why she’d stay with Paul if the kids were adopted, instead of co-parenting with Peter.

And in the MJ/Black Cat spin-off, MJ is repeatedly said to have vanished for six months, whilst issue 25 reveals she was gone less than one and her kids are referred to by a demon lord who has been told nothing about them - he just knows stuff because he’s a demon - as MJ’s progeny - not adopted, biological.

They changed it last minute to save his ass.

And then in issue 26 they have Rabin call Paul “Your precious Paul” to MJ, have MJ defending a genocide enabler against Peter, which certainly seems intended to imply she loves him, especially when she compares the two, tells Peter she knows everything about Paul and tells him Paul has never lied to her (which he has, about many very big things, so gaslighting too now) and has MJ protesting “Spider-Man is not my boyfriend!” when Kamala calls him her bf. Yeah he definitely wanted to make his OCship canon and is pissed he wasn’t allowed (GOOD, fuck him).

Fucking idiot genuinely thought he could permanently split up Peter and MJ, remove the possibility of Mayday from canon for good and fans would be ok with it.

I think your giving Wells too much credit.

The truth is that he has NO plan for the kids or Paul. If he did then they would actually get explored and fleshed out in the book. The fact that Paul and the kids have had zero spotlight other than one issue (and the girl having two names cus the editors/Wells didn't remember her name) is evidence that Wells didn't care. Hell they only appear in like 7 issues across 27 issues most of which they do nothing.

From the very beginning he didn't care at all about the Kids/Paul nor MJ. He just wanted to writer a Spidey book with Peter working with a "reformed" Norman and be with Black Cat. Paul and the kids was just a dumb way to get MJ outta the way.

The truth is you can make this premise MJ dating another guy and adopting kids good. You can, but the execution has to be fucking spot on especially with MJ, but Wells not only isn't a good enough writer to pull that off, but he didn't care about the premise to begin with. Paul and the kids are nothing characters. They are props. Literal props to stir up controversy and to make people angry.

What were left with is the kids are gone, Paul is still around and MJ is sad. Are they still a couple? Were they ever even in love? What happens to them now? All questions everyone wants (good) answers to, but Wells doesn't care to answer for at least several months cus MJ isn't appearing in the book for the foreseeable future.

And then theres the legit textbook fridging of Ms Marvel a character whos appears in a whopping 12 pages overall.

Its legitimately insane how baffling poor this book is. This is career endingly bad. I fear Zeb Wells isn't writing another Marvel comic for a very long time after this.

Btw he's also writing Deadpool 3 and The Marvels.

[dual-fantasy]

first love / late spring is the chase song ever. lately hes been crying like a tall child. please hurry leave him he cant breathe please don't say you love him. one word from you(emma) and he would jump right off this ledge hes on. tell him dont so he can crawl back in. he was so young when he behaved 25 yet now hes found hes grown into a tall child. humpty is a chemma song. he broke what emma gave him but she kept giving more. they make me physically ill oh my god theres nothing left for you is also a chase(could be chemma post breakup depending on how you interpret the use of you in it) but in a really specific way you just have to understand last words of a shooting star is a chemma at their absolute worst song but, again, in a really specific way you just have to understand. chase learnt from movies how love ought to be geyser is a chase song in a season 1 chemma way. no explanation it just is In Conclusion chaseis mitskipilled. all the way. every song in one way or another (additional thing. with more people jumping on the Changst Wagon im gonna start signing off with 🪦🐕 grave dog!!!!!! from the og changst poster under td takes)

chase is mitskipilled in the most severe way ever. he retired from sad and has a new career in business (his yt channel). the land is inhospitable and so is he.

first love / late spring is so real. it's his self destructive properties and the isolation he puts himself through. the assumption he makes that people are going to ignore him so he doesn't care about it to begin with (he cares so deeply though)

humpty is literally SO REAL like that's perfect. it's one of my personal fav mitski songs and it's just so good for them. he's too frail for her to touch. it goes both ways depending on how you interpret it im soooo normal about this

there's nothing left for you is imo him having to come to terms with leaving the beach house and in general having to abandon his self destruction. he has to leave in order to improve but he finds it difficult even though he knows that there's nothing left for him because it's all he ever knew. and I think the sweethearts door is Bowie because I can do whatever I want

I get last words of a shooting star and geyser but in a way I can't put into words without sounding insane. you're real they've very accurate but it's just that people have to get it I can't explain.

toung tied by free throw is chemma breakup but from chase's toxic abandonment issues perspective. at least in my opinion. did she forget she'd said forever when he asked her how long she would stay? and I the dog/the body by sleater-kinney is chase. trust me it's so good.

and grave dog is literally so cute!!!! more people on the changst wagon is awesome :) I'll tag your posts with 🪦🐕 from now on so they're easy to find

[wastcdpotential]

( TOM HOLLAND / 25 / CIS MAN / HE/HIM ) — did you see HOPE MERCER’S EX BOYFRIEND, NOAH HAYES, wandering around the mercer hollow today? i heard around town that the SALES BRO is CHARISMATIC, and CONFIDENT, but also A DUMBASS, and SELFISH. people say that they remind them of A BLUE-STAINED TONGUE, A STRONG BASS THUMPING THROUGH YOUR CHEST, and THE SMELL DISGUSTINGLY EXPENSIVE COLOGNE, but how well can you ever really know someone in mercer hollow? ( gia / 26 / est / she/her )

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕡𝕠 !!

schmidt ( new girl ), pimento ( b99 ), donkey ( shrek ), lumière ( beauty and the beast ), flynn rider ( tangled ), sokka ( atla ), jamie tartt ( ted lasso )

𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 !!

so first things first, i guess we should start back at the beginning in a galaxy far, far away, except not really that far away because noah was born and raised in a shitty little trailer in the 'bad part of town' section of mercer hollow.

his parents were hippies who fell in love for one summer in mexico à la what a girl wants with icon amanda bynes. 

*sighs wistfully* but summer couldn’t last forever. his dad went back to california to take over the family wine grove, and his mom went crawling back to live with in with her parents in the town she so desperately wanted to escape from. eventually, she left to travel the world and send some post cards along the way. 

he talked to his dad sparesly growing up, but honestly he was happy with the expensive gifts he sent him for his birthday and christmas. 

mostly, he spent his time with his grandma. she is ,,, a nut, but so much fun. she’s a little-known sculptor, and she always let noah throw wet clay at the walls of her studio. 

he spent his entire educational career fucking around. he skipped class all the time to hook up or dick around with his friends. he managed to hide a lot of it bc his grandma isn’t exactly the type of parental figure to check his grades, but she did take his car away when he almost didn’t graduate lmao. 

he played soccer on a comp team bc they don’t have a gpa requirement. he didn’t really take it seriously, but he was pretty good at the state level. 

he had to go to summer school basically every summer, but the teachers usually didn’t mind bc he brought donuts and pizza all the time. 

he started at liberty university with a soccer scholarship ( literally the only reason he got in was bc of test scores, pretty white boy privilege, and his athleticism ), but he showed up hungover to practice too many times, so they cut him sophomore year. thankfully, lil bby boy had his estranged, guilty dad to pay his tuition. 

this is where he met hope mercer. he knew her from high school, but they traveled in very different circles. she was the good girl who got good grades, and he was really hardly ever in class.

when he started hooking up with hope, he was with someone else. oops. eventually, his girlfriend found out and broke it off, and he dated hope for real until that ended just as messily as the relationship he ruined with her.

he graduated ( barely, but he did it ) and got a gig selling software, so he travels a lot and works from home.

sometimes he’s like maybe i should do something with my life and make my grandma proud, but mostly he’s like...or i can just keep visiting her and doing absolutely nothing with my life. 

𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪 !!

he’s uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh a big ho because hard work ?? relationships ?? rejection ?? we don’t know her here in this house.

a chronic flirt. hate him.  

but !! he’s v upfront about his intentions after he saw how much cheating on his first girlfriend fucked her up ( or actually i guess his lack of intentions ). his grandma would kick his ass if he played a girl just to get in her pants.

he’s really chill. it takes a lot to get under his skin bc he doesn’t give a shit about literally anything. it’s his biggest problem, honestly. 

his life motto is you can’t fail if you don’t try lmao. the apathy is strong in this one. 

he is always down to get into shenanigans of any kind, especially during work hours. 

he grew up with nothing, so now that he's making a lot of money he wastes it on all the things he wanted as a kid.

𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 !!

best friends: ( m, f, nb ), childhood friends: ( m, f, nb ), messy ex: ( f, nb ), fwb: ( f, nb), casual hookup ( f, nb), enemies: ( m, f, nb )

more detailed list: here.

hmu OR like this and get ready to catch these loving hands.

[mariacallous]

Ekpar Asat, founder of one of the most popular Uyghur-language websites, started his career as many tech entrepreneurs do: In 2007, he turned his college project into a successful news site and forum called Bagdax.

On the wall of his office were pictures of his role models: Mark Zuckerberg, Barack Obama, and Jack Ma. As a minor celebrity in the western Chinese region of Xinjiang, Asat, also known as Mr. Bagdax, was invited to provincial government events and to the offices of China’s tech giants. Even if the platform had to adhere to China’s strict censorship rules—at one point, four police officers were tasked with monitoring it—its base quickly grew to over 100,000 users.

In early 2016, however, Asat was swept up in a mass detention campaign, alongside a reported 1 million members of Uyghur and other Turkic minorities, after returning from an entrepreneur leadership program organized by the US State Department.

Within a year, Bagdax and other popular Uyghur websites—such as Misranim, Bozqir, and Ana Tuprak—permanently stopped updating. And they weren’t the only ones. As Beijing’s crackdown in the Xinjiang region unfolded, the vast majority of independent Uyghur-run websites ceased to exist, according to local tech industry insiders and academics tracking the online Uyghur-language sphere.

“It’s like erasing the life work of thousands and thousands of people to build something—a future for their own society,” says Darren Byler, assistant professor of international studies at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver and an author of several books on China’s treatment of Uyghurs. Many of the people behind the websites have also disappeared into China’s detention camp system. Developers, computer scientists, and IT experts—especially those working on Uyghur-language products—have been detained, according to members of the minority living abroad. The detentions are a part of China’s crackdown on the majority Muslim region, which has been rocked by several terrorist attacks in the past two decades. Human rights groups have accused the Chinese government of mass surveillance, forced labor, and wiping out the ethnic minority’s culture. Beijing claims that the camps are reeducation centers for vocational job training and countering extremism. 

Ekpar Asat’s sister Rayhan Asat says that the shutdown can be seen as an attack against Uyghur language and culture and that the Chinese government’s repression has often targeted the region’s best and brightest. “Why would an eminent tech entrepreneur need to be reeducated? What kind of skills does he need?” she says. The Public Security Bureau of Urumqi, the capital of Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, did not respond to phone calls.

A major Central Asian Silk Road outpost in the past, Urumqi is no Silicon Valley. Still, by 2014 a small cluster of tech companies was beginning to form just south of its Grand Bazaar. But the blossoming was short-lived, and in 2016 repression was in full swing. “Our region literally became a prison without walls,”  says Abdurrahim Devlet, founder of Bilkan, the company behind 30 apps, a line of hardware, and the first online Uyghur bookstore. Devlet decided to leave Xinjiang after a wave of arrests targeting individuals, including Bilkan’s manager, who was later sentenced to 25 years in prison. After shuttering his company, Devlet is now living in Turkey and working on a doctorate in history. 

Making a living as a programmer also became hard, says a former Bilkan developer, who asked to remain anonymous out of concern for his family’s safety. In 2016, the government started requiring that websites establish Communist Party branches or be supervised by a party member, making it difficult to avoid blacklisting. 

Authorities have also expanded the list of blocked websites from Google and other Western social media platforms to GitHub and Stack Overflow, popular developer tool platforms that remain available to coders in the rest of China. Targeting of the Uyghur IT sector, especially website owners, keeps happening because these individuals are influential in society, says Abduweli Ayup, a language activist who has been keeping a tally of Xinjiang intellectuals who have disappeared into the camp system, a list containing names of over a dozen people working in the technology sector. “They are the leading force in the economy—and after that leading force disappears, people become poor,”  Ayup says. 

Xinjiang’s digital erasure is only the most recent blow to its online sphere. In 2009, after riots exploded in Urumqi, China hit back with an internet shutdown and a wave of arrests of bloggers and webmasters. Advocacy organization Uyghur Human Rights Project estimates that over 80 percent of Uyghur websites did not return after the shutdown.  But even though the region was plagued by small-scale periodic internet blackouts, the Uyghur internet had grown vibrant. And for the Uyghur community, those websites were a place for both rediscovering Islamic religious practices and having conversations about hot-button issues such as homophobia, trans issues, and sexism. More importantly, the internet helped Uyghurs create an image of themselves different from the one offered by Chinese state media, says Rebecca Clothey, associate professor at Philadelphia’s Drexel University. “An online space in which they can talk about issues that are relevant to them gives them the ability to have a way of thinking about themselves as a unified mass,”  she says. “Without that, they’re scattered.” 

Uyghurs in Xinjiang now use domestic platforms and apps made by China’s tech giants. Although WeChat still hosts Uyghur-language accounts, the platform is known for its censorship system.

Some Uyghurs, however, have found tiny cracks in the wall through which they communicate and express themselves. People hold up signs with messages during video calls, out of fear that their conversations may be monitored. Young people are switching their conversations to gaming apps.

On China’s version of TikTok, ByteDance-owned Douyin, Uyghurs have been stealthily filming scenes from Xinjiang that differ from state propaganda videos showing smiling dancers in traditional robes. Some have filmed themselves crying over pictures of their loved ones. Others have captured orphanages with children of detained Uyghurs or people being loaded onto buses, a possible reference to forced labor. The clips are stripped of information, leaving conclusions to the viewers.

Recently, Chinese authorities have been rolling back some controls over the Uyghur language, says Byler. In late 2019, Beijing announced that people held in vocational training centers in China had all “graduated,” while scaling back some of the more visible signs of its high-tech police state. 

Uyghurs abroad, however, say that many of their friends and relatives are still in camps or have received arbitrary prison sentences. Ekpar Asat was sentenced to 15 years in prison on charges of inciting ethnic hatred and discrimination. And although some parts of the Uyghur internet are archived for future digital archaeology, much of it has simply vanished forever. “That’s just been eliminated overnight, and there’s not much of a way of recovering that information,” says Byler.

This article was originally published in the May/June 2022 issue of WIRED UK magazine.

[syms-things-5]

I posted 576 times in 2022

79 posts created (14%)

497 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@liberalsarecool

@afeelgoodblog

@buckysteveloki-me

@jennmurawski13-writes

I tagged 165 of my posts in 2022

#chris evans - 100 posts

#fanfiction - 25 posts

#fanfic - 25 posts

#chris evans x original female character - 22 posts

#chris evans fic - 21 posts

#evans fic - 21 posts

#touch & go - 19 posts

#case histories - 19 posts

#andy barber - 16 posts

#fractured - 16 posts

Longest Tag: 86 characters

#so he couldn't let me enjoy the sma pics for one week without doing something dumb huh

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Case Histories - Chapter Nine

An AU Andy Barber fic (based on BBC’s ‘The Split’)

Previous Chapter Here / Masterlist Here

Series Synopsis: A talented small-town family lawyer, Grace Atherton, gets the opportunity of a lifetime when she is offered a job at prestigious Boston law firm, Rothman and Hale. She decides to give up the relative comfort and ease of her current working situation in favour of following a dream she’s had since she was a young law grad, to the detriment of her family life and marriage. She soon comes into contact with old mentor and one-time flame, Andy Barber. As gifted as he is handsome, it becomes clear he’s been keeping an eye on her burgeoning career from afar. Just how much will this decision cost her?

Chapter Warnings: 18+ NSFW, strong language, angst, emotional stress

CHAPTER NINE

No matter how resilient she was, or at least pretended to be on the outside, Grace had a habit of letting some clients get to her. It didn’t matter that she had a success rate that would make a lawyer twice her age jealous, or even that she was a member of Rothmans to begin with, an agency renowned for its integrity, but passive aggressive comments from people like Nathaniel fucking Parker still got to her. 

“He’s always been a dick.” Evie muttered under her breath as she sided up to Grace in the kitchen. “Literally from birth. I think that’s why he got sent to that private school? I remember him making Lydia cry last year over a single coffee, if you can believe that. He’s just rude and patronising and a jerk.” 

Evie took great delight in letting off that steam, almost like she had been holding it in for all of this time and only now had the option - and relative safety of speaking to Grace - to fully release the force of her opinions of the man in question. Honestly, she could have kept going. She had no time for people who spoke down to her or any of the other staff she worked with. She especially had no time for the people who did while seeming to forget whose help they were after when they found themselves in the Rothman building in the first place.

“What was he doing here last year?” Grace asked, keeping one eye on Mr Parker through the glass window of the boardroom so as to possibly aim her pen at his head if he happened to walk by. 

“It was something to do with his inheritance, I think. He doesn’t speak to any of his siblings anymore except through lawyers so it got really rough at one point. I had to take the minutes but I switched off after a while. Rich kids can be so basic.” 

“Huh, you’re not wrong.” Grace rolled her eyes in agreement. 

Nathaniel Parker was the stereotypical, arrogant trust-fund child. His father had been the heir to a steel company in Ontario but later sold his shares to buy into a successful modelling agency in New York, as one does. It was there he met Sandra, a promising model, who was just twenty-one years old to his fifty-eight. He quickly divorced his first wife, mother of his first two children, and promptly had four more kids with Sandra within that same decade. Parker Senior had been nearly 70 years of age by the time the final one came along. 

Nathaniel was the oldest of the four and had inherited 45% of said agency three years ago at the tender age of just 23. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t mean he owned 45% of the models and so, three lawsuits later, he found himself nearly $20million lighter. There was also a fraudulent crypto-currency deal lingering somewhere in the background but the Feds were already looking into that one.

Jack had wanted nothing to do with him but Charles Rothman had been an old Tennis pal of Parker’s uncle and he had asked Jack personally to try and minimise the public fallout from Nathaniel’s “behaviour”. 

Jack hated people like Nathaniel Parker. To him, Nathaniel was someone coasting on his name and other people’s hard work, then believing they had a God-given right to whatever it was they wanted. He didn’t much want to be involved with Nathaniel the first time he breezed through their front doors, before they even knew of his reputation, and he certainly didn’t want to be involved with him now that he knew exactly what kind of man he was; “man” proving to be a rather generous term. 

As frustrating as it had been for him to do so, Jack reluctantly removed female involvement from the subsequent cases. He just didn’t want to make any one of his team feel uncomfortable in Parker’s presence and, truthfully, the team had been glad of that decision. The sooner Parker vacated the building, the sooner they could all move on with their lives. 

Grace was staggered by just how much his reputation apparently preceded him, and she would be glad if she never saw his name written in the diary ever again. 

“You OK?” 

Grace looked up to find Andy leaning against the door frame, concern etched across his face as his fingers absent-mindedly clicked at the pen in his hand.

“Yeh, I’m fine.” She smiles, shrugging it off. 

He knew what it was that had got her back up but he didn’t say so straight away. He would have said something to Nathaniel Parker himself but he couldn’t walk down the corridor in front of the boardroom where he was sat without spitting fire through his nostrils. Piece of shit. 

He pushed himself off the door and made his way towards her, where she was standing in anticipation of the coffee machine to finish frothing up the milk for her cappuccino. The chocolate sprinkles were poised and ready to go, most likely straight into her mouth if Andy hadn’t been standing right there as a potential witness to her slightly odd food habits. She always seemed to crave sweet things when she was feeling stressed out. 

“Nothing quite says ‘I’m fine’ like four cups of the strongest coffee we have. What is this, Columbian?” He holds up the jar and squints a little at the label. “Jack usually hides this stuff from us mere mortals.” 

“You need to get your eyes tested. And it’s not been four, it’s only been…” She mentally calculates the number of espresso shots she’s inhaled so far today. “Yeh, OK, you’re probably right.” 

Andy grabs a cup from the shelf behind the machine and places it next to hers, expectantly. She looks at the cup and then at him before laughing out loud. 

“I’m not sharing my milk with you.” 

“I don’t want your milk.” He pretends to be affronted but doesn’t get very far before she starts laughing again and he thinks – hopes - he’s made a small difference to her day. “I like it black at this time of the day. I actually fancy something stronger to tell you the truth.” 

“Christ, what’s happened to your day?” she asks. 

“There’s only so many percentages I can take in the space of a couple of hours, Gracie.” He says, matter-of-factly. “I sometimes wonder if I would have been better off studying maths.” 

See the full post

37 notes - Posted April 10, 2022

#4

Touch & Go - Chapter Eleven

Previous Chapter Here

Series Summary: Ten months after leaving Boston, Sarah’s starting over again in Nashua. A new apartment, a new hospital, and closer to her parents, she’s finally finding some peace following her ill-advised affair with her best friend’s brother. But Sarah should have known it would only be a matter of time before the past catches up with her.

Warnings: 18+ language, sexually suggestive language

Tags (please let me know if I have missed you): @bookwormchick91​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @memoriesat30​ @ppal3​ @patzammit​ @before-we-get-started​

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sarah was starting to understand the power in telling someone you love them. Chris had certainly made sure she knew that. If he wasn’t curling himself around her at night in the comfort of her bed, he was sneaking behind her in the shower and risking her hitherto unbroken record for punctuality. One second, he was being cute and asking her about her day, the next he was making her lose her breath with a new, unfamiliar pleasure. 

“Sarah?” 

“Huh?” 

“The canular?” 

“Oh right, yes, of course.” 

She unclips the water solution and replaces it with a new bag. Carefully reconnecting it to the canular they had just spend ten minutes trying to insert into the elderly gentleman’s hand, she waits for a second until the first drips start appearing in the tube before hanging it back onto the mobile. 

“You OK?” Rosie asks as they both depart the man’s private room. 

“Yeh, I’m fine. Sorry about that back there. Just…a bit tired today is all.” Sarah stifles a convenient yawn in the process. 

“Hmm yeh I can tell.” Maria elbows her playfully and Sarah chuckles. “If you wanna get a coffee after work, gimme a shout.” 

Sarah smiles and nods as Maria walks off in the opposite direction leaving her and Rosie to head back to the equipment room. Sarah didn’t know Rosie all that well, in fact she thought she might not have liked her all that much when she first joined the hospital. Then, after Noah’s death, Rosie was, surprisingly, the first member of the department to reach out to her. From then on, they’d become quite good friends. “Good” in the sense that they were both a part of this unfortunate club. 

“Have you spoken to your mom today?” Rosie asks, reaching for the stock pad that had been placed rather unhelpfully on the stop shelf. Sarah was 5ft 9 and even she struggled when reaching her arms up. 

“Yeh, we caught up this morning on my way in.” Sarah replies. “Thanks for that recommendation by the way. Never thought I’d see the day she got into organised exercise.” 

“You’re welcome. It was a huge help for my mom after…you know…” Rosie shrugged it off. 

“Well, I do really appreciate it. I’m not the best at suggesting these kinds of things. I’m just glad she’s getting out of the house more and meeting people.” 

“She has you, still. You’re not too far away.” 

“I know. It’s just…” Sarah trails off for a moment before shaking her head from a particular thought. “She and my Dad were together practically all their lives and now it’s like she’s all on her own again. It’s really sad.” 

Rosie stops what she’s doing and offers Sarah a sympathetic smile. 

“Don’t. Please.” Sarah chuckles. “I’m gonna start crying again if you keep looking at me like that.” 

“Well, bawl away. I still have my moments and it’s been seven years since my pop died.” 

Sarah pondered that admission for a second. The very thing she worries about each night is obviously true and no matter how much she tries to avoid it, it’s not going to be any different for her. She suddenly felt older and no longer protected by the safe notion of still being someone’s child. It sucked. 

 * 

Chris has been perched on the same stone step for the last hour or so. 

“Ten minutes, my ass.” He mutters under his breath. 

He had messaged Shanna earlier in the day to ask if she was likely to be around at some point that afternoon and whether she would be open to a visit from her charming and wonderful older brother. His words. 

See the full post

39 notes - Posted January 10, 2022

#3

Touch & Go - Chapter Fourteen (Finale)

Previous Chapter Here / Masterlist Here

Series Summary: Ten months after leaving Boston, Sarah’s starting over again in Nashua. A new apartment, a new hospital, and closer to her parents, she’s finally finding some peace following her ill-advised affair with her best friend’s brother. But Sarah should have known it would only be a matter of time before the past catches up with her.

Warnings: Strong and suggestive language

Tags: @ppal3  @bookwormchick91  @redhairedfeistynerd  @memoriesat30​  @patzammit  @before-we-get-started

And so, here it is, the final chapter of this series. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Thank you for all of your support; it kept me going when I nearly gave up a couple of times. I really, truly appreciate every single like, reblog, DM’d message and comment that you have given me over the past year or so, and I’m so happy you stuck with it and with me xxx

Chapter Fourteen

“You think we’re crazy, don’t you?” 

Scott looks to the ceiling as he works his mind through a serious of responses that might give Chris the encouragement and support that he seemed to be looking for. It was nearly seven in the evening, the sun was low in the sky, and neither of them had the energy to get up and make some food. 

“No, I think you’re in love although there isn’t much of a difference to be fair.” he muses. “So, how is this gonna play out exactly? What timeframe are you guys looking at?” 

“Um…” 

Chris didn’t have those answers. Neither he nor Sarah had thought much beyond the ‘oh wow how amazing is this going to be!?’ phase that comes along with deciding you’re going to move in with someone. There were nerves of course but that all seemed to ebb away as soon as they started thinking about what the future could hold for them both. The thought of picking out china patterns really did something to him apparently. In a good way. 

It had been a few weeks since they had decided to take the plunge. Surprisingly, they had both found a quiet eagerness to tell most people despite them both initially agreeing to keep things quiet, at least just until they knew for sure that it was definitely happening. For Chris, though, “people” didn’t always include Scott so he ended up knowing almost straight away, and Sarah had found Audrey was just scarily prescient at guessing things, so she knew pretty soon afterwards as well. Chris was almost certain she and Scott were now talking to each other on a daily basis. His suspicions were confirmed when he spied Scott buying baby toys online. 

They were met with a lot of different reactions, the majority of them positive, thankfully, or at least that was how Sarah had chosen to take them at the time. There were definite variations of surprise and shock and Seriously? You?? 

That had been Chris’ fault. He had always been vocal about wanting to remain in Massachusetts, so steadfast was he to maintaining some semblance of normality in the face of what he had chosen to pursue as a career. Also, he wasn’t exactly known for his commitment so he had to answer some tough questions about that as well. He really didn’t enjoy having this pointed out to him multiple times in the same 24-hour period either. 

“But you hate everywhere else.” Was one such helpful comment curtesy of Brian, an old pal from high school who had just moved back to the area after a decade of living in Canada. “And there’s, like, other people there. People who you don’t know.” 

“Is there a Dunkin’ nearby? ‘Cos you’re gonna be fuckin’ unbearable if there isn’t one.” Came Mark’s contribution. 

It was so nice that his friends were thinking of the bigger picture, Chris thought to himself as he lay on his sofa, beer in hand, this Thursday evening. Scott had ventured over to borrow something but that had been forgotten about and it was now three hours later and they could both feel hangovers slowly coming on. 

“They’re just guys, you know?” Scott offered. “It’s how they deal with stuff, like, joking around about it. They’ll probably miss you once you’re gone.”

“Probably?!” 

“Obviously they will miss you, we all will, but it’s not like you’re moving to another country, or Alaska or some shit.” 

“I know you’re right, it’s just…” He waved his hand above him to try and conjure up the right words but nothing came to mind. “I know they’re happy for me and everything, I just didn’t realise I was so predictable and mundane. Mom said I’m not spontaneous so she was surprised but I think I’m spontaneous, right? Scott? I’ve done impulsive shit before.” 

“I don’t think buying a different brand of beer counts as impulsive. Buying a house in a different State? Yeh, I’d say you’ve definitely proven them wrong this time.” 

“And,” Chris leans up, swinging his legs off the side of the sofa so he’s sitting upright. “I’m gonna do lots of spontaneous shit from now on. I’m gonna really surprise folks, make that my new thing. That’s gonna be my new opera.”

“Modus operandi?” 

“Yes! That’s the shit. Definitely.” He pointed defiantly at Scott. “In fact, I’m gonna call Sarah right now and tell her.” 

“Won’t that defeat the object?” 

“Nah, I’m just gonna tell her so she can prepare herself.” 

“Prepare herself for spontaneity? OK, cool, makes sense.” 

Chris dismisses his brother with a wave of his hand and staggers off to the kitchen to grab his phone. He holds it tightly like he might drop it and squints at the numbers until they make sense so he can safely locate the profile for ‘Bernette’. Carefully, he presses the call button and sways unsteadily on his feet until, after a few rings, she answers. 

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42 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

#2

TO THE WIRE

A Chris Evans / Call of Duty AU Fic

My Masterlist can be found HERE, where this will be added.

Part One: It’s All In The Detail

Part Two: Where There’s smoke...

Note: Not sure where I’m going with this but I’ve been a fan of his C.O.D. look since I first saw it. Hopefully, this looks promising but rather than an ongoing series, I see it more as a series of one- or two-shots. Part One is below and Part Two will follow next Sunday following my final spot of editing.

Theme: Enemies to friends to (eventual) lovers. Chris has an ego and believes his own hype, and Martha needs to get a life for herself.

Warnings: Strong language

Word Count: 5.1k

Part One: It’s All In The Detail

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” came Martha’s exasperated response, hands gripped tightly onto her hips as she did her very best to attempt a more aggressive stance than she was altogether comfortable with. “Months of hard work and now it’s done, just like that?” 

She wasn’t sure why she was even questioning it. She could believe it – and expect it – as it had been the case for her on more than one occasion over the last 12 months and she was getting tired of it. She was getting tired of being side-lined.

“I’m sorry. The decision has been made and it’s for your own safety.”

“But what could have possibly changed in the last twenty-four hours?”

It was a valid question and for a brief moment she felt a surge of confidence in her frustration.

Tanner, the shortish, greying intellectual currently sat behind the broad desk that separated them like a protective barrier, appeared resolute in his decision. Even if he had doubts, he wouldn’t let them show. His posture remained relaxed as he leaned back in his leather recliner having barely flinched or moved in the time since she had barged into his office, disappointment etched across her fine features, staring him down like he had just insulted her grandmother. Instead, he regarded her respectfully and with some semblance of understanding of her disappointment at being frozen out yet again from a mission she had worked very hard on. It made her feel a little guilty at her verbal outburst although he had probably heard much, much worse in his forty-plus years with the CIA. He himself had told her as much.

She wasn’t sure if this apparent show of empathy was a good or a bad thing. It certainly didn’t serve to make her feel any better. Deep down, she knew Tanner knew what he was doing. He always gave considered thought to the decisions he made; he wouldn’t be where he was now if he hadn’t. Even deeper down, she knew she wasn’t going to succeed in changing his mind.

“You know as well as I do that intel can change with no notice.” He explained calmly in his soft, Texan drawl. “It’s never ideal to change the format of a mission at any stage of the play but we do what we have to do with what we are given. The team has reason to believe that Haltzar is shifting gear and making a move to exit this Friday night. If we don’t get him then, our chances at ever bringing in Haltzar disappear in the dark, and his little black book goes with him.”

She could appreciate the nuances that went into a plan like this. In just eighteen months, Martha had gone from being a well-liked but rather inconsequential (her words) doctor at Newman & Grey Hospital, working all the shifts she could manage to avoid being home alone with only her thoughts for company, to a valued member of a CIA ‘Special Ops’ Unit that specialised in dealing with situations far beyond the capabilities of ordinary law enforcement. Or so she thought she was.

She listened to Tanner letting her down gently like she was being told she couldn’t have the bike she wanted for Christmas. She also couldn’t shake the feeling this was yet another attempt by Chris Evans to phase her out. She realised she appeared like she was throwing a tantrum because she couldn’t get her own way. It was embarrassing and it made her feel like shit. It wasn’t what she was aiming for when she woke up earlier that morning.

“Listen, Martha, this is in no way a reflection of your work but some people have expressed concern that your being there would draw unwanted attention-”

“-Some people? You mean Chris-”

“-Especially if a member of Haltzar’s crew recognises you from their own intel.” Tanner finished his argument, choosing to ignore hers. “We can’t forget they have been here a long time. They will have scoped the place out for themselves, several times, and if they see you at the hospital, the whole game is up and we’ll have lost nearly eighteen months of work for nothing. I’d like to see you try to explain that to Homeland Security.”

Martha paused in her tracks and tried to avoid Tanner’s careful, sympathetic gaze. Shaking her head in defeat, she loosened her hands from her hips and let them fall limply to her side as she took on board Tanner’s reasoning. Just as she was about to express an apology for her blatant lapse of professionalism in the face of a man who could probably buy and sell what was left of her own family, a lowly whistle came from somewhere close behind her.

Stood still in the corner of Tanner’s office, one boot resting on the panelled wall as though he gave not one care for the probable cost of having his dusty Size 12s scratch the paint off, Chris murmured his disapproval of Martha. She couldn’t quite bring herself to acknowledge his presence, though, preferring to leave him brooding quietly as she attempted to make her way out of the office unscathed.

Even now, after he had sullenly made himself known, she preferred not having to deal with the sight of his smug face at this time of the morning. She could sense him, though. You could always sense when Evans was nearby so it was a complete and utter joke that Tanner was now claiming that she might be the one who would draw attention.

“Well, I would probably call into question the reasons why some people might see me being there as a problem.” She stated matter-of-factly, the words coming out of her mouth before she had the time to edit them. Or stop them altogether as she was quickly wishing she could.

“I’m right here, McLachlan.” Came his bristly tone in response, clearly having had enough of her obstinance.

“Yes, I know, Chris. It’s very hard to miss you.” She snapped, finally conceding to him. All she got in return was a dismissive glare. It only served to wind her up even more.

“Then ask me directly.”

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52 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Black lives still matter.

332 notes - Posted September 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[mostlygibberish]

"It's Morbin' time."

I liked the part when he Morbed on those guys.

No, really, I actually watched Morbius. I figured there's no point seeing 365 movies in a year if I'm not going to include the single greatest accomplishment of film-making released in it. It wasn't the most offensively bad thing I've ever seen, like some would have you believe, but it was certainly a shitty movie.

The plot made very little sense, none of the characters had comprehensible motivation for their actions, and things just sort of happened like they had a script framework they had to fill out, because they probably did. The tone shift between any two scenes was completely unpredictable, and it was never clear why anybody was reacting the way they were to the insane shit taking place. 

Multiple people watched somebody Morbing out (literally transforming into a Nosferatu looking monster) and just took it ridiculously casually. When he jumped like 25 storeys up a stairwell, the cops said "Hold your fire!", like they were dealing with a regular fleeing guy and not a magic vampire. The best part is that approximately ten seconds later the main cop was somehow up there on the roof confronting him.

Jared Leto seemed incapable of emoting even before he became a CGI monster, and I found him as annoying as always. Matt Smith, despite already looking vampiric to begin with, was horribly cast as the villain who entirely lacked motive. Turns out his stupid dance scene is just as funny in the movie as it was context-free on youtube, because it actually has no context. It just hard cuts from a serious laboratory scene to him dancing and Morbing out, to remind you he exists.

Adria Arjona was pretty good, but her character was presented as a love interest without bothering to include any actual relationship development. I hope appearing in this didn't hurt her career too badly, though it looks like she might be signed up for a sequel if and when one eventuates.

There were these two cops that kept showing up, but ultimately they contributed absolutely nothing to the movie. I think they may have been intended as audience surrogates or comedic relief, but whatever the plan was it didn't work.

All the fights were dull and entirely rendered in terrible CGI. You couldn't really follow what was happening spatially because of the way everything was just muddled blobs smacking against each other in dim lighting. It all looked shocking dated.

Morbius had the power of flight because he had bat DNA and bats can fly. Obviously that's the thing that lets the bats fly, right? Their genes and ability to... see wind currents? The wings are really just for show, everyone knows that.

Even the end credits were a confusing mess; Neon vector graphics bombarded the screen like we just watched some retro 80's callback, accompanied by music that made me think I was in a day spa awaiting a relaxing mud bath.

The most egregious sin of Morbius is that it had not one but TWO sequel hooks, assuredly planting the seed for the living vampire's triumphant return to the silver screen, and a cinematic universe capable of effortlessly overthrowing Marvel and DC.

A literally perfect piece of pure kino that everybody should immediately watch. Also an entertainingly shitty movie.

[oldtvlover]

Cast: Richard Jordan as Joseph Armagh Ray Bolger as R.J. Squibbs Peter Donat as Clair Montrose Charles Durning as Ed Healey Celeste Holm as Sister Angela Harvey Jason as Harry Zieff Joanna Pettet as Katherine Hennessey Beverly D'Angelo as Miss Emmy and many more 

Story: (aka Chapter I) Joseph Francis Xavier Armagh and his two younger siblings Sean and Mary escape a ship on the harbor of New York. The situation ashore is problematic, jobs are scarce and food equally scarce. Aboard the ship their mother has died from disease, but they have a hope; their father is in Philadelphia awaiting them. The siblings run away, and discovers their father to be dead to, and young teenager Joseph places his siblings in an Orphanage while he himself goes to make money, become rich and get them out of poverty. The first episode follows Joseph for a few years through a series of struggles, and how he starts earning his first dollars and setting off into speculation in oil, together with his new-won friend, the Lebanese Haroun Al-Zieff (later: Harry Seff). The beginnings of a true rags-to-riches-story. —Lars-Toralf Storstrand (from IMDB again) CAPTAINS AND THE KINGS set the template for future TV miniseries such as ROOTS and THE BASTARD, gathering together a cast of beloved veterans and intriguing newcomers in a historical fiction designed to keep audiences coming back for the next installment. Taylor Caldwell's 1972 best seller gets the sprawling treatment, broadcast over 8 weekly installments, from Sept 30-Nov 25 1976, exactly two months of gripping melodrama. We open with the teenaged Joseph Armagh watching his ailing mother die as their ship sits in New York Harbor in 1857, forced to return to Ireland due to America's intolerance for the Irish. With his younger brother and sister, Joseph secretly departs the vessel by night into the water, only to find their father's home in Philadelphia, he too deceased from pneumonia. Now determined to keep his promise to his mother to always look after his siblings, Joseph leaves them safely in the care of an orphanage run by Sister Angela (Celeste Holm), as the boy mines during the week while building a personal nest egg running liquor on Sundays for R.J. Squibbs (Ray Bolger). Four years later, at the dawn of the Civil War, the now adult Joseph (Richard Jordan) is ready to 'borrow' an investment from Squibbs to form his own company in Titusville with the help of companion Harry Zieff (Harvey Jason) and wealthy entrepreneur (and fellow Irishman) Ed Healey (Charles Durning). Ann Sothern and Neville Brand get little more than cameos, Vic Morrow again in unsympathetic mode, Joanna Pettet, Barbara Parkins, and newcomer Beverly D'Angelo (in a literally smashing debut performance) providing eye candy galore. Veteran scene stealer John Carradine kicks things off as Father Hale, whose attempts to comfort young Joseph in the wake of his mother's death are met with steely determination, a fine though brief character study for an actor so often reduced to low budget roles at this stage of his lengthy career. - by kevinolzak on IMDB Thoughts: We mainly start with Joseph and his way to get rich and more. He takes every job he can get, even dirty one just to be paid well. Joseph wants to be the one who makes the rules and so he learns from anyone possible, in each field like oil and others. Even with reading books provided by a wealthy woman, he chooses his life and not the other way around. At the end, he goes out for another great adventure during the Civil War and it includes rifles, a lot of those.  More then tomorrow!

Chapter II Additional cast: Pernell Roberts as Colonel Elbert Braithwaite Robert Vaughn as Charles Desmond Story: A few years of successful gun running and Joseph Armagh becomes a partner in the oil company of Ed Healey. (from IMDB again) The second chapter of CAPTAINS AND THE KINGS picks up at the start of the Civil War, Joseph Armagh (Richard Jordan) joining Clair Montrose (Peter Donat) in a spot of gun running with Colonel Elbert Braithwaite (Pernell Roberts), who cannot resist the generous graft for his certification. A year away and Joseph is back in the arms of the beautiful Martinique (Barbara Parkins), while his second hand man Harry (Harvey Jason) finds himself falling for Ed Healey's ward Miss Emmy (Beverly D'Angelo). His oil speculations are coveted by Healey so eventually the two agree to partner up, Joseph to receive one third of the profit for his efforts to consolidate the refineries, to the delight of railroad baron Charles Desmond (Robert Vaughn). Blair Brown is introduced as Healey's real life daughter Elizabeth, just returned from boarding school, sparking off a series of lustful events that leave the principals dazed and confused. - by kevinolzak on IMDB Thoughts: Well, Joseph has learned a lot and bargains hard to get what he wants, no matter what. His little siblings are still at the orphanage where Mrs. Hennessey takes care of them as well. He loves Martinique but this woman has many secrets but protects him if needed. Harry falls in love with Miss Emmy and they make out in Joseph's room. Harry can flee but Joseph and Emmy are caught by Strickland (Joe Kapp) and Healey. Healey seems to believe them but he's not certain here. Wonder how it will go on. 

Chapter III Additional cast: Patty Duke (Astin) as Bernadette Hennessey Blair Brown as Elizabeth Healey Katherine Crawford as Mary Armagh David Huffman as Sean Armagh George Gaynes as Orestes Bradley Vic Morrow as Tom Hennessey Story: When Elizabeth Healey fails in her attempts to seduce Joseph, she decides to seduce the next attractive man she meets - Tom Hennessey. Tom becomes a senator and Elizabeth tells him she is pregnant with his child. She proposes a plan where Tom will use his political influence to create a false marriage record for her and a friend, Everett Wickersham who has been killed in the war. At a family dinner Ed shares the news of Elizabeth's marriage, the unfortunate death of Everett Wickersham, and the expected baby. He drinks to excess, collapses and dies. Ed's will is extremely generous to everyone - Emmy and Martinique are now both rich women. Martinique announces that she will go to Europe and Emmy marries Harry. Joseph receives 75% of Ed's estate and Elizabeth receives 25% with instructions that Joseph will invest her money for her. Joseph has built his own mansion in Green Hills and proposes to Elizabeth, but she says it's too late. Sean and Mary move into Joseph's new home, but Mary expresses her desire to become a nun and Sean becomes a union organizer. On her deathbed, Katherine Hennessey asks Joseph to marry her daughter, Bernadette and he agrees. (taken from here now) Thoughts: So, good bye to Ed Healey and Joseph has reached his goal, yet his siblings, Sean and Mary are not happy with his lifestyle. Mary decides to stay at the monastery whereas Sean is working against his brother. However, Joseph has too many women at his hand and when he finally makes a decision to wed Elizabeth it's too late. He knew he was in love with Katherine but couldn't say, yet the conflict between him and her husband will escalate for sure. It will be interesting. I have to admit it got me hooked.

Chapter IV Additional cast: Henry Fonda as Sen. Enfield Bassett Richard (T.) Herd as Talmadge Story: Joseph quarrels with Sean over the labor union issue and with Mary over her desire to leave and enter a nunnery. He rages about their lack of gratitude for all the sacrifices he has made in his life to provide for them. He says that Sean can go to Hell and Mary can go to Jesus and severs all ties with both of them. Alone in his big house, he now wants a family of his own and proposes marriage to Bernadette Hennessey. She understands that he does not love her, but hopes that will change once they have children. Sean organizes a strike against Joseph's company and when the militia are called in to intervene, violence erupts and many of the strikers are killed. Years pass and Joseph and Bernadette now have 4 children, Rory, Kevin, Anne-Marie, and Brian. Elizabeth Healey has married Tom Hennessey and Joseph vows to destroy him. Joseph uses his money and influence to expose Tom's involvement in a corruption scandal and he is politically ruined. Sean is falsely accused of an attack on the railroad and is sentenced to hang when he is wrongly convicted. Behind the scenes, Joseph intervenes to prove Sean's innocence - to protect the family name. He begins telling others of his plan to make his son Rory the first Irish Catholic President. (taken from here again) Thoughts: Joseph in his rage cuts all family ties to his siblings but then starts a family of his own, yet without love. Soon he has four kids and well, set his plan in action to make his eldest Rory the first Irish Catholic President - and even get him a future wife, the daughter of his friend Desmond. Oh boy, that might backfire one day. Never mind, he manages to ruin his own father-in-law but deep down, he was always in love with Elizabeh Healey. Oh my, what a complicated relationship will begin. It cannot end good. 

So, I’ll stop here. The remaining four chapters will be posted soon. I think this might be better since it’s way too long anyway. There’s enough to read for you now.