#it's gonna be called “always gonna be an uphill battle”

[losergender]

i don't have anything for wip wednesday (yet??) but i remembered i did these sort of """"aesthetic"""" ""moodboards"" of the vibe i want solangelo + lost trio to have in this one highschool au im planning (solangelo + valgrace) and i was gonna let them rot in my computer but not anymore ig

the songs are meant to be sort of what they would listen to in this particular au! the rest of the seven are gonna be there as well but i gave up after doing piper's

[monstrsball]

the climb by miley cyrus is actually so so so so so hinata/karasuno-core. to me. planning the amv in my head as we speak.

[pin-k-ink]

feral // kyoutani kentarou

tw ⇢ possessive!kyoutani, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, making out, begging, fingering, biting, cunnilingus, overstimulation, name calling, mild degradation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, mentions of masturbation, semi public sex

wc ⇢ 11.5k

a/n: this was for the sweetheart that asked for some kyoutani smut. i’m sorry i accidentally deleted your request ;_;

You never knew what to expect when Kyoutani Kentarou stomped into the room, his perpetual scowl etched deeply across his face.

From the moment he had joined the Aoba Johsai volleyball team in his first year, the hot-headed wing spiker had been a ticking time bomb of aggression just waiting to explode. Despite Coach Mizoguchi and the upperclassmen's efforts to rein him in, Kyoutani seemed to take perverse pleasure in disrupting practice with his outbursts and insubordinate behavior.

Which was why you, as the team's manager, often found yourself being summoned to deal with the fallout of his latest tantrum.

"He's done it again," Yahaba groaned one afternoon, shoulders slumped in exasperation. "Kyoutani started mouthing off during the hitting drills and it escalated into a full-blown brawl with Watari."

You bit back a sigh, feeling a headache already forming. Ever since the newly-minted captain had instituted "disciplinary punishments" for the unruly wing spiker, you'd been the one tasked with monitoring his compliance.

The punishments ranged from tedious chores like cleaning the gym to studying in the library after practice - essentially anything to constructively wear down Kyoutani's endless reserves of pent-up aggression. At least, in theory.

Because in reality, getting the tempestuous third-year to actually apply himself to the remedial tasks proved an uphill battle of wills every single time. You could already envision the confrontation awaiting when you attempted to corral him later.

Sure enough, Kyoutani was his usual prickly self when you finally tracked him down in one of the empty classrooms later. He was slouched low in a rickety desk chair, booted feet propped up and arms crossed like a petulant child as you entered.

"I know, I know...library study time again," he grumbled without even looking up. "When are you jailers gonna get some new material?"

You refused to rise to the bait of his surliness, instead simply fetching one of the textbooks from the pile on the teacher's desk.

"As many times as it takes for you to learn some self-control, Kyoutani-san," you replied calmly. "Now open up to chapter nine and start reading."

A muscle ticked visibly in his clenched jaw as he dragged his glower up to finally meet your steady gaze. You braced yourself for the usual torrent of insolent pushback that always followed these disciplinary sessions.

But this time...something seemed to flicker and fracture in Kyoutani's stony glare the longer your silent staredown stretched. You watched as his narrowed eyes gradually widened, tracked the way his throat bobbed slightly on a subconscious swallow.

Was it a trick of the light, or did his cheeks appear just the faintest shades pinker beneath that oppressive scowl of his?

The surly wing spiker seemed to catch himself after a beat too long, blinking rapidly as he scrubbed one hand over his face with a low grumble.

"Whatever...let's just get this over with," he muttered, snatching up his pencil and cracking open the textbook with far less resistance than usual.

An odd, perplexed furrow creased your brow at his uncharacteristic acquiescence. But rather than pry into the bizarre shift of behavior, you simply took your customary seat near the front and opened your own bookbag to pass the tutoring time in productive quiet.

Out of the corner of your periphery, you periodically caught glimpses of Kyoutani's hand dragging through his disheveled fringe in what looked like agitation. His nostrils would flare slightly, lips pressed into a flat line of concentration - or perhaps constipation judging by his pinched expression.

More than once you opened your mouth, a gentle reminder on the tip of your tongue to urge him to stop stalling and simply get on with his assigned reading for once.

But each time the words wilted before they could form as your eyes traced the taut, corded lines of muscle shifting beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Watched the play of tendons flexing along the powerful column of his throat as he swallowed again in apparent... agitation?

An infinitesimal spark of heat you hadn't noticed before seemed to smolder behind Kyoutani's russet stare whenever his gaze would instinctively, unconsciously dart over to follow you shifting position in your seat.

It was...unnerving to be studied in such an abruptly intense manner by someone as volatile as the hotheaded spiker. You couldn't deny the fine prickle of unease slowly blossoming beneath your breastbone the longer that strange silent observation stretched out between you.

But still...you couldn't bring yourself to shatter the weighted quiet crackling with some indefinable new tension, either.

Over the next few tutoring sessions, Kyoutani's newly mercurial behavior only seemed to intensify further. His moods would careen wildly between sullen aloofness one minute, only to have his gaze practically scorching a trail over your movements the very next.

You couldn't deny the spark of inexplicable heat that bloomed low in your belly whenever you'd catch him tracking you with that piercing stare - slightly hooded and inscrutable in a way that sent confusing little shivers racing beneath your skin.

During one study hall, you made the questionable decision to bend at the waist and retrieve your pencil case from your bag on the floor. When you straightened again, textbook cradled in the opposite arm, you found Kyoutani's intense focus locked onto the new vantage you'd inadvertently offered.

His eyes snapped up instantly when he registered your upright position once more, but not before you caught the faintest hint of pink staining those sharp cheekbones. The wing spiker startled like a kid caught snatching sweets before dropping his stare guiltily to the desktop.

You could have sworn you glimpsed his throat working in a harsh swallow, chest expanding on a sharp inhale. And all at once the simmering tension in the small classroom took on an unmistakably suggestive edge you couldn't ignore.

Flustered heat flooded your own features as the implications crashed over you in a dizzying rush. Was it possible Kyoutani had just been...

No, you firmly shut down that inappropriate trail of thought before it could start sparking more indecent ideas. With some deliberate throat-clearing, you shifted your weight and pointedly avoided looking in the disgruntled spiker's direction once more.

The next few minutes stretched out in a weighted hush that felt thick enough to drown in. Until finally Kyoutani gruffly broke the silence by slamming his pencil down and shoving his chair back from the desk with a screech of wood on tile.

"This stupid babysitting shit was supposed to help control my temper, right?" he growled in a voice made thick and gravel-rough by...something you couldn't put a name to.

You blinked up at him with a bemused frown. "Well...yes? That was the inten--"

"Hasn't worked for shit," Kyoutani snapped before you could finish, suddenly on his feet and radiating wild, jagged energy. "Don't think locking me up with homework is gonna solve jack if you wanna stop me losing my shit."

With that brusque declaration hanging in the air, he abruptly slung his bag over one shoulder and stalked for the door without a backwards glance. His motives, as usual, were utterly inscrutable.

You could only sit and gape after the wing spiker's tense departure, feeling utterly poleaxed and more than a little flustered by whatever fresh maelstrom of emotions seemed to have been roiling just beneath Kyoutani's surface this entire time.

Over the next few weeks, his outbursts and disruptive antics only continued unchecked - racking up infraction after infraction at an alarming rate. At this juncture, even Yahaba was at a loss for how to proceed in curbing his unruly teammate's behavior.

"None of these punishments seem to be taking," the captain sighed in exhaustion one afternoon as you watched Kyoutani storm out after his latest raging display. "If anything, it's like he's been acting out more just to wind up with extra sentences of study time."

Your brow furrowed as you absorbed his observations alongside your own disjointed suspicions regarding Kyoutani's volatile state. Because the more you mulled it over, the more it seemed like the surly third-year almost...enjoyed receiving those private punishments with you as his monitor.

A troubling thought began to form, one you hesitantly brought up when seeking Yahaba's counsel on how to proceed.

"Captain...is there any possibility the reason he's been even more disruptive is...well, because of me?"

Yahaba's brow arched quizzically. "What, like he has a crush on you or something? HA! Yeah right, that would require Kyoutani being capable of feeling anything other than rage and spite."

You smiled wanly, though the jeering laughter didn't quite manage to fully dispel those nagging uncertainties from taking root further. Because now that the idea had been verbalized, however ludicrous, you couldn't seem to dislodge it entirely from your wavering thoughts.

And over the subsequent days and weeks, the theory only mushroomed into something far more tangible and visceral to dismiss.

The rising charged tension between you and Kyoutani felt nearly palpable, manifesting in a series of escalating encounters and near-misses that left you feeling perpetually off-kilter and frayed.

A terse bathroom encounter in which the sound of running taps from the sinks had drowned out his arrival, only for you to turn around and find Kyoutani looming in the open doorway with that searing gaze roving over you in one long, heated assessment. The sleeves of your fitted shirt had ridden up around your forearms, leaving slightly disheveled and flushed from the exertion of scrubbing away stubborn floor scuffs. Kyoutani's jaw had tightened perceptibly as he drank in your relatively undone state, nostrils flaring like a predator catching the scent of prey.

Before either of you could address the weighted tension strangling the cramped room, the boisterous arrival of more teammates behind him sent Kyoutani abruptly about-facing and stalking away as if you'd burned him.

Or the time he'd caught you in the gym storeroom struggling to haul a bulky rack of withered volleyballs to the wash basin across the cramped space. Without prompting, Kyoutani had pivoted on that eerily feline tread of his to crowd up behind you - the sudden brand of his muscular frame searing into your back as his larger hands came around to grip the cumbersome rack on either side of yours.

"Lemme do that for you," he growled in that sandpaper rasp that raised goosebumps all along the nape of your neck.

Dazed by the sudden smoldering proximity, you could only offer a jerky nod of assent before allowing your grip to slacken completely. Kyoutani took the bulk of the weight without visible strain, tendons cording and flexing beneath the bronzed pulls of his powerful forearms as he leveraged the rack into steady motion. All while making sure to prowl at a distinctly leisurely pace just behind your rigid posture, hemming you in against the low countertop's edge and those matte metal surfaces still radiating day-old warmth...

You sucked in a sharp breath at the unsubtle glide of his hips brushing yours on each laborious step closer to your destination. Heat prickled all along the back of your thighs from the continual drag of his solid girth framing you in from behind. And when Kyoutani finally pivoted and deposited the rack aside near the industrial sinks, the sudden dissolving of that searing full-body press had you feeling oddly untethered. As if every undefended inch of your back now tingled with feverish sensitivity in the absence of his caging presence.

That roiling, choking tension between you only mounted further with each drawn-out entanglement. Like an ember being stoked brighter with every suggestive encounter into something perilously close to a raging wildfire neither of you seemed capable of reigning in anymore.

More than once, you found yourself trapped in Kyoutani's orbit - confronted with the stark reality of his potent physicality in a way so raw and overwhelming you could scarcely meet the fiery simmer of his gaze without feeling immolated from within.

During one disastrous laundry-folding session, he'd casually sauntered over to help sort through some equipment bags in typical brooding silence. Only to promptly get into a tug-of-war over some knotted laces ensnaring a pair of his shorts, arms straining and tendons cording as he braced his feet for leverage against you during the awkward tussle.

All it took was one particularly stubborn yank for the ensnarled fabric to finally give way, bunching beneath Kyoutani's grip and abruptly exposing his navel, lower abdomen, and the unmistakable vee of defined musculature all the way down to...

You barely registered the warning growl rumbling up from his chest as you instinctively devoured every salt-slicked, flexing inch of revealed skin with a ravenous stare you simply couldn't tear away from for the life of you. The blaze of heat and illicit want that rendered you momentarily insensate to anything but that breathtaking physicality sprawled temptingly before you in ways you'd only ever allowed yourself to imagine in the deepest throes of restless nights...

A sharp, smarting sting across the back of your knuckles finally dispelled the lust-drunk haze fogging your thoughts. You flinched back to reality with a full-body start, blinking rapidly as your unbound hair swung across your rapidly flushing features. Kyoutani loomed over you with his spine locked ramrod straight—the abortive swing of his arm suggested he'd lashed out to strike your wandering grip back from continuing to map out any more dangerous undiscovered territory between you.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?" The caustic rasp of his voice had you hunching your shoulders guiltily. Even still, you sensed the molten undertones of restrained...something else twining through those growled words like smoke and sinew.

Before you could stammer any hasty apologies about spacing out, Kyoutani snatched the tangle of laces and abruptly spun on his heel to stalk off in a tension-cloaked fury prickling with even more restless static charge than before.

All you could do was watch the broad, powerful lines of his retreating shoulders and back through a sheen of dazed longing - the echoes of that momentary, inappropriate eyeful both searing itself irrevocably into your hindbrain and kindling even more hapless embers of temptation to eventually set you both aflame once and for all...

The bubbling cauldron of charged tension could only contain itself for so long before something finally had to give. With each passing practice and tutoring session, you could feel Kyoutani's smoldering stare singeing into you from across the gym or classroom like twin laser-focused beams of sheer yearning.

It was getting harder and harder to deny or ignore the blatant implication of that ravenously intent study. Or to turn a blind eye to the way his nostrils would subtly flare with each inhale whenever you moved within proximity - as if scenting the ambient notes of your shampoo and perfume and committing every last tantalizing nuance to carnal memory.

But while Kyoutani's molten preoccupations with you seemed to steadily eclipse any remaining threads of restraint each day, you were embroiled in your own fraying internal war as well. One that collided and detonated in spectacular fashion the afternoon Watari, ever the friendly jokester, sidled up beside you with one of his patented sunny grins as you wiped down the front court railings between drills.

"Looking a little flushed there, y/n-chan!" The libero chirped in that effervescent rasp that always made you smile no matter how disgruntled you might be feeling. "Tough practice really giving you a workout today, huh?"

Offering him a beatific smile in return, you playfully swatted at his arm with the damp towel clutched in your hands.

"Something like that," you chuckled lightly. "More like dealing with Coach's endless notations wearing me down instead of the floor burns!"

Watari's nose scrunched up jovially as he fell into familiar banter alongside you, completely at ease in a way you'd always envied whenever spent in Kyoutani's mercurial presence. Where that hotheaded third-year simmered with sullen ferocity and roiling embers of something painfully unspoken, Watari danced and joked with the bubbly lightness you'd always wished you could nurture more of yourself these days.

Still snickering over his latest teasing rejoinder, you bent to set the grimy towel aside so you could collect up the rest of the cleaning supplies. Which was when you caught sight of Kyoutani across the gymnasium out of your periphery - utterly immobile and watching you both with razored focus. Specifically trained on the studiedly casual way Watari had shifted in close beside you as your laughter and camaraderie echoed bright across the high-ceilinged stretch of hardwood.

Even from a distance, you couldn't miss the acute line of tension visibly furling Kyoutani's shoulders back to an unmistakable knot of outward bristle. Nor the way his pupils had contracted to piercing pinpricks against the molten outrage visibly dilating the rest of his features into an unmistakable mask of lightning about to strike.

The visceral menace and scalding possessiveness painted across Kyoutani's chiseled contours in that instant nearly stole your ability to draw breath entirely. His heavy footfalls slammed across the courts like rolling thunderclaps as the wing spiker stormed in your direction - focused solely upon the perceived impunity of Watari now hemming you into the corner between the lockers and railing with his easy affability and casual flirting.

Before either you or the oblivious libero could register, Kyoutani's powerful bulk had shoved directly in between your joined proximities - effectively severing the personable bond with all the grace and discretion of a wildfire scalding across a drought. In the ensuing disoriented tumble of limbs and shocked exclamations, you reeled back against the hard concrete barrier with your heart in your throat.

Watari gaped up at Kyoutani from where he'd abruptly bounced off the larger wing spiker's chest in stunned bewilderment. But rather than acknowledging his sputtering indignation, the steely focus of Kyoutani's dismantling glower simply tracked past him to zero in on your flushed features and shallow pants with all the remorseless hunger of an apex predator locking onto its coveted prey at last.

"You and me," he growled in a register so choked and molten it had your core clenching paradoxically. "Practice rooms. Now."

Without sparing you or the libero another breath of regard, Kyoutani spun on his heel and stalked off towards the secluded annex classrooms appropriated for private coaching sessions. His thighs visibly bulged and flexed with each devouring stride beneath the clinging fabric as he sliced through anyone else standing in the way.

You had only enough time to gape haplessly after that possessed, potent display while gulping down the desperate rushes of fight-or-flight adrenaline roaring to molten life within your veins. When you finally managed to tear your gaze away to meet Watari's utterly befuddled stare, an unspoken acknowledgment seemed to pass between you...

Whatever feverish breaking point Kyoutani was hurtling towards with each escalating orbit around you, the rough wing spiker now seemed all but inevitable to combust beyond any hope of restraint or decorum in the very near future. All you could do was wait for the fateful encounter to run its cataclysmic course - and pray the raging fires burning between you weren't permanently extinguished in the aftermath of whatever reckoning was about to go down.

The remainder of practice passed in a disconcerting blur after Kyoutani's abrupt departure - your every sense now attuned to any subtle vibrations suggesting whatever powderkeg confrontation might be occurring behind those closed classroom doors.

More than once you startled and spun at the muffled dull thud of impact - fists against drywall or flesh, imagination running lurid as you pictured the broiling savagery the unstable spiker might be indulging with no prying eyes around. Just as often, the sound of that graveled baritone rasping indecipherable rejoinders through the baffling barrier had you involuntarily canting closer in hopes of gleaning any telling inflections.

But the only insights you managed to unearth from those fruitless listenings involved the dizzying blooms of heat blossoming low in your belly at every growled timbre. As if Kyoutani's voice alone contained hypnotic power to weaken your knees and dissolve your restraint to pliant surrender with each fervent rasp caressing your senses.

You had to shake yourself forcibly on multiple occasions from the spiraling descent into wanton reverie - cheeks flushed hot with shamed arousal that only intensified with every subsequent unraveling daydream of finally having that raw, aggression-laced physicality caged against your own trembling frame.

By the time Coach Mizoguchi finally called for dismissal, you felt wrung-out and frazzled in a way that had nothing to do with the actual physical exertions of the day's training regimen and everything to do with the tempestuous undercurrents still simmering unresolved and attended to. As you gathered your sparse possessions and tried valiantly not to betray the roiling unease gnawing away at your composure, the hair on the back of your neck abruptly lifted in forewarning.

Spinning towards the periphery coaching rooms, you glimpsed the door to the private conference area creaking open with ominous lethality. Kyoutani's hulking silhouette emerged first, striding forth on legs that seemed to devour the distance between you in a handful of prowling strides. His shoulders were locked at that telltale width suggesting every sinewy inch of musculature remained coiled at maximum tension beneath his untamed fury.

He did not acknowledge you in any overt sense. But the razor-line of his focus never once wavered or deviated from its scorching assessment of your increasingly flustered state. Conflicting desires warred within you - the unmistakable siren's call of curiosity demanding you crane to glimpse any evidence of fallout on Kyoutani's harsh visage from that impassioned seclusion just endured. While the more prudent, self-protective voices shouted to simply avoid any further incendiary provocations altogether and retreat while you still stood a chance of surviving with faculties intact.

All you could do was stand rooted, pathetic indecision eroding your footing beneath that steadily intensifying glare. It wasn't until he reached the limits of the doorframe that Kyoutani finally skated the tip of his incendiary stare higher - zeroing in on the only other occupant in the small staging room off the main gym with an unmistakable flare of possessive dismissal radiating from every taut line of his frame.

"We're done here," he growled in a voice that shredded past his gritted teeth. The words did not come across as a polite pleasantry despite their innocuous arrangement.

Coach Mizoguchi spared his volatile wing spiker the briefest of wary sidelong looks before nodding curtly and making his retreat without argument. Something about Kyoutani's present demeanor clearly cautioned against offering even the mildest pushback under any circumstances.

Once you were alone in that enclosed space together - just you and the barely-tamed wildfire of Kyoutani's focus steadily searing away any remaining vestiges of common sense or distance - the pressure in the air seemed to intensify tenfold. Each rasping exhalation you struggled to reign in only drew your shared aromas that much more intimately between your shared gravities. Sharp musk and residual adrenaline, floral body products and salted skin in a sinuously provocative melange that awakened whole new layers of yearning inside you.

When Kyoutani's gaze finally cut back to pin you in place with that familiar, bone-searing intensity, you felt your breath exit in a breathless rush of inevitability. Of acceptance that this tinderbox between you had finally reached its volatile crescendo...and all either of you could do now was let the raging fires sweep everything inevitably in their path to sweet, boneless ruination.

"So..." Kyoutani growled in that same perilous, shrapnel-laced rasp that seemed to slice right through your attempts at feigning composure. "You and the libero have been getting pretty damn cozy lately."

It wasn't phrased as an actual question despite the slight lilt tugging at the end - more an unmistakable statement of accusation loaded with displeasure. That scorching stare of his branded every trembling twitch reshaping your features as confusion swiftly curdled to realization, then a frisson of indignant defiance in the span of a few molten heartbeats.

"I-I'm sorry, what?" You stammered uselessly, desperate to stall for time against whatever rapidly escalating confrontation seemed to be unfolding from out of nowhere. "Watari and I are just...we've always been friends, Kyoutani. Teammates. Where is this even coming from?"

Another gravelly snarl ripped from the depths of his broad chest as those piercing amber irises visibly ignited with further outrage. Before you could so much as draw your next sharp intake, Kyoutani had bridged the remaining scant distance separating you in three devouring strides until you could taste the charged pheromones of him on the air.

"Don't play dumb with me," he bit out in a seething growl that had your pulse kicking up to gallop beneath your hammering ribcage. The heat of his overall presence radiated off Kyoutani in almost tangible waves now, caressing over your feverish skin in electric ribbons that raised every nerve ending to rapturous awakening.

"We both know that ain't the way you look at a damn friend or teammate, little girl."

The derisive, wrecked emphasis he laced onto that last endearment practically detonated in the shockwave between you like physical force. You reeled beneath the implication's stark insult as Kyoutani leaned down until you were forced to crane your neck back at an aching angle just to maintain that searing eye contact.

God he was huge like this - all dense, unyielding muscle and flexed potentials arrayed in towering apogee before you. It would be so easy for those larger-than-life hands and brutally-calloused grips to seize your pliant, undefended softness in a fit of unchecked possession and dominating fervor.

To simply wrench you up against that fever-warm expanse of carved musculature and scorching male intensity smothering against you in tsunamic waves with only the barest exertion from his end, utterly overpowering any feeble resistance through sheer liquid physicality alone...

A shuddering whimper threatened to break free from the shredded rags of your serenity as the next blazing pass of Kyoutani's hooded stare left no ambiguities about the forbidden directions your imagination had whited out into. He could clearly see every sordid desire and burst of need his provocation had stoked to incandescent life swirling naked across your features, eyes burning hotter at each outward tell you instinctively broadcasted.

"So why don't you just admit what we both already know?" He practically crooned in a rumbling, velvet-drenched baritone that skirted lower into sheer sin dipped in audible lust. "How it's been driving you half out of your mind watching me while trying to pretend you're not eye-fucking every goddamn inch of what you want all over--"

"Kyoutani!" The rebuked burst forth before you could think to reclaim your composure from the brink of unraveling completely.

Whether it was hearing him speak those incendiary confessions and temptations aloud after weeks spent wallowing in the swirling riptides of desire, or simply the overpowering proximity of his outrageous physicality spearing its way through the last remnants of your restraint, something finally reached terminal saturation point inside you.

He thrived off the scalding reproach dripping from your ragged tone, judging by the triumphant way his lips peeled back in a savagely amused smirk framing teeth. When he straightened to his towering height once more, the arrogance etched into his features promised whole new levels of molten ruination lying in wait. Just as promised.

"Ah, there's that fire I've been waiting to see blaze up completely, neh pretty girl?"

Another dark, indecently pleased rumble vibrated that drugged cadence of his as Kyoutani reached out with one of those huge, unforgivably strong hands. Before you had time to so much as register defensive retreat, his calloused knuckles were already skating over the feverish jut of your cheekbones - rough leather textures branding trails of molten possession across your bemused features in the most overtly intimate overture yet shared between you.

The breath fled your constricting lungs on a whimper you couldn't begin to bite back or deflect. And with that single unhesitating transgression uttered through touch alone, the last tattered remnants of propriety and restraint simply dissolved away to ash and embers without a whisper of struggle.

Whatever cliff you'd careened towards together finally loomed ahead in all its breathtaking plummet - with only the embrace of depravity and scorching rapture waiting to catch your ruination below.

All that remained was choosing just which of you would claim the dubious distinction of surrendering control first between your burning gravities.

You barely registered the breathless sound spilling from your parted lips as those wicked fingers continued their blazing path across the arcs of your features. Mapping out every thrilling plane and hollow with the attentive diligence of an artisan devotee committing their muse to raptured memory.

The intensity blazing behind Kyoutani's stare as he drank in your bemused surrender robbed you of any remaining pretense towards control or retreat. Only naked yearning swirled in those blazing amber depths now - an unmistakable harbinger of the molten intentions he meant to put into scorching motion whether you rallied resistance or not.

"I've wondered over and over what it might take to finally shatter that fragile little act of yours," he rasped in a voice gone low and viscous with sin audible. "Made myself half out of my goddamn mind imagining all the wicked ways I'd have to work at stripping away every last shred of propriety before I could get a real taste of the filthy little minx hiding underneath."

The stark, unabashed confession detonated through your wavering restraints with the force of a bunker buster. You could only gape up at Kyoutani, utterly transfixed and stripped raw beneath the intensity of his rapacious scrutiny as he prowled ever closer into your orbit.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice the way you couldn't fucking tear your hungry stare off me in the locker rooms?" A harsh growl rumbled up from somewhere deep in his chest as he caged you fully against the wall with that dense, radiating physicality made to tower over you. "Every time I caught those pretty eyes dragging over every new slick inch of skin bared to you...shit, it was like watching a bitch in heat struggling against her own depraved appetite while fooling precisely nobody but herself."

The scathing vulgarity landed like a physical slap, forcibly severing away the last threads of protest or propriety that might have remained with one brutal swing. Heat flooded your features at the stark, unrepentant filth painting his wrecked confessions with darker, more feral strokes of sin.

And yet you couldn't summon even the most token objection in the face of that viscerally potent onslaught. Kyoutani's words simply resonated in your hindbrains with hypnotic potency - voicing every forbidden craving and depraved imaginings precisely as you'd struggled to deny them to yourself all this time.

"Well now you've got what you always wanted, pretty," the unstable spiker purred with perverse delight as he closed those last few molten inches separating you. His massive frame dwarfed your slight stature utterly, the scorching brand of his body searing into each awakening nerve ending through the thin layers separating you now. "A chance to get up close and personal with the big scary Mad Dog you've been eye-fucking into oblivion behind everyone's backs."

That guttural endearment landed like a detonation right between your ribs, simultaneously stoking fresh embers of mortified outrage even as it awakened a deeper, more primal thrill of debasement in your core. You could practically feel every ounce of restraint fraying away as the turbulent storm of Kyoutani's focus intensified around you with each panted breath shared.

In one smooth inhalation, the powerful line of his carved jawline descended until Kyoutani's ruination-laced exhales caressed directly over the scorching blush staining your cheeks in intimate provocation.

"So what's it gonna be, pet?" He crooned directly against the feverish hollow of your parted lips - metallic rasp scraping your senses raw as his tongue peeked out to taste the trembling give there in shameless preview. "You gonna finally take exactly what that greedy little body of yours has been desperate for me to give? Or does the thought of finally surrendering to those depraved hungers terrify you even more than that repressed bitch behind your eyes lets on..."

You only had a split-second warning of Kyoutani's intentions before he decisively slanted his mouth over yours in a punishing glide of possession uninvited. The shredded whimper that tried to punch its way free was instantly muffled, absorbed and redirected back into your shared inferno with every subsequent devouring press of his lips and questing lashes of tongue.

Despite his savagery and overt dominance, there was an undeniable artfulness to the way Kyoutani worked at ruinously unmaking you bit by bit. His large hands easily captured your jaw and the nape of your neck to keep you splayed before him, utterly helpless beneath the scorching onslaught of his hunger as he plundered your senses with wicked precision.

Slick velvet textures tangled and retreated, only to delve deeper again on a lingering glide of utterly filthy temptation. The sweltering pressure of his body pinning you rigid to the solid surface at your back didn't allow for even the thinnest margin of escape or reprieve. Only total, rapturous surrender to being consumed by that unholy smolder of passion Kyoutani unleashed without mercy or faltering.

A broken, obscene keen vibrated up from somewhere deep in your throat as you instinctively arched and bucked beneath the exquisite lavishing focus of his attentions despite yourself. The electrifying drag of his callused knuckles trailing down over the exposed rise of your torso sent lightning pulses of unadulterated bliss hurtling through your overstimulated senses.

Every illicit slide of Kyoutani's merciless ministrations only stoked the smoldering inferno of depravity blazing to incandescent life between you. Until there was nothing left of higher cognitive processing beyond naked instinct to experience and indulge the blinding ecstasy of craving finally granted satiation without reservation.

When his large hands dropped lower still to cup and knead the pliant mounds of your ass underneath your skirt, the ragged groan that tore loose from Kyoutani's lips sounded as if torn straight from the depths of his chest. His blunt fingertips dug in with a punishing squeeze that sent molten pleasure arcing up through your core like a livewire, eliciting a high-pitched whimper of need and want and desperation to plead for more of those sinful caresses.

"Fuck yeah," Kyoutani purred against the bruised, glistening give of your mouth - a wicked smirk curling at the corners of his lips when he registered how your hips bucked instinctively to meet the molten roll of his pelvis against your own. "Just like that, pet. Show me exactly how much you want it. Need it. Need me."

The ragged, unguarded plea of his graveled baritone sent another electric jolt arcing through your veins, stoking the fever-bright flames of passion roaring between you to near-uncontrollable proportions. Kyoutani's tongue dragged against the plush swell of your bottom lip in a deliberate taunt, a warning, a threat as he pulled away just far enough to sear his gaze over the fever-dazed contours of your upturned face.

"I bet you taste as filthy as you look right now, pretty." That wrecked, husky rasp raked its claws over the shivering expanse of your skin like a physical touch. "How 'bout we find out for ourselves just how sweet a girl's honey-soaked cunt can get when she's dripping with need for her Mad Dog, hmm?"

Before you could react to that carnal challenge, Kyoutani's powerful arms swept beneath the curve of your backside - hauling you up with a sharp hiss of exertion against the rippling musculature of his abdomen until you had no choice but to lock your legs around his narrow hips for stability. The sudden friction of your panty-clad center grinding against his thick arousal through the barrier sent a frisson of white-hot need skittering up your spine.

Even still, Kyoutani seemed insistent upon pressing his advantage - crowding in until you could feel the wall's concrete solidity digging into your shoulderblades and the fever-warm press of his chest molded against yours. One massive hand remained locked around the nape of your neck, holding your face mere breaths away from the scorching proximity of his own as the other curled under the curve of your ass to support your weight effortlessly.

"Look at me," Kyoutani growled as he tightened his grip around the vulnerable column of your throat - not so much as applying pressure, but making his possession unmistakably clear regardless. His piercing irises had narrowed to slits of molten intensity as they raked over every flustered angle and fevered flush of your features in turn.

"I want those pretty eyes on me while I show you exactly how I mean to devour every last filthy inch of your cunt. How I'll make you scream and claw and beg for me while I fuck that tight little hole full of cum until it's dripping down your thighs. That's the only way this ends, kitten. With my dick buried balls-deep inside you and my teeth sinking into that soft throat of yours, claiming every single last inch of what belongs to me."

A full-body shudder wracked through you at the savage, indecent filth spewing from Kyoutani's lips, even as a fresh rush of heat flooded through your already soaked center at his depraved promise. His lips curled in a cruel parody of a smile as his hips shifted against yours - grinding the prominent bulge of his cock against the slick seam of your thighs and groin in a single, ruthless thrust that sent your eyes rolling back in their sockets.

"Now that's a pretty sight," Kyoutani rasped in a voice gone low and guttural with lust. "You really do get off on the way I talk to you, don't you pet? Fuck. The way you're writhing and bucking like a bitch in heat just to rub that soaked cunt against my dick has me half-crazy."

His tongue licked a searing trail across the seam of your lips in another blatant taunt, a teasing prelude of what was about to follow as Kyoutani's hand slid from its punishing grip on your neck. You felt his blunt fingertips trace over the fever-slicked planes of your torso in a feather-light graze - only to suddenly dip lower with purpose, skating the sensitive expanse of your exposed navel and lower still.

A strangled, broken sound ripped free from the depths of your chest as those thick fingers skated over the lace-trimmed gusset of your panties - searing their presence into the soaked folds hidden beneath with a sinuous drag of pressure and friction that had your back bowing against the wall.

"God, just look at how much you're gushing," Kyoutani purred with a sinful glint blazing behind his molten stare as he continued to stroke along your slit through the thin barrier. The fabric quickly became sodden under his persistent touch, a testament to just how much the depraved, vulgar filth of his words had stoked the fires of need blazing hotter within you both.

"All that honey pouring out for me just to soak these panties even more," he continued with a smirk, the pad of his index finger suddenly catching and circling the swollen nub of your clit until a sob punched free from your constricting throat. "What a sweet, dirty little whore I've caught for myself, neh? All it took was a few nasty words and promises of my dick to get you writhing like a bitch in heat begging to be bred. Fuuuck."

The ragged groan that wrenched itself free from Kyoutani's chest resonated directly through your quivering frame, sending fresh shocks of pleasure careening through your nerve endings and heightening the already-sweltering fever blazing between you. His hips jerked against the cradle of your thighs in a harsh grind, the searing imprint of his erection branding through your damp panties until the fabric threatened to tear with the force.

"Do you know how many times I've jerked off to thoughts of this pretty pussy just like this?" Kyoutani continued in that ruined, gravelly rasp that scraped your senses raw with every uttered syllable. "Imagining my face buried between these thighs and licking up every last drop of your sweetness while you writhe and squirm and scream. It's the only thing I've thought about every time I've gotten my fist wrapped around my dick - picturing just how fucking good it would feel to make you beg for it."

Before you could process the full impact of those sordid, scalding confessions, the fingers tormenting your slick folds and swollen clit abruptly slipped beneath the elastic hem of your panties. Your mouth fell open on a wordless cry of shock and need as Kyoutani's broad fingertips delved between your swollen petals - gliding through the soaked folds and probing at the entrance to your core with the same ruthless, focused determination he exhibited on the court.

"Gonna make you mine, kitten," he groaned in a voice that had become nothing but a guttural rasp, primal and rough and hungry in a way that had your entire frame seizing and arching. "I've been dying to sink my dick inside this cunt ever since I joined the team. So wet. So goddamn warm and tight. Shit."

Your vision went hazy and black around the edges as Kyoutani sank one long digit fully into your clenching heat - the sudden invasion forcing your walls to stretch and accommodate the intrusion while simultaneously stoking the firestorm of need building towards unbearable levels inside you. He barely gave you the time to register the fullness before Kyoutani withdrew to sink a second digit inside, the stretch and burn of such a sudden breach ripping a high-pitched moan free from the depths of your chest.

The way his lips twisted and curled back from his teeth as Kyoutani began to pump those fingers inside you at an unforgiving pace sent a new shiver coursing through your overstimulated system. His hooded gaze drank in each twitch and buck of your hips against his punishing thrusts, clearly reveling in the sight of your flushed features contorted in agonized ecstasy as he continued his merciless assault.

"There you go, kitten," Kyoutani crooned against the shell of your ear - his ragged exhales sending fresh waves of gooseflesh prickling across your feverish skin. "Let me hear how good it feels, little girl. I want you screaming so loud every last asshole who ever looked at what's mine gets it drilled into their skulls that only one man gets to enjoy this gorgeous, filthy cunt and that's me. I'm the one who owns this sweet little body, and every last drop of pleasure I'm about to wring out of you."

His teeth sank into the curve of your throat with a muffled snarl, the sting of the bite and sudden suction sending another rush of molten need pulsing through your core. Those wicked digits continued to plunder your cunt without pause, curling and dragging against the swollen walls of your channel with a ruthless rhythm meant to destroy and unmake you utterly.

"You're mine now, kitten," Kyoutani practically snarled the words against your damp flesh - his tongue tracing the throbbing pulse point and sucking harder still to raise a dark, vivid bruise. "And I'm gonna take care of this greedy pussy in all the ways no one else ever could."

A keening sob broke free from the depths of your lungs as a particularly forceful thrust sent the head of his palm grinding against the swollen bud of your clit, setting off a cascade reaction that had you thrashing and clawing against the hard expanse of his chest. Your thighs clamped tighter around Kyoutani's trim hips, desperate for more friction and depth and pressure as you chased the cresting edge of bliss rapidly coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

"So fucking good," Kyoutani practically moaned the praise, his features contorting with an agonized, feral need that somehow ratcheted the inferno burning between you even higher. "Come for me, kitten. Show me exactly what this dripping cunt needs. Who it belongs to."

That commanding growl was the final straw - sending your already-tenuous restraint crashing to ruin in the blistering wake of your release. His name spilled from your lips in a broken sob, fingers scrabbling at his flexed biceps as you clung to him like a lifeline amidst the white-hot waves of euphoria washing over you.

But Kyoutani showed no mercy - only continuing his relentless stroking and curling against the spasming clench of your walls until the last aftershocks had shuddered through your trembling limbs. The entire time, his intense focus never wavered from your flushed features, drinking in each breathless gasp and whimper with an almost reverential air.

"Fucking hell, look at how goddamn pretty you are like this," Kyoutani murmured almost to himself - the awe-tinged reverence of his voice at odds with the savage, lust-drunk glaze burning in his heavy-lidded gaze. "Never seen anything so perfect. So goddamn beautiful."

The raw emotion threading through his graveled baritone hit you with the force of a tidal wave - stoking the embers of desire reignited anew to an inferno blazing between you once more. A new shiver rippled over your skin as the calloused pads of Kyoutani's fingertips continued their feather-light tracing over the flushed, sensitive expanse of your cheekbones.

"I want to see you come apart like that for the rest of my damn life," he rasped - the possessive heat blazing behind his molten amber irises scorching every inch of you with its intensity. "And I'm about to spend the rest of this night making sure you understand exactly how serious I am about keeping this pussy for myself. Gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight. Until the only thing you can remember is my name and the feeling of my dick buried so deep inside you can't think about anything else but this moment right now."

The sheer hunger and desperation behind Kyoutani's growled vows was almost too much to process, let alone absorb in its entirety. Your breath escaped in a sharp hiss as his fingers abruptly withdrew from your hypersensitive cunt with a wet sound that made you flush all over. Before you could think to protest or react, Kyoutani's large hands dropped to the curve of your ass - palming and kneading the plush mounds with an appreciative grunt as he held you firmly in place.

"Now let's see just how much of that filthy honey this pussy can give me," he said - a low, husky growl that seemed to vibrate against every exposed inch of your skin as Kyoutani slowly lowered himself to his knees.

"Kentarou!"

His name exploded from your lips in a strangled gasp as his hands hooked the thin elastic band of your panties - yanking them down and off your trembling legs with an impatient efficiency. Before you could process the next course of his intentions, Kyoutani was hauling one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving the rest of your lower body exposed to the searing blaze of his unguarded scrutiny.

"Fuck me," Kyoutani groaned, the expletive falling from his lips with such fervent reverence it was nearly obscene. The heat radiating from his penetrating stare alone was enough to set your senses ablaze - let alone the molten slide of his palms gliding up the backs of your bare thighs and gripping at the plump swell of your ass.

"I'm not sure whether I wanna eat your cunt first and taste all that sweet honey you gave me," he practically crooned as his thumbs skated the outer seam of your labia, spreading the swollen, puffy lips with deliberate slowness that had you bucking and whining. "Or if I wanna just bury my cock inside you and watch the way this pretty pussy sucks me in deep."

Another broken, pleading whimper punched free from your lungs at the graphic imagery his words painted, stoking the flames of need raging hotter between you both with each passing moment. His calloused fingertips were already gliding back down towards the apex of your thighs, seeking out the source of your renewed slickness with an air of uncompromising focus.

"Either way," Kyoutani continued with a smug smirk twisting his lips as he traced the delicate petals of your sex - spreading and dipping shallowly just past the swollen rim to test the give and resistance there. "I'm about to get every last drop of that sweetness."

The strangled moan that burst from the depths of your chest sounded alien and broken to your own ears - a keening sound of utter debauched want and need that seemed to resonate in your very bones. Kyoutani's smirk twisted to a full, toothy grin as he watched you tremble and writhe against the wall, clearly savoring the sight of your overstimulated body struggling to withstand the sensual torture of his ministrations.

"Look at me." The growled command was underscored with an edge of unmistakable dominance that sent a new shiver racing over your skin. His fingertips continued their torturous swirling around the sensitive opening of your core, teasing the stretched entrance with a maddeningly shallow rhythm that only served to stoke the fires of need blazing inside you further.

When you could do nothing but continue to buck and whimper and mewl beneath his relentless, merciless torment, Kyoutani's other hand abruptly left its position on your ass - snapping a sharp smack against one of your asscheeks that sent a frisson of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your frame.

"I said look at me, pretty." His lips curled back to flash a canine in a feral smile as Kyoutani watched your expression contort with the delicious pain-pleasure of his punishment. "I want those pretty eyes locked on me when I finally bury my face in that soaking cunt."

The next broken, desperate sob ripped free from the depths of your lungs, even as a new wave of wetness flooded from your slit. You couldn't tear your fever-glazed gaze away from the smoldering intensity of his piercing irises, even as he slowly shifted to press a soft kiss against the inner thigh resting atop his broad shoulder.

"There we go," Kyoutani murmured with a satisfied sigh - the heat of his breath ghosting over the soaked folds of your cunt. "I want to watch every expression that passes over your face while I fuck this cunt with my tongue. While I make you beg for my dick."

Before you could manage a coherent response, the flat of his tongue suddenly delved between the swollen petals - the slick texture rasping and curling in a way that had you writhing and keening against the wall. Your hands reached down to tangle in the short hairs at the crown of his skull, seeking purchase as Kyoutani began to lavish a punishingly thorough oral assault upon your center.

Every flick, suck, and curl of his tongue had you reeling - a sensory onslaught that robbed you of the ability to breathe or process anything beyond the exquisite, sinful pleasure of his touch. Every time you managed to claw your way back towards the surface, his fingers would sink inside your dripping core to thrust and curl against the tight channel, ripping a broken sob free from your chest.

"Fuck," Kyoutani swore with a ragged groan, his mouth still pressed flush against the soaked folds - the vibration of his voice sending another shiver rippling through you. "You taste like heaven. Shit. Never tasted a sweeter cunt. Could get drunk on this."

A strangled moan tore from your throat as Kyoutani's lips abruptly latched around your throbbing clit, suckling with just the right amount of pressure and suction to have you bucking and clawing against the wall. His fingers continued to pump and curl in a punishing rhythm that threatened to unravel you utterly, all the while maintaining his merciless devouring of your soaking cunt.

Your breath punched from your lungs on a ragged gasp as Kyoutani's mouth abruptly shifted focus, his lips parting around the stretched rim of your entrance before delving deep in a single thrust. The sensation of his tongue stroking and curling deep within your clenching heat was enough to send sparks exploding behind your eyes, a fresh wave of heat washing over your senses and dragging you back towards the precipice of climax.

"Please," the broken sob ripped itself free from the depths of your chest, your voice barely recognizable under the weight of the lust and need pouring through every syllable. "I can't. I'm gonna. God. I need--"

Your babbled pleas seemed to spur Kyoutani into even more frenzied motion, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to drive you higher and higher. He drank down the fresh gush of slick released from your folds, growling against the soaked petals as his teeth scraped against the swollen folds in a way that had a violent shudder rippling through your entire frame.

"I know what you need," Kyoutani groaned as his fingers pumped and curled faster still, setting a relentless pace that had your vision blurring at the edges. "You need me. Need this."

The next high-pitched whimper that spilled free was muffled as Kyoutani surged upright - sealing his mouth over yours in a bruising glide of possession. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the flavor sharp and intoxicating and filthy in a way that only ratcheted the fires of lust blazing between you even higher.

"Gonna fuck you right now," he snarled against the abused swell of your bottom lip - his teeth grazing over the throbbing flesh before sucking it between his own in a fresh taunt. "I can't wait anymore, pretty. Can't. I have to be inside you. Now."

With one fluid motion, Kyoutani's hands left your overheated skin and dropped to his waistband, the metallic rasp of a zipper being drawn and fabric shifting audible even over the harsh, panting breaths escaping from both of your mouths. You barely had a moment to register the absence of his warmth and bulk before the hard, searing pressure of his pelvis crashed into yours, pinning you back against the wall in an inescapable cage of muscle and flesh and need.

Your lips parted in a fresh sob of ecstasy and anticipation, only for the sound to be swallowed and consumed by the fierce, unyielding crush of Kyoutani's mouth on yours once more. The blunt tip of his thick erection suddenly notched against the swollen folds, gliding along the slick seam of your cunt in a tantalizing stroke that had both of you moaning into the other's mouth.

"Please," you keened against his lips, hips arching to grind yourself along the length of his pulsing shaft and soak the velvety skin with your arousal. "Need you. Please, please, please. Need you so badly."

"God fucking damn, I love it when you beg," Kyoutani snarled with an almost vicious edge to the graveled cadence of his voice, the thick head of his cock finally catching and beginning to sink past the tight clench of your entrance. "That's it. Beg me for it. Plead for my cock to fill up this greedy cunt."

The words dissolved into a strangled groan as he sank deeper and deeper, the searing friction of his girth stretching you open further than you'd ever felt before. Kyoutani's teeth caught the swell of your bottom lip, worrying and tugging until the sting sent an electric jolt arcing directly to your core.

"You're so tight, pretty girl," he panted, his breaths coming in rough, guttural pants as he continued his gradual, excruciating pace. "Fuck. So wet. And so goddamn warm. Shit. I knew you'd feel perfect."

His arms flexed and locked against the wall, bracketing you in the cage of his massive form as Kyoutani finally buried his cock to the hilt inside your soaking heat. For a few moments, the two of you simply stayed locked together, bodies trembling and breaths mingling as you adjusted to the fullness stretching your core.

But even in the haze of lust clouding your senses, you could sense the strain vibrating through the muscles locked beneath your clutching fingertips - the way Kyoutani's jaw ground and teeth clenched against the primal urge to pound into your clenching channel. His features had twisted into an almost agonized mask, the dark slashes of his brows knitted tightly together as he focused his efforts on maintaining control.

"Kentarou," you breathed his name in a low moan - the single syllable practically dripping with unadulterated want and need and desperation. You felt the way his powerful body shuddered and twitched in response, the involuntary buck of his hips sending a fresh jolt of pleasure-pain rocketing through you both.

"Fuck," he hissed against the curve of your neck, his tongue tracing the throbbing vein there in a hot glide that only heightened the feverish sensations rippling through you. "I know. God, I know, pretty. But I need to hold still for just a moment longer. Because once I start moving, I'm not stopping. Not until I've fucked this sweet pussy and marked every inch of it as mine."

The possessive edge threading through his gravelly baritone sent another shiver cascading through you, the molten tension building within your core reaching a fever pitch as you struggled to hold still and absorb the overwhelming sensation of his throbbing length sheathed fully inside you.

"I'm the one who owns this pussy," Kyoutani groaned as he rocked his hips against yours, grinding his pelvis into your own until his balls pressed against the swell of your ass. "Me, and no one else. Isn't that right, pretty girl? Say it."

The ragged moan that tumbled from your parted lips was all the answer he needed, even before the words finally spilled free.

"Yes," you cried out, nails scoring along the ridged expanse of his muscled back - the sensation seeming to drive Kyoutani closer to the edge as his entire body went rigid and trembling with the effort to hold still. "Yours. I'm yours. All yours. Please. Just fuck me."

Any remaining shred of restraint abruptly disintegrated at your breathless, desperate entreaty - sending Kyoutani's hips crashing into yours in a single, brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. The searing friction and drag of his thick cock filling you again and again was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, the sheer force and power behind his movements threatening to shatter your sanity.

"Shit," Kyoutani grunted in a raw, hoarse growl - the sound seeming to reverberate in his chest as his hands shifted to grip your ass tighter, angling you to meet his relentless plundering thrusts. "Gonna. Fuck. Gonna breed this sweet cunt until it's dripping with my cum."

The lewd, depraved filth spilling from his mouth sent another violent shudder coursing through your frame, your hips rising to meet the punishing pace he'd set without faltering. The friction and force behind his strokes were just on the cusp of painful, driving you towards the precipice of your release in a ruthless, inexorable tide that left no room for thought or logic or sense.

All that remained was the mind-numbing sensation of him stretching and filling you, again and again - a ceaseless, consuming rhythm that promised to shatter and remake you entirely.

"You take me so well," Kyoutani's voice rasped directly into your ear, the hot press of his sweat-slicked torso molding into your own until you could barely distinguish where his body ended and yours began. "Like you were fucking made for my cock. For me. So good. Such a perfect little slut."

His next thrust had your vision going hazy and black, the thick head of his dick grinding and pumping into a spot that sent fresh lightning pulses of pleasure-pain arcing up your spine. Another strangled scream tore itself free from the depths of your lungs - the only coherent sounds capable of escaping past the frantic, panting breaths escaping from between your swollen lips.

"Fuck, you look so good like this, beautiful," Kyoutani crooned the praise, his voice barely a thread above a guttural snarl. "Bent over for me and begging to be fucked and bred like a bitch in heat."

His tongue traced the curve of your ear in a sinful, teasing sweep, sending another frisson of need shuddering through your overheated frame. A ragged, sobbing moan clawed its way free from your throat as he continued the torturous torment of his hips slamming into your own - each thrust sinking deeper and harder until you couldn't tell if the sounds filling the air were your own or Kyoutani's.

"Tell me how much you need it, pretty," Kyoutani growled, the sharp scrape of his canines against the vulnerable column of your throat sending a new shudder coursing through you. "How much you love taking this cock and letting me fuck this filthy little pussy however I want. How much you want me to breed this gorgeous cunt until I've filled you up with my cum."

His hand had slipped between your bodies at some point during the relentless assault, calloused fingertips tracing over the slippery, swollen folds until they settled over the swollen bud of your clit. Every stroke and flick sent another shockwave of pleasure careening through you - driving you towards the precipice with the same single-minded focus that characterized every action and movement on the court.

"Say it," he demanded in a husky rasp that scraped your senses raw - his pace becoming ever-faster, ever-harder, ever-more-relentless until it was impossible to process the sensory overload.

"Kentarou," the plea broke from your throat in a raw sob, the only sound capable of passing through your swollen lips. Your head lolled against his broad shoulder as his fingers began to circle your clit with an increased pressure and tempo, driving you towards the inevitable fall with every pump and grind and thrust of his cock buried within your cunt.

"Let me hear you say it," Kyoutani snarled, his hips stuttering and jerking as the punishing pace became ever-more-frantic, ever-more-erratic, ever-more-wild. His teeth sank into the curve of your throat with a fresh growl, the sting of his canines ripping another strangled cry from your lungs as the crest of pleasure rapidly coiled tighter and tighter within you.

"Tell me you're mine."

The words were punctuated by a single, brutal thrust that had your vision whiting out, your back bowing against the wall and legs seizing around Kyoutani's trim waist. His name tore itself free from the depths of your throat in a wild, feral scream that shattered the relative quiet of the empty gym. Your nails scored across the clothed expanse of his back as every muscle and tendon in your body drew tight and taut with the overwhelming flood of euphoria sweeping over you.

"There we go," he rumbled against your throat, the vibration of his voice sending fresh sparks careening along your nerves. "There's my sweet girl. Fuck. Feels so fucking good when you come all over my cock like that."

Another guttural moan was torn free from the depths of his chest as his hands clamped around the curve of your hips, holding you steady as he continued to pound into your quivering, slick channel. His grip was iron-clad, the bruising force behind each stroke and thrust sending fresh shocks of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your already-overstimulated system.

"You feel too fucking good," Kyoutani snarled against your neck, the ragged edge to his voice and the way his hips were stuttering and losing their rhythm indicating he was rapidly approaching the brink of his own release. "Shit. Gonna make me cum."

His fingers returned to your clit with a renewed focus, the rough texture of his callouses grinding into the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that had you crying and writhing beneath the assault. Every part of you was aflame, a fever-bright inferno burning through your veins and threatening to consume you whole.

"Gonna breed this cunt full, pretty," Kyoutani swore against the hollow of your throat, the guttural rasp to his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Pump you full until you can feel every drop spilling out of your slutty little hole. Fuck. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Your only response was a low, broken moan, the sound seeming to spur Kyoutani's hips into an even more punishing, frenzied pace that threatened to break you in half. The way his cock was dragging against the spasming clench of your walls was an exquisite brand of torture - the friction and depth and force behind his thrusts pushing you beyond the point of sanity or reason.

"Fuck, look at how much you're gushing all over my dick," he practically purred the depraved observation, the filthy words falling from his lips as effortlessly as the sweat pouring off his brow. "Such a sweet, filthy little slut for me. Only me."

Another broken, wordless cry ripped free from your lungs as his fingertips redoubled their efforts on your hypersensitive clit, sending sparks and bolts of electricity crackling along your nerve endings and searing directly to your core. It was impossible to process the magnitude of the sensations he was wringing from you, each fresh stroke and touch threatening to send you tumbling over the edge yet again.

"I know you're close," Kyoutani growled, his features twisting into a feral grin as his tongue traced the delicate shell of your ear in a maddening taunt. "Can't wait to feel this perfect pussy clamping down on my dick when I breed you full. You'd like that, wouldn't you, beautiful?"

The words were punctuated by another harsh buck of his hips, the searing, velvety drag of his thick length dragging against the hypersensitive walls of your core in a way that threatened to rip the air from your lungs. Before you could even muster a coherent response, his teeth sank into the curve of your shoulder with a possessive snarl - the sharp pain-pleasure of his canines scraping against your skin sending another rush of molten need flooding from your cunt.

"Cum with me," Kyoutani's voice had gone husky and rough with desire, the ragged edge to his breathless pants betraying the effort it took to maintain the brutal, unforgiving pace he'd set. His fingers continued their relentless swirling and circling over the sensitive bud of your clit, driving you towards the precipice in a way that threatened to steal the last shreds of coherency from your mind.

"Please, please, please," the pleas tumbled from your swollen, parted lips in a ceaseless mantra, each syllable falling free as quickly as your breath punched from your lungs with every thrust and grind. You couldn't even register the words or sounds escaping from your throat, the only coherent thought that registered was the need to fall into the white-hot abyss of bliss looming ahead.

"God, fuck," Kyoutani groaned against the curve of your shoulder, the muscles of his powerful arms and back locking tight and tense as his entire frame seized and trembled. His next thrust sent the head of his throbbing cock grinding against the hyper-sensitive spot buried deep within you, the added stimulation pushing you over the edge once more.

"Cum for me," he snarled, his hips slamming into yours one last time before the searing, wet rush of his release flooded your clenching walls. A broken sob clawed its way from your throat as the molten heat pulsing and throbbing against the swollen, sensitized walls sent you tumbling into the white-hot waves of release, drowning beneath the overwhelming tidal surge crashing through you both.

For several long moments, neither of you moved - frozen in place as the tremors wracking your frames slowly eased. Kyoutani's hands were still clenched around the curve of your hips, keeping your lower body trapped flush against his own while his cock continued to pulse and twitch within your core. His breath ghosted over the sweat-slicked skin of your neck in heavy, panting exhales, the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest matching the erratic tempo of your own.

"Shit," Kyoutani grunted, his voice raspy and raw, almost hoarse in a way that made a fresh shiver ripple through you. "Fucking hell, pretty girl. I think you just drained my damn balls dry."

Your breath left in a high-pitched wheeze as he abruptly stepped back, his cock slipping free from the dripping, overstimulated channel. Before you could think to register the sudden emptiness, his fingers had already dipped between the soaked, swollen folds, circling and teasing and taunting the still-quivering entrance.

"Look at all this cum leaking out of your pretty pussy," he practically crooned the words, the dark edge to his voice making it clear exactly what he was planning to do. "We can't have any of this going to waste, now can we? That'd be such a shame. When I've gone to all the trouble of filling you up just the way you needed."

Before you could summon the wherewithal to reply, Kyoutani had already dropped to his knees, his shoulders and broad back flexing as his hands guided your trembling legs to rest atop them. The heated blaze of his gaze swept over the flushed, swollen folds of your center - drinking in the sight of his thick, pearly essence mixing with the slickness still clinging to the tender petals.

"Now let's see how many times I can make you cum for me, kitten."

[jo-harrington]

Leave of Absence (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie has royally fucked everything up and he needs to fix it. But after an unexpected emergency back home, he steps up to be there for Reader, just like she's always there for him.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.05

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Slow burn, mutual pining, angsty, emotional, fluffy, family problems, death in the family, loss, grief, pain and comfort, road trip, avoidance of feelings, Minor religious themes, mention of Catholic Church/Reader's family is Catholic but no overarching catholicism (that's what my other story is for)

Note: Woof ok this was an uphill battle FOR A YEAR. I'm gonna say the reason that Store Manager Verse exists in its present form is because of THIS CHAPTER RIGHT HERE. Before I could bring my two silly babies here to this moment, they needed to have some serious foundations laid down. Is it the best chapter? Probably not. But I'm incredibly happy that it's here and it's done.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other Eddie stories.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

He was nervous.

"Stacey."

Of course he was nervous.

"Freak."

And what did he do when he was nervous? He talked.

"Hey now, I'm wounded," Eddie laid a hand across his chest, trying to keep the cool guy exterior. "Calling me a freak? Did I or did I not just help you with that flat tire last week?"

He was surprised when Stacey paused, a barb surely caught on the end of her tongue. She even looked a little embarrassed for a moment before her own frosty expression returned and she had the decency to look down her nose at him.

Sticking to the status quo.

"I know you're trying to put my boss under a love spell or hypnosis or something," she rolled her eyes. "So don't act like you would have helped any other time if she hadn't asked. Gotta keep her buttered up so you can get in her pants. Gag."

The typical stab of insult was welcome; the rest of it...wasn't. Not when it came to you. Not after what happened on Sunday. Not when he was nervous.

Sunday...

What started out as a normal night for the two of you had quickly become a nightmare. For him at least.

Well...it had been a dream at first. Hanging out. Food, laughter, music; it was nothing out of the norm for a Sunday night together. But then he had to go and suggest a little weed, where you had some kind of...bad reaction. To try and get your mind off the panic that had quickly taken over your body...he'd done the first thing that came to mind.

The only thing that came to mind lately when you were around.

He kissed you.

And he kept kissing you because you hadn't pushed him away. In fact, you’d kissed him harder.

For minutes or hours, he couldn't quite tell, he was overjoyed and he basked in being surrounded by you, in finding pleasure with you.

Finding pleasure. God, there was that poet's heart Mrs. Mills always told him he had. Almost fucking. Grinding one out on his couch. But yeah...finding pleasure worked too. Because it wasn't just a meaningless romp; he was kind of crazy about you, so of course it was gonna be special. Poetic.

How long had he been on the edge about confessing his feelings and ruining your friendship? He was the only one to blame when it came to keeping his mouth shut; Kyle had been telling him to just ask you out and plant one on you forever. And then Eddie did and it was perfect.

Until it wasn't. Until Wayne came home and Eddie had seen the panic and the fear and the...realization in your eyes, and he knew how badly he'd fucked up. Let alone the fact that you immediately ran away.

You’d been avoiding him for a few days. “Avoiding him,” as though school and work hadn't been putting you on opposite schedules. Still, there were no phone calls. No waiting to take your breaks with him. Only awkward glances as he passed your store on the way to start his shift, or a strained smile as you passed each other in the parking lot as he was coming and you were going.

And now Stacey was…being Stacey.

Had you told her? Complained about him? Made it known to your employees that the two of you had made a huge mistake.

No you would never…

Still, his nerves got the better of him and although he didn’t want to seem desperate, especially around Stacey of all people, he was.

"...did she say that or..." He paused and shook his head. "Where is your boss anyway? She’s supposed to close tonight right?”

Stacey looked a little unsure again and this time it made his stomach turn.

People were usually nervous around Eddie, but he had grown plenty used to that reaction from a wide array of classmates and neighbors.

Once again, when it came to you, especially given the circumstances, things were different. Maybe that's what was happening here? Maybe Stacey knew something he didn't, and you'd told her not to say anything so you could let him down easily.

Eddie was generally a level-headed guy but sometimes...sometimes...it didn't matter if he had a level head because the entire world was tipping on its side.

Who had you told? Stacey for sure...maybe Chrissy? Chrissy always avoided him at school thanks to his resident freak status, Starcourt Mall be damned. What about Mindy? Mindy was your only other confidante outside of him; what did she know? Had she convinced you to...to what? Dump him as a friend? Take the time you needed to avoid him? Somewhere between Sunday and today, had you finally come to the realization that he had been dreading all along. That he wasn't worth your time?

"Um, yeah,” Stacey finally replied and Eddie blinked himself back to reality. She picked at her cuticles and avoided his eyes. Never a good sign. “Well she was supposed to but Mindy was here when I clocked in. She's sick or something, I don't know. Mindy wouldn't say exactly...but she never calls out so..."

“Well where’s Mindy now?” he asked, almost desperately.

“She’s finishing up her break in the back,” she explained with a nod. “I can go see if she’s done.”

She disappeared into the stockroom, leaving him alone in the store.

He was unsure how to feel. Relief coursed through him; you weren’t avoiding him, you were simply not here. But on the other hand, what if you weren't here because you were avoiding him?

What if Stacey didn't know anything but Mindy did. Because no, you never called off. Ever. A fact that you had told him when he suggested playing hooky one busy Saturday when you were overwhelmed by a never-ending mid shift.

“I never leave early. I never take a sick day.”

“Well, shit, did you have perfect attendance in school too?”

“Uhm,” you hesitated, biting your lip naughtily. “I’m not at will to say.”

“Oh, you bad girl.”

"If it isn't our resident Van Halen impersonator," Mindy greeted as she walked out of the stockroom. Her usual sing-songs mom voice replaced by a gentler one as she smiled at him solemnly. "She's taking a few sick days. Should be back in time for your night out on Sunday, I hope."

"She's sick?" Eddie asked skeptically. "Wasn’t she here yesterday, she looked fi--"

"Why don't you give her a call," she insisted. She glanced over to the stock room door and as Eddie tracked her gaze, he saw Stacey eavesdropping. "Actually I was gonna stop by after work. Why don't you go? That way it's not a game of telephone.

"I'm sure she could really use a friend right now."

---

Eddie had never been inside of your apartment before.

He knew where you lived, sure; he'd dropped you off or picked you up a few times, especially once the two of you started planning dates outings outside of the usual Sundays. He'd never even rang the bell, if he was being honest. You usually watched out the window eagerly when you were expecting him to arrive.

The realization hit him as he stood there at the little residential door between the bakery and the furniture store, staring at your name on a little Dymo punch label next to the buzzer that he'd just jammed his finger into, and it filled him with doubt.

You'd been to the trailer a few times. Seen all of his favorite places, tried all of his favorite foods. Listened patiently to his insecurities and issues. Still, you seemed to keep him at arms length, if he didn't even know what your apartment looked like; did you have posters on the walls or pictures of your family? What color was your couch? Or the towels in your bathroom?

He knew so much about you but did he really know you, and did you even want him to?

The door buzzed open and Eddie took the stairs up to your landing two at a time, all the while worrying and overthinking: You weren't expecting him and he was beginning to doubt that you even wanted him here in the first place. Sure, Mindy told him to go over...but was this taking it a step too far?

He started preparing an apology as he closed the final few distance to your door and it swung open--

"I'm sorry I fucked up, I didn't mean to break your trust. I'll do anything...anything...if you'll just forgive me. If you just give me another chance."

--and he saw the sorry state you were in.

Hair and clothes mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, a bundle of black fabric clenched tightly in your hands; the shine of tears and snot was accentuated by the incandescent lights in the hallway.

"Eddie," you whispered in a strained, broken voice, then you dropped the fabric to cross the threshold of your apartment and bury your face into his shirt. He panicked for a moment, arms held uselessly at his sides as your tears penetrated the worn fabric at his shoulder, but he quickly engulfed you in a hug.

"I'm sorry," you both spoke over one another, then you pulled back and stared him straight in the eye. "You're sorry? I'm sorry."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I...I should have done better, I shouldn't have--"

"I crossed a line and I ruined our friendship and--"

You both continued talking over one another, each half-listening to what the other had to say as you got your own apologies out, until you both synced back up again.

"I fucked up and I'm sorry."

Your shoulders and chests heaved from the cacophony of emotion and a tense laugh was shared between the two of you. Then Eddie came to a realization.

"If you're sorry..." he frowned and let his eyes rake over you again. "If you thought that you hurt or scared me--which you didn't, by the way. It was...it was me, my mistake--why are you crying?"

You worried your lip for a second and a lone tear escaped your eye and trailed down your cheek; his hand immediately came up so he could thumb it away.

"Mindy told me you were sick," he muttered, taking advantage of the proximity to be a little gentler, a little smaller than he was used to being, so you could put your trust in him again. "What happened?"

"Uhm..." you croaked. "I'm not sick. I'm just taking a few sick days. Bereavement days...actually. Little leave of absence. Just through the end of the weekend."

The word was distantly familiar to him; the memories, though, would stay with him forever. Rick picking him up from school, a phone call from Wayne to his boss. An appointment for all three of them to get suits rented...and then some flowers ordered. Shiny shoes that he could see his teary-eyed reflection in.

He swallowed painfully and watched you do the same as you prepared your confession.

"My...uh...my grandpa died last night."

And before he knew it, it was 12 hours later. 12 hours that he spent relatively quietly.

He let you fill the silence; let you talk and cry, only opening his mouth to comfort you when the realization hit again and it got to be too much.

He helped you pack your bag for the trip back home. That was when your grief finally turned into anger.

Towards your family. Towards yourself.

"I feel like it's my fault," you sighed as you showed him how to find a pair of tights that didn’t have runs in them, whatever that meant. "I was the only one who took care of him. Doctor's appointments, took him on walks, made sure he didn't have the food he wasn't supposed to. The works. And I left. It's my fault he's gone. At least, that's the way Michael made it sound on the phone."

Eddie almost didn't catch the last part, said under your breath as you stuffed a shiny pair of shoes into your duffel bag, but he did. He wasn't going to let you do this to yourself; how many times over the years had he questioned how he might have been able to keep his mom from dying? On those days where he needed her most. He knew he couldn't stop you from those thoughts, at least not now but he could do his best to fight them away until you could do it yourself.

"Michael," he spoke up, startling you with the realization that he heard. "That's your brother right?"

"Older brother," you nodded slowly.

"Sounds like a shithead."

"Yeah," you let out the briefest laugh and then fiddled with the zipper tab. "He kind of is."

You complained about perfect Michael and his perfect life until your stomach rumbled and Eddie offered to order dinner for the two of you. When you mentioned that you hadn't eaten all day, he made sure you had more than your fill of beef lo mein and garlic string beans as Monty Hall played on the television.

At a certain point, your takeout carton made it to the coffee table and you started to doze off as your head rested on his shoulder. It was a relief, but only for a second, because you startled back awake and dumped all the clothes out of your bag again.

"I didn't pack the right dress," you muttered. "Aunt Amelia's gonna say something about it. I just know."

So Eddie stayed up with you all night as you packed and unpacked and packed again, uncaring that he had school in the morning or Hellfire that night. Fuck it all. It didn’t matter. None of the doubts and self-hatred and worry that had plagued him all week since Sunday night even crossed his mind. All that he worried about was making sure you weren't alone.

When dawn came, and you tiredly tried to wave him out of your apartment so that he could get ready for class and you could hit the road, he pulled you into his arms and just...held you.

He closed his eyes and rocked you back and forth as you hummed softly and gripped the back of his t-shirt tightly beneath his jacket.

He thought of all the things that he could say in that moment...

Drive safe, call me tonight so I know you got there, I'm sorry, take it easy on yourself, it's not your fault.

...but none of them were able to fall from his lips.

"Welp," you sighed. "This is it."

But neither of you moved.

"Thank you for coming over Eddie. I really really appreciate it."

Still nothing. No forward momentum, no motivation to move on to the rest of the day without one another, no reassuring words from him to give you the strength you needed to go forth alone, and no will for him to leave you.

You'd both be ready when you were ready, it seemed.

But as you finally pulled away from him, and he thought about you getting in your car and driving for what might be one of the toughest weekends of your life, all he managed to say...

"Why don't I come with you? I know it's not a road trip or fun or anything. I know I have school and work but...fuck it. We can stop at the trailer, I'll leave a note for Wayne and grab the nicest clothes I own, and...I'll come with you. I just...I don't want you doing this all alone."

...resulted in him sitting in the passenger's seat of your car for 5 hours as you zoomed down the highway away from his whole life in Indiana to the great unknown of Chicago.

---

You talked for a majority of the drive.

Eddie already knew some things about your family—strict parents, pesky brothers, too many cousins than he could keep track of—but you seemed to want to prepare him because he would effectively meet all of them.

"Big Catholic family and a funeral," you glanced at him from the corner of your eye and shot a tense smile. “It's a lot. You sure you still want to come?”

You’d done that throughout the drive too, asked him if he was sure he wanted to come with you. He’d joked several times already that you’d have to leave him on the side of the road, which you wouldn’t, or turn back altogether if he chickened out.

Besides, he already called Jeff when you stopped at his place to let him grab some clothes, and canceled Hellfire; he wouldn’t chicken out for anything. He needed to be here for you.

If he was being honest, yes he was nervous. He hadn’t met any girlfriends' families before or anything, and this whole situation wasn’t exactly the way he’d ever imagined meeting yours. As you crossed the state border into Illinois, though, your breath got shallow and your hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and Eddie wondered if you were looking for a way out because you never wanted the two parts of your life—family and friends—to clash.

“I don’t, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I know I’m not someone that…families approve of or anything, if that's why you keep asking if I want to be here.”

"It's not that--" you tried to interject.

"And I know we're not dating or anything but..." he trailed off awkwardly and then cleared his throat.

Well that was one way of sticking his foot in his mouth.

Your head was half turned towards him, jaw dropped, eyes darting back and forth from the road to him.

The thought of opening the car door and bailing as you zoomed down the highway briefly crossed his mind because he fucked up. Why would he say something like that? It was because he was a big dingus, actually, the biggest.

"Uh, Eddie listen--"

"No," he interrupted you again. "Sweetheart I'm sorry, that's...that wasn't fair of me. I didn't mean...I just..."

"No it's ok, we should ta--"

"I just thought that...I know I pretty much intruded on this trip, but I wanted to be here for you. But if me being here is gonna cause more problems for you...I mean damn, I don't mind taking a Greyhound back to Hawkins even. But more than anything, I want to make sure you're alright."

He nervously picked at the loose threads on the holes at his knees and was surprised when you took a hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his.

"Do you know," you whispered, voice barely audible. "I think I would have turned back by now if I tried to come alone. Michael on the phone...god I don't know how my dad's gonna be...or my aunt. I don't want to have to deal with all of that. But I know I need to be there...it's for my Papa, I have to be there.

"It's hard to go home when you've moved someplace else. When you've started to find home somewhere else. And I wasn't gonna say anything. I wasn't gonna ask you--it's too much to ask--but I secretly kind of hoped that you would ask to come along. And I'll never be able to really thank you, Eddie, for wanting to be here. For me.

"But thank you," you shot him a smile and squeezed his hand tightly.

He swallowed thickly and squeezed right back.

"I'll be here for as long as you need me to be, sweetheart. As long as you want me to be."

---

The weekend was a whirlwind, and honestly, Eddie knew he wasn't going to be able to make heads or tails of it until the two of you got home on Sunday night.

The first surprise, shortly after your heartfelt moment in the car, was the fact that you didn't actually live in Chicago. You'd been approaching the city on I-90, you even pointed out the Sears Tower to him. Then you got on an exit and drove for another 20 minutes down North Avenue.

"I feel like I've been lied to," he sniffed petulantly.

"I told you I'm from the suburbs before," you chuckled at his antics. "And it might as well be Chicago, it's all Cook County."

"We're not even driving North, how is this North Avenue?"

"We don't have time for a history lesson, we'll be there soon."

Still, it was exciting. Not exactly what he pictured in his head from watching shows on TV or seeing news reels about the city, but nonetheless different from what he was used to in Hawkins and that was the part he liked.

At a certain point, you reached a stretch of road that featured certain destinations that would live in Eddie's imagination until he could ask you about them--KiddieLand Amusement Park, Riviera Lanes, and Winston Plaza--and Eddie noticed your hands started to shake.

"You ok? There's plenty of places to pull over," he suggested. "I can drive the rest of the way."

"No it's ok," you said and swung a left-hand turn onto a residential street with houses that sort-of all looked the same, sort-of all looked different. "We're here."

You parked on the street in front of a house that you noted belonged to your aunt, and then led him down a narrow sidewalk to the backyard of the neighboring house, where a kid gangly enough to rival Mike Wheeler sat in a plastic lawn chair with headphones on, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes closed.

"Jimmy," you called to him and then kicked his foot. "Jimmy. James Joseph, wake up."

"I'm awake," he startled, knocked the headphones down so they sat around his neck, and stood up. Even with one hand rubbing his eye, your brother's resemblance to you was obvious, and a sense of dread washed over Eddie.

And so it began...meeting your family.

Jimmy was probably the best introduction of them all--there was an ease between the two of you, even with the snide jabs and banter back and forth--and that extended to Eddie. Especially when Jimmy realized that he and Eddie were wearing the same shirt.

"Don't let him fool you, he's a dweeb," you announced when Jimmy got excited over a shared love for Judas Priest, and Eddie hoped you meant your brother, but he couldn't be too sure you weren't referring to him.

There was a brief respite as you both rested for a minute, changed clothes, and ate a plate of some sort of casserole from the packed shelves of the avocado fridge in your grandpa's kitchen. Then it was an onslaught, a domino effect of faces and names that gradually got more important as you got back into the car to head towards the funeral home.

A sea of strange faces that smiled and hugged you and then looked over at Eddie in question, but not in an unwelcome way, and he was glad he'd pilfered a black scrunchie from your bag to tie his hair back respectfully.

You introduced him to this old coworker of your Papa and that great-aunt from Minneapolis and this cousin. He even got to meet your old store manager--a stern, short, blonde woman with victory rolls and shimmering black eyeshadow--who'd come to pay her respects after she saw your Papa's obituary in the newspaper; she honestly scared Eddie a little, but she made him laugh, which meant she was good in his book.

It was all reminiscent of meeting people after his mom died once upon a time, the only other funeral he'd ever been to. When people called and came out of the woodwork in an overwhelming number to offer their condolences. He had been young and sad then, but he was older, wiser, and tougher now. He shook hands and said "nice to meet you" and when people questioned whether he was a boyfriend, Eddie insisted he was just a friend who wanted to be here for you.

It wasn't a lie; still he got a skeptical gaze from at least two elderly women who tutted once they were out of earshot.

Eventually, you got to the front of the room, to the row of chairs that held your immediate family, and after a few tearful hugs, Eddie finally met your parents, your aunt and uncle, and your older brother.

He was surprised to hear "I've heard a lot about you" come from your mother's mouth, but was not surprised to hear the "no funny business under my roof" from your father after a clap on the shoulder. Your uncle said nothing after a short “hello”, just let your aunt do all the talking, and all she could talk about was your appearance.

"What are you doing, honey? What is this you're wearing? For Papa's wake? I hope you plan to wear something a little more modest for my father's funeral tomorrow. And your friend? A leather jacket? A little casual don't you think? What's that dear? Yes, nice to meet you too Edward. Thank you for coming."

Your brother Michael, though...Michael was a douchebag to put it in polite terms, and Eddie could tell that, unlike with Jimmy, the relationship between you was tense.

"You're late" he sniffed judgmentally instead of a greeting.

"We hit traffic and needed to change," you snarked right back.

"So you stopped off at home? Where's Jim? Why couldn't you get him here?"

"You know how he is at these things, he'll show up before they close up for the night. You remember how he was when Nana died. And now he's Mr. Tough Guy. He doesn't like to cry."

Back and forth the two of you went, Michael's accusations and your tense responses. Eddie could feel himself get more and more irritated the harsher it got, the angrier he felt you become. If it was anything other than a funeral--a wake, what was the difference--he would have started in on your brother several minutes ago to protect you.

And he was still tempted to.

But it was like a switch was flipped as someone else approached, and he watched as you changed right before his very eyes. As all the irritation and vulnerabilities left you, and in their place...was the Store Manager version of you he knew and sort of despised. Cold and stiff and everything he knew you weren't by the grace of becoming your friend.

Regardless, it was startling to see.

At the end of the night as Eddie settled into the second twin bed in what used to be Michael and Jimmy's shared room, Eddie realized that your customer service persona had been present for most of the evening, and had only slipped in the presence of those few family members that could see right past it.

Could they see past it? Or was it that you simply couldn't hide behind it with them?

For the whole time he'd known you, Eddie had often wondered what had driven you to Indiana. The job, sure, but...you'd left everything you'd known behind. And hell, for all the times that he wanted to get the hell out of Hawkins, he knew he couldn't leave Wayne or Rick for very long. In his heart he knew the day he finally left, he'd need to be back quite often to see them.

Now, though...when it came to you, he started to understand.

---

The next day, the day of the funeral, you couldn't stop shaking.

Eddie had been nervously second guessing the black jeans--the only non-ripped pair he owned--and Wayne's borrowed dress shirt when he saw you digging through your bag, trembling. It seemed like you were trying to hide it, kept your body moving and grabbing for something, but he noticed immediately,

He snatched the car keys out of your hands before you could get a solid grasp on them when it was time to go.

"It's alright," he reassured you. "Just tell me where I'm going and I'll get us there."

He thought it would be back to the funeral home, but instead you gave him directions to the church. A big old building with stained glass windows and a large statue of the Virgin Mary out in the front.

He could hear the organ music of the hymns emanating from within, and on the hour, the bells from the tower beside the chapel became deafening. For all the Catholic school girl jokes he made at your expense, he didn't realize you were Catholic Catholic.

"You sure I'm not gonna burst into flames if I set foot inside?" he joked to try and ease your nerves and his, but you just shook your head. He watched and suddenly felt helpless, as you began to shake more and worry your bottom lip with your teeth; he was supposed to be here to support you, to reassure you, and instead you looked ready to keel over. "Hey, it'll be ok."

"Yeah," you nodded tensely. "Yeah, let's just go inside."

You didn't make a move though, just rocked onto the toes of your shiny Mary Janes and looked on as tons of people filtered into the church.

Tons of people that, once again, reminded him of the people that had come to pay their respects for his mom. Eddie remembered being there, shaking in his shoes, trying to keep a straight-face, to be strong. To not be a baby because he was 10 years old.

It was just like you said about Jimmy the previous night; big tough guy, didn't want to cr--

Oh.

Realization hit Eddie. The culmination of all the other realizations that had been mounting over the past what? 48 hours? Maybe the past week? The two of you were more alike than he realized. Eddie had just noticed how you'd put up this strong front since you'd been home; the comfortable, safe Store Manager facade was starting to crack. Hadn't he just told you the story about his mom's funeral? How he'd fallen in love with metal because Rick had realized that he needed to process his grief? That he needed to lash out? To cry?

Here he was, trying to get you to laugh, when instead he should have been doing the opposite. But how was he gonna get you to cry? You didn't even cry much at the wake when you'd placed your hand on top of the shiny casket that held your Papa within.

Maybe it just hadn't hit you yet?

Alright, change of plans.

"Your Papa knew a lot of people," Eddie noted, gesturing towards the funeral-goers.

"He did," you agreed, and he watched as your shoulders lost the slightest bit of tension. "He was...I mean you met my cousin last night. The one who wants to run for Mayor."

"Yeah, he's got that yuppie thing about him."

"Well, my Papa could have been Mayor if he wanted," you said with the most conviction he'd ever heard in your voice. "He just didn't want to. Which means he deserved it even more. He was the nicest neighbor, the best friend. He went and played competitive Bocce at the civic center and fundraised for charity and canned his own peaches to give to people."

On and on, you talked about Papa's recipe for this and his idea for that and...

"And the way he fucking chain smoked god damn it Eddie," you hit his arm as he pulled his cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans.

Eddie thought that, at the very least, an emotional story would be the thing that would set you over the edge. Instead it was the pack of Marlboro Reds that he'd picked up when you had stopped for gas about halfway through the drive.

You hit his arm a few times, as you often did when you tried to playfully admonish him for this or that, then your face crumpled. Your shaking ceased as you collapsed against him and buried your face against his shoulder once again, just like you had when he first arrived at your apartment on Thursday night.

He dropped the cigarettes and folded his arms around you, pulled you into the safety of your friendship when it seemed like there wasn't anything safe out there for you right now; when you'd just lost one of the safe places you had in the world.

He whispered sweet words--comforts and reassurances--and he made you laugh once by threatening to punch your brother if he tried to make a scene.

"I'll do it," he goaded you. "I don't care if he's in mourning too. He's insufferable. Hate that guy. Never coming back to Chicago ever if he's still in town. You hear that? I might have to leave right now."

"No," you tugged him closer to you, and he reveled in the feeling. "You're staying right here. You promised."

"I did," he agreed.

The tense hold you had on him got looser and you hiccuped the last few tears you had.

A few yards away, a hearse pulled up to the curb in front of the church, and your brothers and several of your cousins went to start hauling the casket inside.

"You ready to go in?" Eddie asked. "You don't have to...but..."

"No," you shook your head and pulled back from him. "I'm ok. I'm ready."

"Good."

He waited for you to make the first move once again, but before you did, you took his hand in yours and squeezed.

"He would have been...so happy to have met you, Eddie," you looked at him earnestly. "I told him all about you. I think it hurts a little more...knowing that he didn't get the chance."

He squeezed your hand right back and smiled.

"I'm sad I didn't get the chance either. Guess I'm gonna have to work extra hard not to go to Hell so I can shake his hand in Heaven."

You snorted and pushed him away with a soft jackass then pulled him into the church with you saying he would have made the same joke.

---

The next morning, you and Eddie made a stealthy getaway.

Your father had tried to get you both to go to church with them again and you politely declined.

"We need to get on the road so we don't get back too late. I have to open tomorrow," you made the excuse.

Honestly Eddie was grateful; all the sitting and standing and kneeling...he hadn't gotten that much exercise since gym class Freshman year.

But as you soared back down North Avenue, you made a detour.

"I know this wasn't supposed to be a fun trip," you explained. "If you're up for it, we can make the drive back whenever...maybe during spring break or something? The least I can do before we head back to Hawkins, to thank you for coming, is give you a taste of good Chicago food. Especially after casseroles and funeral home sandwiches all weekend.

"It is Sunday, after all."

And that's how Eddie found himself having his first authentic Chicago style hot dog. Sitting on a picnic bench outside, under a red and yellow striped umbrella, the ambient sounds of cars zooming and your banter back and forth the perfect backdrop.

"No ketchup, are you kidding me right now Eddie?" you swatted his hand.

"Why do they have ketchup if they don't want it on the hot dog," he argued.

"It's for the fries and the fries only. You need to have the whole experience. A hot dog with everything, and ketchup on the fries only."

He watched as you unwrapped your hotdog and began picking through the toppings. Hypocrite.

"Wait, I thought you said you needed to have the whole experience, why are you taking the peppers off."

"I don't like the peppers."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Eddie scoffed. "Gonna have to take your Chicago Card away. Oh wait, I'm sorry. Suburb card."

"Oh my god, just eat. Before I leave you here."

He took his first bite and his tastebuds sang, as you munched on a French fry with a cheeky smile.

And Eddie was happy. Happy to be here with you. Sundays were his favorite days, hands down, and he would do everything in his power to keep them that way.

It might not have been the happiest weekend, there might still be some unanswered questions between the two of you. But you were here with him and you were still friends, and after everything that had happened, that's all Eddie could ask for.

Next Part: Closing Time

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Closed Position: Week 1 (Introductions)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on Dancing with the Stars to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

Chapter Word Count: 7.1K

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

Week 1 Quote: "Fuck. I might be in trouble."

Dieter’s POV

“Lenny, have you seen this fucking schedule? It’s seven days a week for twelve weeks. When do I get a break?” 

Lenny, my agent, sighed through the speaker phone, “D, I told you this was going to be a lot of work before you agreed to do it. You shouldn’t be surprised…and besides, that’s only if you make it to the finals.”

I scoffed, “Thanks for the vote of confidence…asshole.” Lenny chuckled on the other end of the line. We both went quiet for a moment as I continued to flip through the packet of paper that Lenny had sent over for review, “I don’t even get to have any say on the wardrobe or music. Such bullshit…sucking all the fun out of it. Did you at least drop a bug in their ear about who I’ll be partnered with? If I get stuck with someone I don’t want, I’m gonna be fucking miserable.” 

“I did, but the producers said they always do the partner matching themselves. They have a formula…or something. Maybe bring it up again at this morning's meeting and explain why. They may listen to you on it.” 

I huffed as my eyes continued skimming over the weekly schedule, “I have to get a fucking spray tan every week? You have GOT to be kidding me…Lenny, you know I don’t like using carcinogenic chemicals on my body.” 

“Uhhh, no comment on that…Look, I’ll put in a call and see if they can use something natural for that.” 

I relaxed some, “I would appreciate that. Thank you. Tell them I have an allergy or something…just make it happen.” 

I tossed the packet onto the table and picked up my phone, taking it off speaker and putting it to my ear - now pacing as I spoke, “Well, it looks like I’m gonna be pretty busy for a bit. That’ll be a nice distraction. It beats being locked inside the house at least.”  

Lenny hesitated, but still asked, “How are you doing with everything? Still managing ok?” 

I sighed, “Yeah, I mean I’m going to therapy and all the meetings still. I’ve been doing ok…just trying to keep the stress levels down. That’s what gets to me the most.” 

“How long has it been?”

I looked at the date on my watch, “Eight months today…actually. It’s the longest I’ve ever been clean, and I plan to stick to it this time. I’m feeling good and I want to keep it that way.” 

“Everyone is really proud of you, D. You know that, right? Keep at it and we'll have you back on top in no time.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, knowing that it was an uphill battle, “I appreciate that, but good luck getting people to change their opinion of me. I’m not sure if my reputation is salvageable at this point. Everyone seems to think my sobriety is some sort of joke. No one is taking it seriously.”

I could hear Lenny inhale deeply on the other end of the phone, “It’s just going to take time, D. Don’t give up yet.” 

I pursed my lips in thought, “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I need to get ready for this meeting. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Yeah, definitely let me know how it goes.”  

Once I hung up the phone with Lenny, I took a quick shower, then spent longer than I should have staring at the clothes hanging in my closet - trying to pick something that says I have my shit together. My therapist kept reminding me that if I dressed like a slob, people were going to treat me like one. So, I was putting more effort into making myself presentable before I left the house these days. Since it was a work meeting, I went for a business casual look, figuring I couldn’t go wrong with that. After styling my hair and getting dressed, I grabbed my keys, phone, wallet, and sunglasses and headed out the front door.

As I approached my car, which was parked in the driveway, I noticed there was a dead bird on the hood. The fluffy gray, brown, and white stray cat that had been hanging around my house was sitting next to it, looking rather proud of himself. I sighed, “Come on dude, really?” And this is why I need to get the garage cleaned out. I hit the clicker to open the garage door so I could get a broom to knock the bird off the hood. As I waded through the mountain of empty boxes from my move six months ago, I cursed myself for taking my sweet time getting that stuff out of the house. Finally finding the broom, I quickly moved to get the dead bird off of the car and shooed the cat away. He didn’t look happy about it as he moved to sit on the pathway in front of the house, watching me until I was finally on my way to Television City Studios to meet with the producers of Dancing with the Stars. 

When I arrived at the studio, I was met by the two executive producers, Stacia and Joe and led into a conference room. I let them do their spiel about what’s expected and the schedule. Nodding along in all the right places, being as polite as possible even though I hated how little say I had over anything. Once they moved on to the topic of how they choose partners, I spoke up for the first time, “I would really like to have input on my partner.” They both moved to speak before I held up my hand to signal that I wasn’t finished talking. 

“Look, I know you all have your formula or whatever, but I have a legitimate reason for asking. As I’m sure you’re aware, I’ve been trying to clean up my image. I’ve been sober for eight months and I would really like to be placed with someone that doesn’t have a reputation for partying…someone who isn’t gonna be a negative influence on me. It’s actually really important to me because I’m actively avoiding being around anyone who is into that kind of lifestyle.” Which is why I spend most of my time alone.  

Stacia and Joe looked at each other, obviously surprised at my reasoning for the request. They were actually stunned into silence. Since neither of them said anything, I continued, “I had my team check into the dancers, and based on their recommendation…I’m requesting that Katarina Stamos be my partner. She has a good reputation and I’m also told she’s very professional and isn’t judgmental…because that’s been an issue here lately that I’d really like to not have to deal with.”

Stacia’s brow furrowed, “Are you looking to actually win? Because Kat hasn’t won a single season that she’s been with us.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. What an asshole thing to say about someone. “Well, maybe that’s because you keep giving her shitty partners.” 

I gave Stacia a sarcastic smile. She had the audacity to look offended by that statement. I had watched the show and seen the people Katarina was partnered with. It was always the older guys that could hardly move. Stacia’s attitude made me more determined to have Katarina as a partner just to prove a fucking point on her behalf. 

Joe interrupted the silent standoff that Stacia and I now seemed to be having, “Alright, let’s think about this…” He turned to Stacia, “Physically, they work together. Their height and proportions are a good match…and Kat is very patient. She would work well with him. Also, if he wishes to be with someone who isn’t into partying, Anika is not the person he needs to be with.”

Stacia looked frustrated and unwilling to give in as she glared at her counterpart. Joe smirked, “If you're worried about the change in narrative, it’s possible there may be other options we haven’t considered.” 

What the fuck does that mean? I leaned forward on my elbows, “What narrative?” 

They both turned to look at me, Stacia now had a sly smile on her face. It was Joe who answered, “We always consider the possible narratives that could come up between partners. How they’ll interact and get along personality wise. It’s an important factor for the show.”

I felt a crease form between my brows, “So basically, you try to manufacture drama for TV.”  

Joe shook his head, “Not exactly, I mean ultimately, yes. We just take personalities and such into account when we pair the dancers with their celebrities. I mean, we do want everyone to get along with their partner, obviously.”   

So, you’re fucking meddlers. Got it. I arched my brows, giving them a tight smile as I nodded, going along with what they were telling me. I now realized I would have to keep an eye on these two. I didn’t feel like they had my best interest in mind. Especially if they were initially planning to put me with the known party girl. 

I cleared my throat before speaking again, “So what does that mean…do I get to work with Katarina or not?” 

Stacia looked at me, now smiling, “I think that may actually be a good match now that I think about it. So yeah, we’ll let you work with Kat. Hopefully you’ll both make it through to finals.” 

What is this woman’s deal? Geez Louise. I eyed them both suspiciously for a moment, “Ok, good. Now I’m finally a little excited about this.”   

They went over a few more details about the schedule before taking me out to meet with a production assistant, who was tasked with giving me a tour of the building and showing me where my dressing room would be. This part of my day couldn’t end soon enough… 

Katarina’s POV

As I was pulling into the Television City Studios parking lot for the first day of my last season on Dancing with the Stars, my phone pinged with a text from Alec, my fiancée.

Alec: I finished up my meeting with production. Are you here? Have you had yours yet?

I leaned my head back against the seat. What the hell has he been doing? I know his meeting was over an hour ago.

Me: Just parked, I have mine in 10 minutes. I’m on my way in…Meet you in the lobby. 

A few minutes later, I found Alec in the lobby. He seemed more excited than he normally was on the first day as he greeted me with a quick kiss on the cheek. 

I leaned away from him, “What’s got you so smiley this morning?” I could tell he was trying to temper it down and have a more neutral expression on his face as he shrugged, “I didn’t realize I was. Guess I’m just excited to see you.” 

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. What are you hiding now you asshole. He didn’t know how well I could read him at this point. 

I arched a brow instead of returning his smile, “So, I assume you found out who your partner is gonna be?”

He continued his attempts at a neutral expression, “Yeah, Lana Thompson…she’s an actress, I think. There was apparently a last minute change to the lineup this morning. You know her?” 

I gave him a tight smile, “Yeah…I know her. She has a bit of a reputation…”  

He feigned ignorance, “Oh? I don’t know anything about her. I’m sure she’ll turn out to be one of those stuck up, bitchy types like the rest of ‘em. Ya know, you’re lucky it’s your last season so you don’t have to deal with these people anymore.” 

And there it is. He doth protest too much. He was excited to be paired with her, I could tell. He saw it as an opportunity. As far as I knew, he hadn’t strayed to another woman in some time, but that didn’t mean he had changed. He still hadn’t earned my trust back and his current excitement only made me more suspicious of his commitment. 

Alec could sense the tension taking hold of my body as he rubbed at my lower back, “Everything ok, baby?”

I gave him a half-hearted smile, “Yeah, just peachy. I’ve gotta go or I’m gonna be late. I’ll catch up with you after.” 

As I was walking down the hallway toward the conference room, I saw Lana Thompson exiting the bathroom. I suspected Alec had already met his partner and liked her more than he let on. Which probably explains why it took him as long as it did to text me. 

When I entered the conference room, Stacia and Joe sat huddled together. They seemed to be engrossed in whatever they were whispering about, but abruptly stopped talking once they realized I was lingering in the entryway. They both smiled, almost over enthusiastically as they welcomed me and motioned for me to have a seat. They studied me for a moment before Stacia finally spoke, “How are things going with you?” 

That’s an odd question and an odd tone. I wasn’t sure what kind of answer she was looking for, “It’s going good, why?” 

She gave me a small smile, “I know it’s your last season because you have things going on…but do you think you’re feeling up to the possibility of making it to finals?” 

I gave her a confused look, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Joe leaned forward, “What Stacia is trying to say is…the person we have you partnered with this time is going to be a little more physically able than your usual partners. So, you may be in it for the full twelve weeks…if you can pull it off. Are you physically able to handle it?” 

Should I be offended by that? It’s not like I can’t function. It was just painful some days, especially when there were a lot of rehearsals. My joints couldn’t handle the Latin dances like they used to - the jerky movements exacerbating the inflammation and discomfort. That didn’t mean they had to treat me like a fragile porcelain doll though. 

I narrowed my eyes at them, “Of course I can handle it. I could handle it this entire time…which is why I’ve been asking for more capable partners.” 

Joe smiled, “Well, good. Maybe you can go out with a bang this season.” 

What the fuck was this about? I dug my teeth into my bottom lip as I tried to figure out their angle. There was always an angle with them, “Why do I feel like you’re trying to sell this to me?” 

Joe grimaced slightly. “We’re not trying to sell it, but we do worry you won’t be happy about it.” 

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back into the seat, “Who is it?” 

Stacia smirked, “It’s Dieter Bravo.”

I looked between the two of them, “You’re joking?” 

They shook their heads in unison. This didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t he be better suited with one of the girls that enjoyed a lifestyle similar to his? 

“What makes you think he and I will work well together? I know I have a lot of patience, but it does have its limits.” 

Joe chuckled, “His people requested you specifically. He’s actually eight months sober and they want him with someone who isn’t going to get him into trouble. He’s trying to clean up his image.” 

I scoffed, “I thought you didn’t let the celebrities have any say in who they’re partnered with?”

Joe leaned forward onto the table, “We don’t normally, but given his request and the reasons for it, we felt we should make an exception. We were thinking of putting him with you anyway.”

I shook my head, “You are aware of his reputation, right? Alec is gonna lose his shit over this.” 

Stacia smiled, “It’s not your or Alec’s choice. We run the show.”

It dawned on me then. Alec had said there was a last minute lineup change this morning and that’s why he was put with Lana. I had somehow managed to fly under the radar when it came to the producers' manufactured bullshit, but now I was right in the middle of it. They were making moves to create an underlying narrative for the show. 

“Who was he partnered with originally? I know it wasn’t me.” 

Stacia looked surprised by my question, “He was never partnered with anyone else before you.”

Stacia was lying. She couldn’t look at me directly when she answered my question - it was her tell. I knew how their minds worked. Dieter Bravo had a reputation for causing trouble and they were looking to exploit it. I’m sure his request caused a hiccup in their plans, so now they were making adjustments to cause drama surrounding him any way they could. 

My eyes shifted between the two of them, “I don’t know what your endgame is here, but I have no intention of playing, just so you know.”

Stacia and Joe sat expressionless, not giving anything away. I assumed they expected this sort of response from me. My tendency to push back at their plans was one of the reasons I wasn’t a favorite of theirs and most likely part of the reason they always worked to get me off the show as soon as possible, every season. Which sucked for my bank account. To add to their reasoning, I wasn’t interesting enough since I never had issues with my partners or whirlwind romances that made for good TV. However, this season they were taking a chance, throwing two bombs in the form of Lana and Dieter into my already tumultuous relationship with Alec. Hoping for an exciting outcome that would play out behind the scenes to stir up tabloid fodder and result in free promotion for the show.  

Joe sighed, finally speaking to break the tension in the room, “For what it’s worth, we met with Dieter earlier this morning…he was actually very pleasant and agreeable. I don’t think he’ll be an issue for you, so long as he continues to stay sober.”

My brows furrowed, “It sounds like you have a lot of faith in him. Good to know.” I moved to stand, “Well, if there isn’t anything else you need from me…”

Joe smiled weakly in my direction, “No, I think that’s it for now…just make sure you review the schedule and let us know if you have questions.” 

I gave them a sarcastic smile before moving to leave the conference room. As I rounded the corner in the hallway, looking down at the floor lost in my thoughts and frustration, I ran into someone. I started mumbling my apologies as I looked up at the stranger. I was met with a mess of curls, piercing dark eyes, and a dimpled lop-sided grin. It was Dieter fucking Bravo looking like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said through a chuckle with his hands on my shoulders to catch me from running head first into him. We stared at each other in silence for a moment. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, he can’t call me that.  

He had a slight smirk on his face now, “Katarina, right? Looks like we’re gonna be dance partners.” 

I shook my head, my lips set in a tight line, “Don’t call me that.” 

His brow furrowed, “What? Katarina?” 

I scoffed, “No, sweetheart. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. It’s inappropriate. You can call me Kat like everyone else.” 

He was obviously taken off guard by my cold demeanor as he gave me a confused look, “I didn’t…mean anything by it, I-I call everyone sweetheart.” 

I nodded, “Well, you're not gonna call me that.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a beat, “I guess I’ve earned that. Sorry, I won’t do it again.” 

I inhaled deeply, biting my bottom lip as I did so. It didn’t go unnoticed that his eyes shifted down to my mouth. “Look, this is my last season and I just wanna get through it without any drama, ok?”

A crease formed between his brows as his jaw ticked to the side, “What makes you think I’m gonna cause drama?”

I shook my head, now realizing how big of a jerk I was being, “Umm…I…”

He continued to stare at me with a burning intensity, “Just so you know, I’m sober…have been for eight months. Drama is not my thing these days…”

I gave him a tight smile, “Good…hopefully you can stick to it.”  Fuck. That did not come out how I meant for it to.

I could see his jaw muscles flex before he let out a small laugh. His eyes finally shifted downward. He almost looked hurt by that comment. 

I sighed, “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” 

His brows arched as he peered at me through his lashes, “You know, I requested to be partnered with you because I was told that you're professional and wouldn’t be judgmental about my past…I guess I heard wrong. I suppose I should just expect it at this point, right? Maybe I shouldn’t have such high expectations of others.” 

My mouth fell open as I shook my head. I’m such a fucking asshole. He didn’t give me a chance to say anything before he spoke again, “I guess I’ll see you at rehearsals tomorrow. Have a good afternoon.” He gave me a sad smile as he brushed past me. I stood there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot watching him as he walked toward the exit. That was a great first impression. Good job, Kat. 

“Who was that?” Alec asked from behind me. 

I turned, running my fingers through the top of my hair out of frustration, “That was my new dance partner.” 

Alec squinted toward the figure standing near the exit, now stopping to look at his phone, “Is that Dieter Bravo?” 

I could feel my jaw tighten as I took in Alec’s expression, “Yes, it is.” Alec’s head snapped toward me, “I don’t want you working with him.” 

I smiled sarcastically, “Really? And you think I have a choice in that? They made it clear, there is no other option. I asked.”

Alec shook his head, “You could just not do this season. You're quitting anyway. Why not go ahead and drop out?” 

My eyes widened at his suggestion, “Because I need the fucking money, you know that.” 

He chuckled, “Right, for the dance studio.” 

I scoffed, “Yeah, for the dance studio. I don’t understand why you can’t support me on that.” 

Alec didn’t acknowledge my question, “This guy is a known womanizer. I’m not comfortable with this.” 

My head tilted to the side, “So you don’t trust me. That’s rich coming from you. You know…I’m not excited about your partner either, but I didn’t tell you to drop out. If anyone has a right to be concerned, it’s me.” 

Alec moved in closer, causing me to back up against the wall as he got in my face. His eyes were blazing with anger, “You’re never gonna let that shit go, are you? That was ten months ago, and I have been loyal to you ever since. Yet here you are…still throwing it in my fucking face.” 

I had a sudden defiant streak hit me, “You’re the one who brought it up by insinuating that you couldn’t trust me. I’m just reminding you who the problem is in this relationship.” 

Alec moved to put his hand on the wall next to my head as he leaned in further - his nose nearly touching mine as I turned my stoney face away from him, “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again,” he spat out.   

I could feel his eyes drift over my face for a moment before he pulled away and walked off. 

I huffed out a quiet “Fuck” as I exhaled a shaky breath and watched him walk toward the dressing rooms. When I glanced back toward the exit, Dieter was still standing there, frozen in place with his phone halfway to his ear. Once he realized I was looking his way, his head dropped downward, and he slowly turned to exit the building.   

 Dieter’s POV 

As I walked out into the scorching afternoon sun, I ended the call to check my voicemail, deciding I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. I was frustrated by my first interaction with Katarina. It didn’t go how I expected, and honestly, she had hurt my feelings. Based on everything I had heard about her, I didn’t think she would throw my past up in my face like that. At least not immediately, if at all. She did seem a little flustered, maybe she was just having a bad day? 

What followed after our exchange was even more bizarre. It looked like she was having a tense conversation with the man that I assumed was the one she was dating. Lenny had mentioned she was engaged to one of the other dancers. When the man first leaned in, I initially thought they were just having a private moment, but then I noticed the look on Kat’s face as she turned away from him. Something about it was unsettling and for a brief moment, I considered interrupting them. Luckily, I didn’t have to. However, I was left feeling that I had witnessed something I wasn’t supposed to.

Even though our conversation didn’t go as well as I hoped, I was still struck with how beautiful Katarina was in person. Pictures and TV didn’t do her justice. It was probably a good thing she was seeing someone, otherwise I would be in danger of making a fool of myself. Then again, I probably would anyway. My sober self didn’t seem to know how to act around a pretty lady. My confidence and self-assurance definitely weren’t on the same level these days. 

When I got home, I spent more time than I would like to admit staring at my reflection in the mirror - trying to remind myself that I was no longer the piece of shit that everyone still saw me as. It was still hard for me to accept that the old me and the new me were two very different people. Some days it really did seem like it was easier being the old Dieter Bravo, because he didn’t care about how he was perceived by others. I often longed for him to come back, just to quiet the thoughts of self-hate and inadequacy. Those thoughts really could be suffocating and hard to overcome. It was near impossible living with myself on those days.

The anticipation of how our first rehearsal would go was starting to get to me. So, I decided to spend the rest of the evening trying to relax and take my mind off things. With classical music blaring from the sound system, I moved through the house to check in on my plants - watering, misting leaves, and pruning. It was a new hobby I had picked up since rehab. It started with one succulent plant that had seen better days. My neighbor had left it sitting next to the trash bin on garbage collection day. For some reason, I had an urge to attempt to save the shriveled mass. After a few weeks, it was showing new life as the deep purple hues started to form on the leaves. My plant obsession bloomed from there. Now I wasn’t even sure how many I had. I was fairly certain my housekeeper was going to quit if I brought any more home. 

After I was finished with the plants, I spent some time painting until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer. It was nearing midnight by the time I had showered and crawled into bed. Even though I was completely exhausted, I couldn’t shut my mind off. The anxiety was now building to problematic levels. It was always at this point that I thought about using the most. By now, the old Dieter would be a couple lines in and a few drinks deep to block out the thoughts. The new Dieter suffers through it as he lay in bed alone, staring into the darkness. I drug both hands down my face and huffed loudly before moving to switch on the lamp beside the bed. I reached for my latest self-help book and began reading.  

I was startled awake by my 7 AM alarm. I groaned as I felt around next to me on the bed for the shrilling phone to shut it off. I sat up, still half out of it, causing the book that had been lying on my chest to fall to the floor with a loud thump. I got up from bed, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I walked toward the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I stood staring at my reflection again, “You look like shit, Bravo.” It was clear I hadn’t gotten much sleep from my dark circles and puffy eyelids. I threw a warm rag over my eyes for a few minutes in hopes that would help.

Standing in my closet staring at the pile of gym clothes my stylist had picked up, I selected a random pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then pulled the tags off. We weren’t allowed to wear anything with brands or logos on filming days, so I had to break down and buy more clothes. It was probably for the best, my old gym clothes were looking a little ratty anyway.    

Once I was dressed, I grabbed my backpack that had a few essentials in it and headed toward the front door. As I stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind me, I was greeted by my furry squatter who had left another gift near the steps - a dead mouse. I sighed, “Well, at least it’s not on top of the car this time…” The fluffy menace meowed at me as he rubbed against my legs, as if to say, “Look what I did!” 

I was determined to not give in to the furry intruder, so I disregarded his attempts for pets. “Don’t you have a family somewhere to annoy?” I muttered to him as I continued toward the car. He followed me halfway down the pathway before sitting down and flicking his tail around as he watched me get into the driver's side and shut the door. He didn’t look happy about being ignored. 

I gave myself a quick glance in the rearview mirror, reaching to comb down my hair with my fingers. I hadn’t bothered to fix it, knowing it was going to turn into a mess no matter what I did to it. Then, I started the car and drove in silence to the dance studio, not even really sure how I got there as I pulled into the parking lot. I found myself wondering if I had run any redlights as I walked through the main entrance. I felt like I was in a haze as the camera team talked to me in the lobby to fill me in on the plans for filming. 

They wanted to do a brief interview with me before I went into the studio with Katarina. They wanted me to give the whole spiel about how excited I was to be here and working with my dance partner. Truth is, I wasn’t excited. I was nervous as hell, and I was supposed to act like this was the first time I was meeting her. I was unsure of how to act toward her, so when the time came for me to walk through the door to greet her and act excited, I turned on the Dieter Bravo charm the best I could and pretended like yesterday’s conversation never happened.

I was surprised to find how well Katarina did the same thing as she came over to greet me with a smile and a hug and gushed about how excited she was to work with me. However, we were both avoiding looking at the other directly. Clearly there was still some lingering awkwardness between us. After they filmed the introduction, they wanted to get some quick shots of us rehearsing. 

These first few days of rehearsal were meant for learning the basics. We were not actually getting into the first routine yet. We started with some simple stretches and moved into learning the proper frame, the different types of positions, and spacing for the different types of dances. It was all very high level and fast, but Katarina had promised that we would go over it in more detail once the film crew left for the day. The quick pace was mostly for the benefit of the film crew so they could get what they needed and move on to the next couple. 

Once filming was done for the day, we took a seat on the floor for a water break as the crew gathered up all of their gear to leave. We mostly sat in awkward silence until we were finally alone. I could feel Katarina’s eyes on me as I stared at the water bottle in my hand. She spoke first. 

“I feel like I should apologize about yesterday…I was having a shit day and kind of took it out on you. I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t mean what I said.” 

I pursed my lips and shrugged, “It’s fine. I’m used to it at this point.” 

She reached out and grasped my wrist with her left hand, the heat of her touch raced through me as I looked at the glittering ring on that finger for a moment before meeting her eyes, “It doesn’t mean that it should keep happening though. It’s not right and it’s not fair to you. Everyone deserves a second chance.” 

I huffed out a small laugh, “Yeah, except I’m on like my tenth chance. I understand why no one takes me seriously. Really, it’s not that big of a deal.” 

Her face softened as she stared at me for a beat, like she was trying to decide what she wanted to say next. Then she shifted her body to face me as she crossed her legs, “It is a big deal. It’s a big deal to me because I know better. You know…” 

She paused, appearing to gather her thoughts. I moved to lean back on my hand and face her more fully with my legs stretched out to the side. My teeth bit into my bottom lip as I watched her face shift to a somewhat pained expression. It was brief, but I still caught it before she gained her composure. 

“My uhh…my dad was sober for about 14 years before he passed. I know how hard it was for him in the beginning…with everyone doubting him and not giving him a chance. It’s one of the reasons he relapsed the first few times. It can be hard when you don’t have any support from the people around you. I know that…and I don’t wanna be one of those people. You haven’t given me any reason to doubt you, so I wanna make sure I’m giving you a fair shot and support you as long as you’re actively trying to better yourself. I know first-hand that people do change.”

Is she fucking serious? I couldn’t move or speak. She had stunned me again for the second day in a row. I never would have guessed she would share something so personal, especially on our first day together. She seemed sincere in her apology.   

I finally managed a curt nod before I reached to rub at the crease between my brows, “Thanks…I uhh…I appreciate that.”  I let out a small laugh, “I appreciate it more than you probably realize, actually.” 

She gave me a tentative smile, “Does that mean I’m forgiven for being an asshole then?” 

I chuckled, “Of course…and I didn’t think you were an asshole. Not really. I had a feeling you were having a bad day.”

“Whew…ok. Good. I was worried I had already fucked this whole thing up before it started.” 

Ok, it’s kind of hot when she says fuck. I smirked, “Does this mean I get to call you sweetheart now?” 

She narrowed her eyes on me and shook her head, “No. No sweetheart.” She laughed quietly, “But, I might consider a different nickname if you come up with a good one.” 

My lips spread into a cheeky smile, “I think I can come up with something.” She laughed into the top of her water bottle as she took a sip with a slight flush creeping up her neck. Am I flirting right now? I don’t even know what I’m doing. Geez. I looked away in an attempt to reign myself in. I can’t be doing that.  

We were soon back at it, now with a more relaxed atmosphere. We again started with getting my frame right. I stood in place as she moved my arms to the proper position, pushing in between my shoulder blades to straighten my posture. After several minutes in the position, I couldn’t help the groan that slipped out, “This is gonna do a number on my back muscles, isn’t it?” 

She snickered, “You will definitely have better posture by the time I’m done with you. Now, elbows up, you should have a horizontal line from elbow to elbow…and hold it there.” 

She then stood in front of me, taking in my form for a moment before manipulating my hands into the proper position. 

Smiling, she nodded in satisfaction as she stepped closer, “Ok, now let’s go over the hold. The hold is important because it’s how we connect…how our bodies communicate movement to lead and follow.” 

As she spoke, she moved closer, placing her arm along the top of my right one and clasping my left hand in hers. She was very matter of fact with her words as her eyes bore into mine. It was almost distracting. 

“I need you to make sure there’s no space between our arms…here, so keep your elbow flush against mine.” She bounced her arm against the top of my right one to emphasize what she meant. “This is an important connection point because I can feel the pressure from your arm, which will tell me how to follow. As for your left hand, keep it at my eye level. We apply pressure here as well for another connection point.”    

All I could do was nod along with her words, completely mesmerized by her intensity. Once she felt we had the hold down, she began to explain the differences in spacing for standard ballroom versus Latin dances. 

“So…in Latin style dances, we’ll have more space between us…like we are now. It gives us more room to move. We’re gonna be slightly offset from each other while maintaining this closed position. Got it?”

I nodded again as I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I wanted to look at her directly, but I couldn’t. Between her eyes burning into me and the tingling from her touch, I felt like my skin was on fire. I didn’t know what to make of it and it was sort of fucking with my head.

Then she stepped even closer, the front of our bodies nearly flush as she slightly adjusted the position of our arms. I swallowed hard over her proximity and the tangy citrus scent that was now invading my senses. Fuck. I might be in trouble. 

“For standard dances, like the Waltz and Foxtrot, we’re gonna be closer…like this. Our frame will be a little wider and our arms will be positioned slightly lower. We’ll both be looking off to our left instead of directly at each other.”   

I cleared my throat, stepping back slightly, “Sooo…umm…do we look off to the left for Latin dances?” 

Her brows arched as her eyes widened, “Good question. I should have mentioned that. There’s typically more direct eye contact in the Latin dances. It’s actually another form of connection…another way for us to communicate without words.”

She moved back into the Latin dance hold, now making direct eye contact with me. I couldn’t help how my eyes roamed over her face, taking in the minor changes in her expression as she spoke. I wasn’t sure if the close proximity of the standard hold or direct eye contact with the Latin hold was worse. They were both a little overwhelming. 

“Alright, let’s try some steps. We can start with the Rumba.” 

She broke away for a moment to show me the foot movement, then had me give it a try. After a successful attempt, she positioned us back into the Latin hold and we began moving together. Once it seemed we had the footwork down, she backed away with a smirk on her face. 

“You’re actually really good at this, you know. We do need to work on eye contact though.”

I smiled nervously as I looked down at my feet and rubbed the back of my neck, “I’m sorry…I know. Direct eye contact is a little weird for me.” I glanced up at her through my lashes, slightly embarrassed by the admission. 

She smiled and arched a brow in my direction, “Really? I never would have guessed that based on your love scenes.”

My eyes widened. I do not need to think about her watching me dick someone down on screen. Focus, Bravo. I chuckled nervously, “Yeah, I’m not usually looking directly into their eyes during those. I tend to stare between their eyebrows.” 

She gave me a sly smile now, snickering, “Oh, is that why you usually look cross eyed then?” 

My brow furrowed as I gave her a mock look of offense, “I don’t look cross eyed. That’s rude.”

She cackled over my response, “I’m joking. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen one of your love scenes to know how your face looks.” 

I scrunched up my nose, “Ouch, ok…so you don’t watch my movies. Got it.” 

Her laugh had simmered to a quiet chuckle now as she lightly smacked my shoulder, “I’ve seen some…just not any with a love scene. So don’t be so offended. I’ve seen those TikTok videos though…they gave me a good idea of what I’m working with.”

I rolled my eyes, “Ugh…those fucking TikTok videos. They’re so bad.”  

I had to admit, it was nice to be joking around with her after all the tension that had built up from yesterday. I took it as a good sign that this might actually go ok. What I didn’t expect was the attraction that I was starting to feel as our day went on. However, the obnoxiously sized engagement ring she wore on her finger helped keep that in check every time I saw it sparkling in the light when she moved. As long as that shiny reminder was there, I would be ok... 

Right?

Next: Week 2

✨FUN FACTS: All cast members on Dancing with the Stars are in fact required to get a weekly spray tan. They also do not get to choose their partners, costumes, music, or themes. They can make recommendations obviously, but the producers do not have to honor the requests. When it comes to pairing partners, the producers do have a "formula".

A/N: I wanted to take a quick minute to welcome all of my new and old readers! So happy to have you all with me for my next adventure with Dieter Bravo. For the new folks, I'm a sucker for predictions and theories. If you have them, drop them in the comments so we can discuss. Now on to my normal nonsense...how are you guys feeling about the first chapter? How do you feel about Dieter and Kat's first couple of interactions? What about all the characters that were introduced? I'm curious to know who you want to throat punch more, Alec or Stacia? I'm already in love with these two and I can't wait to share more of them. This Dieter is...something else. I love sharing things from his point of view. He is going to be a good time, as expected. Kat is...kind of a mess, but also not? It's been interesting being in her head. How do you see things progressing with these two? Lastly, a quick thank you to @maggiemayhemnj for giving this first chapter a quick read through to make sure all these plot points were introduced in a way that made sense...because seriously, there is a lot going on here. She also found the perfect disco ball looking dividers for this...and I fucking love them. 😘 👉 I did a fun post about Dieter's plant hobby and his furry visitor. Check it out HERE. 👉 In case you missed it, I also did a character introduction post, which you can find HERE. Until next time, 💜 Mysty

Taglist: @secretelephanttattoo @titlee78 @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @morallyinept @survivingandenduring  @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed @hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin @cakipy-blog @missladym1981 @guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza @girlofchaos @trulybetty @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions @myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime  @copperhalfcent @auteurdelabre @drewharrisonwriter @burntheedges @stevie75 @pedrostories

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Credits: Support/MDNI Dividers: @cafekitsune Disco Divider: @deadbranch

[lynzishell]

The Present 🧡 Chestnut Ridge

Prev // Next

Transcript below the cut:

Joseph:  There’s really no easy or satisfying answer I can give you. Phoenix: I just don’t understand how you could leave. I look at Aspen and Dawn, and I could never… I find it hard to believe you cared about us at all.

Joseph: Your mom and I… we were… [short laugh] volatile. Truth is, I loved her with everything I had, but we were no good together. All passion and no sense, both of us stubborn as all get-out. We loved hard and we fought harder, especially when we were drinking. And we were always drinking. Always partying, getting into all kinds of trouble.

And then she got pregnant, and… god, we were so happy. We thought having a baby was gonna change everything. We were determined to get it right, to be the best parents we could.

She stopped drinking immediately, and I tried, I did. I’d stop for a while, but then I’d have a bad day, or we’d have a big fight, or I’d just walk by the bar… Eventually though, I’d come home drunk. She’d be disappointed, angry, and she’d give me hell. And the next day I’d apologize, promise to do better. For a while I would. I’d do everything I could to be the partner and father you two needed me to be, but it was only a matter of time before I’d fuck up again. And we just got trapped in this cycle.

I refused to accept the fact that I was an alcoholic. Instead, I hated myself for being weak. Resented your mom for being stronger than me, and for trying to change me. There was a time when it felt like all we did was fight. Sometimes I’d pick fights with her just to make myself feel justified in having a drink. She gave me so many chances, but eventually her patience ran out and she told me to leave.

I didn’t think… I was calling her bluff, thinking I’d show her, I’d be gone for a few days, or a week, and then she’d beg me never to leave again. I was clearly delusional.

When I came back, she’d changed the locks.

She told me she was done with me, and that I’d never see you again if I didn’t get help. I should’ve listened to her. I should’ve checked myself into rehab that day. But I didn’t. Instead, I lost it on her. We had the worst fight we’d ever had, and I left.

It was years before I finally walked into a meeting, before I finally said the words, “My name is Joseph Vega, and I am an alcoholic.” Even then, every day was an uphill battle. I never knew anything else. I didn’t know how to cope with anything without drinking, and I almost gave up. I wanted to. The only reason I kept trying was you. I wanted to be the father you needed, that you deserved.

The first time I hit ninety days, I went to see your mom, to show her that I’d done it. I told her I wanted to see you. But she said it wasn’t enough, to come back when I’d been sober a year, and we’d talk. I was upset, but I agreed. I was determined for things to be different this time, to prove to both of you that I’d changed, no matter what it took. And I did it, I earned my one-year chip and the next day I went to her, asked her when I could see you. When I saw the look on her face, I knew she never had any intention of letting me back into your life.

I should’ve taken her to court. I should’ve fought for you. But instead, I did what I’d always done. I felt sorry for myself. I blamed the world for my misery. And I found the nearest bar to drown it all out. I gave up. Decided she was right, that you were better off without me.

Phoenix: … Joseph: Phoenix, there’s never been a day when I haven’t thought about you. I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you. It was never your fault, and I hope you know that. Phoenix: … Joseph: You gonna say anything?

Phoenix: Did you hit her? Joseph: What? No! We fought, yes. We’d scream and shout and throw shit, and I’ll admit, I said some awful things to her when I was drunk, but I never laid a hand on her. Ever. Phoenix: Really? Joseph: Yes. Why would you think—

Phoenix: So, tell me what happened next. You came back that night. The next morning, she had a black eye and told me we had to move because our home wasn’t safe anymore. Because of you. Joseph: [sighs] Shit. Phoenix: Yeah, shit.

Joseph: No. Look, I did come back that night. I came back drunk and angry and demanding to see you. I tried to force my way into the house. At one point, I shoved the door in on her and that’s how she got the black eye. It was my fault, yes, but I did not hit her.

Phoenix: Just because it was a door and not your fist doesn’t make it any better. Joseph: You’re right. You’re right, it doesn’t. My temper got the better of me and I fucked up. Phoenix: …

Joseph: That why you keep looking at me like you wanna punch me? Phoenix: … Joseph: You can. If it’ll make ya feel better, have at it. I deserve it. Phoenix: I’m not going to hit you. Joseph: Why not? Phoenix: ‘Cause I might not stop.

Joseph: Y’know, I see the way you fight to keep your temper in check. Clearly, it got the better of you too at some point, didn’t it? Phoenix: We’re not talking about me. Joseph: Hm.

Phoenix: How do I know you won’t fuck up again?

Joseph: I guess you don’t. For what it’s worth, I’m not the same person now that I was then. Every day I wake up and make the choice not to drink. Some days it’s every hour. But I’m not doing it alone, we have support here. I help run AA meetings in town, and there are people I can turn to if I need help, and people who rely on me to do the same. We have a good life here. I’m not going anywhere.

[topzsun]

WHAT A LONG WINTER, WHAT A BAD JOKE

── ♡ RENO ICHIKAWA

you couldn't be the hero reno wanted you to be.

Every time you remember Reno Ichikawa, it’s with flakes of snow clinging to his lashes and bundles of clothing that looked too big on his figure. You had met him in the winter, and it’s that version of him immortalised in your mind. Sometimes, you wonder if he thinks of you this fondly, before realising the answer would be less than favourable.

It starts with his grandmother’s hand on your back, urging you closer in the direction of her grandson. The youngest Ichikawa, unable to meet your eyes, keeps his gaze strictly on the carpeted floor even when his grandmother calls his name gently. You felt pity for the old lady, who had all but pleaded that you’d come to play with her grandson after having just moved into the house next door. While you were reluctant, preferring to choose your own company, your bleeding heart of a mother did not give you any choice on the matter, especially not with a glassy-eyed elder in front of her. You understand her desperation now, Reno was incredibly seclusive.

Seemingly having given up for now, Reno’s grandmother lets you know that she has fresh fruit for you in the kitchen, before exiting for her household chores. Now left alone with no supervision, the silence has become even more unbearable. You realise if you weren’t going to push him, you’d have to come home to your disappointed mother, and so you steel yourself for the uphill battle that is befriending this odd boy.

“Do you wanna play outside? I saw a cool hill earlier, have you seen it before?” When Reno nods his head slowly, you puff out your chest pridefully. “Well, everyone says I’m the best at making up games. The hill is gonna be a lot more fun now that I’m here!”

While he doesn’t protest, you can tell from his furrowed brows and permanent frown that he doesn’t believe you. This doesn’t bring down your confidence, instead sparking your competitive streak as you dash to the front door to tug on your fur-trimmed boots.

“You’ll see, then! I’m gonna race you there.”

Finally, some form of life comes back to the young boy, as he fumbles behind you to put on his shoes lest he falls behind on your head start. Despite your initial advantage, he manages to beat you to the beginning of the snow-painted hill, and you usually this would be your cue to throw a tantrum. However, when you see him finally smile gleefully at his first win, you decide to keep your mouth shut. You were too young to understand the flutter in your stomach.

Maybe it’s life’s cruel joke, to have you grow up under the adoration and dependency of Reno Ichikawa, only to snatch it away at the last second. You’re seated on your bed, white-knuckling your quilt till you are sure you could almost rip it apart. Reno, who stands in front of you, refuses to lower his resolute stare but you can tell he’s growing hesitant, his violet eyes flickering from your shaken expression to your trembling hands. Who could blame you? His news to you could shake the heart of anybody.

He wants to join the Anti-Kaiju Defence Force. He’ll die.

He wants you to join him.

“I can’t,” You manage to croak out, and his face falls.

“It’s okay,” He says softly, a tone he reserves just for you. He looks like he wants to reach over and grasp your hand in his, but restrains himself. “I’ll go.”

“No,” You insist, voice rising and you have little care for your parents who are still sleeping comfortably across the hall, unaware of the living nightmare happening to you. “I can’t do this. Where is this coming from? Why do you want to put yourself in danger for people you don’t even know?”

Why do you want to leave?

He isn’t able to answer you right away, but the stare he gives you is long and heavy. Reno’s affection has always been loud to you, but right now his disappointment is louder. You’re thankful that darkness mostly shrouds your bedroom, you don’t think you can handle visibly seeing Reno’s opinion of you chip away.

“I want to be a hero,” He finally answers, and you know he does. He always wished and prayed on it every Tanabata. Whenever you guys had played games, he had always picked to be the hero. Yet, it was only you who seemed to hope that an unrealistic ambition like that would eventually fizzle away.

“Can’t you do that some other way?” You are unable to bite back your frustration, and he freezes under your harsh tone. However, where you were stubborn, he was worse. He refuses to shrink under your firm gaze, his eyebrows puckering and a deep-set scowl on his lips.

“Why can’t you be supportive?” He snaps back, and you launch to your feet, the whiplash from the sudden movement making your head spin.

“Fine then, I’ll be supportive! Go die at the battlefield, where everybody will forget about who you are, and what you’ve done!” Your heart pounds rapidly against your ribcage, blood swimming in your head. “Go die, and leave granny and I to bury your remains, if the Kaiju feel nice enough to leave any bits of you behind!”

You know you’ve gone too far when you see his face contort, stung by your callous words, and you know it is too late to take them back. You didn’t even think about his family and the cruel losses he suffered under a Kaiju. An apology had already begun to leave your lips, but Reno didn’t wait long enough to hear it. His back is already turned, halfway out of the window he had first used to climb in, and you can only watch desolately as he disappears into the shadow of the night without a second glance back at you. You all but throw yourself at your pillow, sobbing silently into the sheets.

That night, long-forgotten memories of a young Reno haunt your mind.

(“I wish I had a hero,” He mumbles into the sleeves of his jacket, legs tucked to his chest as he twirls a stray leaf. You stop your ruthless onslaught on the piles of dead autumn leaves just to turn in his direction, head tilted as a sign for him to continue.

“It’d be nice,” He continues. “To have somebody always in your corner… knowing no matter what they’ll save you.”

You are not ignorant to the date, having only earlier visited his family grave with him and granny. The concept of death is much too grandiose and far away to your naive mind, but when you see the tears dotting the corner of Reno’s eyes you begin to have an understanding. He is wishing for something that could have spared him the heartache.

You stroll over to the bench he rests on, heaving your small body so you can sit beside him. Absentmindedly, you reach over to brush aside some stray leaves that had fallen in his hair. You miss the red that decorates the corner of his ears at the action.

“Then, I’ll be your hero!” You declare boldly, slapping a palm over your heart as you grin widely at his bewildered expression. “No matter what, I’ll save you!”

You feel relieved when a familiar smile quirks on the corner of his lips, and he’s back to being your beloved, kind-hearted Reno.)

Oh. You broke your promise.

[mialikeshockey]

The Climb - Jack Hughes

Based on the song “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus

Not everything is going to be easy and perfect.

“There’s always gonna be another mountain. I’m always gonna wanna make it move. Always gonna be an uphill battle. Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose.”

“Jack not everything is going to be easy. You just have to keep pushing.” You try to explain to your boyfriend.

“But it’s so stupid. I don’t understand what I could’ve done so wrong that it keeps happening. I’m just trying to play hockey Y/N. That’s all I wanted to do. All they keep calling me is a pretty boy hockey guy who can’t even play but they won’t even give me a chance to show them what I can do.” Jack goes on. You keep listening to him and nodding your head every now and than so he knows you’re listening.

“Love, not everything is going to be easy. There’s things that may come easy for some people and hard for the others. You just have to keep pushing. Not everything is going to be perfect and that’s okay. Jack you’re trying your best and that’s all that matters. If they can’t see that. It’s their fault. You aren’t just a pretty boy Jack. You’re more than that. The people who actually pay attention to you knows that.” Jack smiles while gently holding your hand.

“I just wish they would give me a chance, you know? I’m more than my appearance.”

“I know Jack. Come on, let’s get to bed. You had a rough night.” Jack follows you into the room and lays down in the bed and cuddles up to you. As you both lay there, you play with his hair as he relaxes and starts to fall asleep. He grabs one of your hands gently and falls asleep on your chest.

——————————————————————-

While listening to The Climb it made me think of Jacks rookie year so I thought to write this ok bye

Also Kendra seen this first bc I trust her enough to tell me when something sucks but go check out her writing bc she’s amazeballs @jeromes-scars

[isalisewrites]

A ramble on writing where April broke my heart

Hooo boi.

March was a dream in comparison to April.

Emergency gallbladder surgery? Someone faking their death in my server? Good times. I wanna go back.

I have been through much in three short months. April has shown that it's taken a toll. I have missed many more days of writing. I'm still missing them in May. But I'm slowly gripping onto the last vestiges of my raw determination, all while in the face of so much.

I had a falling out with my closest family member that shook me to the core of my heart. I barely slept for most of the month again. Gallbladder surgery has proven to have some complications on my nervous system, making normal daily life difficult where it's hard to sit or lie down without experiencing full body numbness and tingling in various areas, including my hands and fingers. (No, not blood clots. 100% without a doubt it's my nerves.)

If you've followed me here (post one and two) and have read my author's on Terrible, But Great Chapter 30, then you know what went down with my family member. It took so much of my time and energy. I wrote well over 8,000 words trying to reason with this family member, only for all of it to be scorned and mocked. A part of me feels like that energy was wasted. I could have 8,000 more words in TBG, but I don't. This is all I have.

A part of me looks at it and says, "Give it back. Give me back my writing." What happened to January? Or even February? What happened to the girl who could wake up at 4am in the morning, an hour before she had to leave for her hysteroscopy, to power write 700 words?

Some days, I go up the stairs and I'm winded like I ran a marathon.

Some days, if I walk on the treadmill for more than 6 to 10 minutes, I feel like I'm dying.

It's been an uphill battle. The struggle is real, but so am I.

In the last week of December of 2023, when I realized how long it would take me to finish Terrible, But Great, I was overcome with what I call 'The Stirring.' I don't know what else to call it, but it always has an air of mystery and premonition for what it is to come. I thought at that time, "If I had limited time to live, what do I want to do?"

"I want to write."

So, I did.

In 2023, I published a total of 43,000 words in TBG. In 2024, from January to April, I've written 110,604 words and have published 35,000 words thus far. The year isn't even halfway over and I've done better this year than I have last year.

In spite of it all, I'm doing pretty damn good.

There's still hope. I'm not giving up. It might feel like morale is low, but it's not. I'm going to keep going as much as I can through all the hardships because writing is truly the one thing that breathes life into me.

By the end of April, I finished my business class with an essay about how the class shifted my beliefs. This class in combination with all of my health issues and social conflicts sparked an overwhelming revelation and a new rising determination within my soul.

You see, you all have witnessed my love and passion for writing Terrible, But Great, a Harry Potter fanfiction, but I also have original stories that I've wanted to write. Yet, I haven't been able to finish them because I'm always thinking about the market in the real world, instead of what I want and what the story wants. Fanfiction, I can do whatever the hell I want and yall are just gonna have to strap in and hold onto dear life cause it's gonna be a bumpy ride. Original novels, however, are done differently and I've often struggled due to so many factors.

I have ADHD. I am autistic. I have health issues which are rapidly piling up on top of each other. My career choice might not even be feasible for me in the long run, so why I am allowing myself to be pressured into doing more than I can handle with a class load?

I want to write. I want to write. I want to create.

Oh, how I want to create.

So, I will.

Two years ago, I gave up on my dream of writing original novels and earning a living through them. I've since repented of that notion. As I continue write Terrible, But Great, I'm also going to be working on my original novels on the side. Someday, perhaps, I'll be able to earn a living as a published author.

That's my realistic ideal.

I wrote 457 words today, May 9th. That's good enough. The goal this month is to write more than April. I can do that. On the days where prose is hard, I simply write my scene idea in a zero draft style. I don't worry about the prose; I'll fix it later. Every word counts. Every word can be changed. Every word can be made better.

Every word is good enough.

Until next month.

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

So I was rewatching Nimona with my Mama

And I don't know why watching movies with other people always makes my brain focus on the little things but this time around my brain was focused on Ambrosius. Mostly because my Mama was super confused about why they put so much weight on his and Gloreth’s names. After she brought that up I noticed a lot of little things like how the announcers chose to introduce him as “the most anticipated knight of a generation”. Then I remembered the other things like how Bal was described by the Director as “the biggest threat we’ve faced in generations” and how “thankfully we have a descendant of Gloreth to lead us”. After that, we see everyone looking to Ambrosius to fix the situation as soon as possible while knights like Todd consistently undermine him. And the Director is encouraging him to stay strong the second she senses a moment of weakness. And that all results in this 

This poor man has had the weight of the entire kingdom on his shoulders for the whole movie. What's supposed to be an exciting and happy day is overshadowed by the reminder that the entirety of the kingdom expects him to be the best knight simply because he is a direct descendant of Gloreth. He watched as his boyfriend “killed” the Queen and then chopped off his arm out of reflex and was probably under the assumption that he killed him. When he finally does show up again he’s screaming at a kid about “killing everyone” while said kid is calling Amrbosius his “nemesis” and then they go on a rampage and destroy the institute. And after that, he steps up to find Bal because let's face it if Todd was in charge Bal wouldn’t come back alive. No one says things like “Treat Ballister like the Queen killing Monster he is” “I’ll hunt him down. I’ll make him hurt I’ll-” With good intentions at heart, he wasn't gonna say “I’ll throw Bal a tea party” You know it was going to escalate and the next step was pretty obvious.

So he now has the entirety of the institute pressuring him to find Bal and is constantly reminded that the safety of the kingdom rests on him. The next time he sees Bal he’s LITERALLY KIDNAPPING SOMEONE. We have the a little moment when we get to see inside Ambrosius’ head and we can see that everything it taking a toll on him he’s stressed and conflicted and freaking out. And the Director knows this and tells him to “stay strong”. And after that, Bal is confronting him in front of all the knights pulling the rug out from under him and putting even more stress on him. He has two paths he could take and both are uphill battles. He could let Bal and Nimona go free and arrest the director with literally no proof which no one would believe. Or he could arrest Bal and Nimona which is unfortunately the easier path.

Cause think about it there is concrete proof that Bal killed the Queen and he just found out that Nimona is a “monster” something they’ve been trained to fight since they were kids. So he makes the first easy decision since the begging of the movie and decides to arrest Bal. And the thing that rips my heart out and makes me sick to my stomach is his face. This poor baby looks like he is in physical pain. Nothing about this situation is easy nothing about this situation is okay he looks like he’s about to break down and sob during this entire scene. And if you pay close attention his eyes don't stay on Bal. He is scanning the crowd to ensure no one tries to move to hurt Bal when he knows he’s vulnerable. Even though it doesn’t seem like it he’s always looking out of Bal in one way or another.

[w3bgrl]

metronome

synopsis: even after long days, changbin always wanted to hang out with his members once they finally returned home. and although the other boys usually shot him down in favor of their personal time, juyeon was always there to give him company. that was - until it was bedtime - which she was very stubborn about. but tonight was gonna be different; changbin was determined to make tonight an exception.

date: december 28th, 2018

era: i am you

word count: 2k

featuring: kang juyeon, seo changbin

warnings: n/a! maybe a tiiiny bit suggestive but mostly just fluff here <3

a/n: binchu………… (；ω；)

“anddd…” juyeon smiled and adjusted to lean back on her bed as she took another bite from the popsicle, trying to remember anything else she forgot to mention about changbin’s jyp-family performance today “the fuzzy coat was definitely a choice.”

changbin crunched his last bite loudly with a pout-mixed grimace. “that doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“well, i wouldn’t have run out of good things to say if you didn’t keep asking for another!”

“you should never run out of good things to say about me!!”

juyeon laughed and stuck her red-stained tongue out at him while tossing their wrappers into the garbage before her phone ding!ed with a text notification. she checked it lazily since she usually didn’t respond at this time unless it was her parents. and it was not, so she quickly disregarded the text and went to resume chatting with changbin when her eyes caught the time.

they had a full day of practices tomorrow for the upcoming gayo daejejeon performance on the 31st and, after noticing particular comments on some recent performances, was determined that enough hard work would change people’s minds. but she needed ample sleep to do that, which meant it was time to break the news to mr. whiny.

“changbin~” she spoke softly. her feathery tone was enough to indicate that it was his least favorite time of the day; bedtime. because while the other members closed their doors early into the night for their much-needed rest, juyeon would always offer her company. that was - until it was actually time to go to bed - in which she always gently broke the news to him so he could bid a dramatic farewell before his long journey down the hall to his snore-filled room.

“no…” he whined and caught her arm while she sat up.

“i know, but if we don’t go to bed now we won’t get 8 hours by the time we need to get up.” juyeon’s voice was warm and motherly to distract from her fingers working to pry his off.

“nooo” changbin whined again, releasing her bicep to instead wrap both arms around her waist “we get 8 hours every night. there should be exceptions sometimes.”

“exceptions?” she chuckled and wiggled her fingers under his palms to loosen the grip around her stomach, attempts futile once he realized she was trying to escape. iron-barring his arms around her, changbin’s hair tickled her sides after his cheek pressed against her ribs during his efforts to stop her leaving. “exceptions for when you’re fine having dark circles the next day?”

“no!” changbin was called whiny for a reason “exceptions for when we should make an exception! and i say that tonight is that night!”

juyeon gave up on fighting this uphill battle and instead twisted to look down at the ‘dark rapper’ who now looked back up at her sweetly, not-so-subtly presenting his aegyo to butter her up.

“aren’t you tired?”

her voice was so tender now; soft and breathy and all resonance in her throat. she was normally soft spoken, but nights similar to this one when they were the only ones awake in the dorms transformed her voice into the sweet birdsong accompanying the morning sun, dripping with honey and comfort.

“are you?”

she nodded solemnly.

changbin now attempted to recreate that gentle way she spoke even though he was far too enthusiastic about persuading her into letting him stay to focus on his volume. “we can lay down!” came out more like a whispered shout and as juyeon’s eyebrows raised with bewilderment he corrected his tone.

“we don’t even have to talk.”

juyeon finally decided she had enough of the grip around her waist and gave a firm tug on his wrist to let him know it was time to actually let go. changbin did so promptly and leaned back, propping himself up on an elbow to keep eye-level with her.

“do you really want my company or are you just enjoying not having to listen to yongbok’s snoring?”

changbin shrugged deviously. from his new spot he could watch her bite her lip in thought and subconsciously mirrored her actions.

“but…you can’t wake up here in the morning…you know?”

he knew this very well, yet, he simply shrugged. “i’ll leave when you fall asleep.”

juyeon’s concentrated stare made changbin a deer in the headlights as she considered it. but even past the blinding gaze he could tell she was actually thinking about it, which is the furthest he’d ever gotten down this road.

finally, suddenly, juyeon stood from the bed and changbin’s hopeful eyes dulled. now out of his reach she’d say ‘maybe next time’ and open the door for him like the gentleman she was. and then he’d have to spend another night preparing to start this process all over again tomorrow.

“fine,” she pulled her socks off to get comfy (cites it as a sensory thing) and pointed at him sternly “but you’re laying down, too.”

within an instant changbin was excited again and rolled beneath the covers to lift them for the older girl who crawled under with a dopey grin. she gathered all her hair in one hand to toss it off her neck before she laid on her side facing changbin, arms tucked in close to her chest. he followed suit quickly and wiggled into a comfortable position as he faced her, the only light in the room being the weak fairy-lights taped to the ceiling, which illuminated their faces just enough to see their features without looking into their pores. changbin thought this was a nice touch considering the pimple that graciously decided to stop by today.

the air in the room became sickly saccharine as they examined one another on the small bed that left only a few inches to spare between them, both too busy admiring to think about how they looked - ogling at one another as if they didn’t know the context. however, every couple of seconds changbin would snap out of his haze to notice her eyes on his lips, which started the whole cycle over again. ‘is she - why - …her eyes are so…’

although, juyeon’s inner monologue wasn’t nearly as peaceful as changbin’s. her mind was in the clouds from the body warmth he emanated and good decision-making had been thrown out the window long before she noticed his tongue dart out to wet his lips. caught in an endless spiral of do i’s and don’t i’s, justifying her ruminating mind before tearing it right back down again, juyeon spun this circle until she arrived to the point where the will to stay rational had been completely forgotten in favor of satisfying the desire to be closer.

without a word juyeon pushed the covers off and scooted toward changbin, taking note of how promptly he moved his arm to open the space against his side for her. she made herself comfortable under his arm and laid her head on his chest, trying painstakingly to ignore the musky savor of the cologne on his skin. ear pressed to his shirt under the collarbone, juyeon giggled at his hammering heart even though she was sure hers was the same.

changbin’s hand came to rest on her shoulder and juyeon soon decided that she simply wasn’t close enough yet. so, drunk with a touch-starved appetite, juyeon shifted her position, settling with her front flush against his left side and her palm on his sternum. this proved to be better for both of them as now his fingers began to comb through her hair, stopping whenever he found a knot to gently work it free.

juyeon was now abundantly certain her heart was pounding because she could feel it. she prayed that it wasn’t just consistently knocking on his ribs to let him know something was going on inside and as his fingers tucked the hair framing her face behind her ear she finally looked up at him again.

he was already watching her with an adoring smile when their eyes met, having been too caught up in her own mind to notice how he’d been examining her features from this new angle. the realization that she’d had his undivided attention this whole time made her face hot with embarrassment and she was compelled to pass it off to him.

“pretty.” she managed to say. her attempt at making him feel shy was an immediate success as evident by his cheeks now burning crimson, shy giggles escaping his glossy lips. juyeon had to bite back the squeal forming in her chest threatening to make her pinch his pink cheeks.

there was a cocky smirk on his face once he regained his composure enough to look at her in the eyes. “not as pretty as juyeonie, though.”

juyeon was back to feeling embarrassed and hid her face in his chest with her eyes squeezed shut, eliciting another laugh from changbin, this time at her expense. the tickle of his fingertips tracing the cartilage of her ear made her look back up just to get further embarrassed.

“even your ears are red~” he beamed

“seo changbiiin.” she was now whining, which meant he was pressing the right buttons. “leave my ears aloone.”

“that’s fine, your cheeks are red too!” he chuckled and caressed the soft skin with his index finger. juyeon was quick to swat his hand away and continued her complaining even after he resumed raking through her long locks.

“i didn’t make an exception for you to make fun of me!”

“well, you didn’t give me enough attention today!” changbin returned her squeaky tone “so i deserve to make fun of you a little bit!”

his belly flipped with pride as she laughed heartily, feeling the vibrations rumbling on his side. she reached for his free hand and pulled it onto his abdomen to rub his knuckles in apology.

“you’re such a baby.”

there was a beat of silence before he answered. “sorry.”

his response was strangely somber, so juyeon looked back up at him with wide eyes only to find that same smile lingering at the corners of his lips. she looked away again.

that bedtime voice he adored returned when she spoke again, gentle and breathy. “don’t be” her fingers wiggled under his hand so she could press their palms together in a definitely-not-subtle attempt to compare them “i like you that way.”

the holy trinity of this interaction - that sweet voice she used, their hands pressed flat to each other, her rare verbal expressions of affection - very nearly made his heart skip multiple beats. he almost had to catch his breath, but then juyeon would know he had to catch his breath, so he suffered through what he thought was oxygen deprivation. (it’s oxytocin)

“don’t worry, nothing will change anytime soon.”

this sentence left a bitter taste in his mouth once he said it, and the way juyeon pulled her hand from his to set it back on his sternum suggested she felt the same way. changbin now took a deep breath to help slow his frantic heart, juyeon copying his actions before making herself at home, tossing a leg over his for a position more comfortable on her hips, now pressed as close into his side as possible.

with their conversation now ended by the sobering remembrance of the reality they would return to the next day, a comfortable silence washed over her tiny room that allowed him to hear her soft breaths begin to slow as she was lulled to sleep by the metronome-like beats of his heart. for the billionth time that night changbin smiled to himself with a swell in his chest and allowed the moment to be enjoyed, leaving the harsh reality for tomorrow.

the blaring alarm going off on her phone shot juyeon out of bed, anxiety from last night still lingering in her system even as she regained consciousness to turn the alarm off. after finally getting enough brain cells working to remember how to make the loud noises stop, juyeon analyzed her surroundings.

the items thrown haphazardly on her nightstand had been organized by her usage, clothes that were originally on the floor now in her hamper, even the stuffed animals on her bed were set up the way she always did before going to sleep. she would have convinced herself she’d imagined it all if not for the pink sticky note on her door.

‘how does it feel being a pretty sleeper? thanks for the dark circles today ( ◠‿◠ )’

[sibillascribbles08]

Been cooking my own tmnt iteration for a while, dunno how much will live anywhere but my brain but I wanna do some refs, so here's the turts!

I've been calling it Teenage Mutant Jazz Turtles or tmjt for short

If you care to hear some more you can peak under the cut

(More refs coming??? eventually I'm still stuck on some designs)

As the name implies, tmjt has more inspiration drawn from musical elements than combat elements. With the turtles not only living in a big ol' tour bus but also attempting to become a competent band after finding their magical instruments. But the ones they discover aren't the only ones out there, and some belong to some pretty nasty characters. (All the villains are gonna have a theme based on a different genre of music!)

The turtles travel and live with their dad (Splinter) and adopted sister (Casey). Originally just trying to survive but that kind of all changes when they accidentally interrupt a plan from the foot clan and not only discover some magical instruments that can turn into weapons, but also an entire world of monsters and creatures when they thought they were the only ones.

Leo is the oldest sibling, but despite this she struggles to be responsible for her siblings after her gender realizations caused a massive crack in her confidence. She's constantly self conscious of how others are perceiving her, even her own family in spite of their boundless support. She's always loved music, thanks to her dad, and dreams of being a singer, but because of how her mouth is built that's also an uphill battle. Her duel katanas can shift into a cello which can put opponents into a trance like sleep. While her given name was Leonardo, she's not sure what she wants to change it to, and simply goes by Leo for the time being. While she doesn't like to show her mouth, her teeth and jaw are powerful enough to bite through a steel knife.

Donnie is the second oldest (by just four days!) and is the one who stepped up to be in charge while Leo figures things out. He doesn't entirely mind the responsibility, though the pressure gets to him sometimes. Especially when Raph decides to criticize his decisions. They're very analytical and logical, their main passion being for mathematics which extends into some of the sciences as well such as physics. They know enough engineering to maintain the tour bus and build a few helpful devices such as their goggles or the calculator in their glove. Donnie puts his passion for math into music, using it to map out patterns for tunes (though not all of them sound good in the end). Their four eyes also have an additional lens to see heat signatures (and their dark vision is incredible). Donnie's clarinet allows him to create visual illusions.

Raph is the second youngest (by four days, Donnie constantly reminds him) and despite his appearance is one of the more level headed members of the family. You kind of have to learn how when your body could release gases that could paralyze your family members. Raph vents his frustration by either releasing gas that Donnie can convert into fuel for the bus or by writing poetry. Not that he ever lets the others read it, but he does put that skill into writing song lyrics. While he keeps cool and collected he still loves a good brawl, and will happily spar with anyone (usually Casey). He just leaves a lot of the destruction to his younger sibling, unless someone in his fam gets hurt, then the gloves are off. Raph is fiercely protective and will square up if someone so much as looks at one of his siblings funny, especially Leo. His high emotions are often why he and Donnie argue. Raph's trumpet can cause phantom pains in the skull, though he rarely has to use it give it how potent his gases can be.

Mikey, the youngest, is a tiny terror and he not only knows this, he takes great pride in it. Mikey enjoys causing chaos for the sheer joy of it, and enjoys it the most when Raph will simply hurl him at opponents for him to latch onto. Over the years he's learned to climb very well with his four arms, going up trees and buildings with ease which can make him very hard to chase after. Despite his love for trouble, however, he can be just as sweet, though his desire to do good deeds for his love ones can be a bit misguided at times (no Mikey you can't just rob the ice cream stand stop). Unfortunately as long as it keeps hiding behind Raph when the consequences happen, it may take some time to grow up (not that it has any interest in doing so right now). Mikey's drums allow him to create intense vibrations in the ground, enough to topple some buildings.

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 2, Episode 3

When Jan-Olof called August at the end of episode 2, he said August was supposed to be at the castle next Tuesday, which is when this episode ends. So we're probably picking up this episode in the weekend before that maybe?

Culture: August calls his not favourite step-dad to get some legal advice to prepare for being summoned by the Queen. But if you listen to the Swedish dialogue, Rickard keeps repeating a word - grovt - while listing the possible crimes. The subtitles struggle with this, and the word normally means coarse or thick or rough, but in the context of Swedish criminal law, it means grave, egregious, or worse than normal, and it means that if convicted, the punishment should be from the upper end of the scale.

Subtext: Wilhelm is trying some self-help for his anxiety, but it's not going too well. Baby steps!

Subtext: It's no coincidence that the "injured party" is in the image while August's step-dad mentions it, and that's of course the problem for August. If he confesses or gets dragged into court, he's got an uphill battle, fighting the royal court and their lawyers, which his step-dad might not be up for.

Subtext: Wilhelm demanded distance from his bodyguards, the Queen said she couldn't do that, but what do you know, apparently it wasn't impossible for them to back off a bit.

Subtext: This is somewhat of a theme for this episode, but also for the series as a whole. Wilhelm talked Simon into cheating to get into the rowing team, for purely selfish reasons, and because it's second nature to him. But he'll never get punished for cheating, it's always someone else who will. Simon knows what's up.

Lost in translation: My subtitles skipped this word completely, but isterband is a kind of pork sausage. I'm not a fan, so I completely understand Felice here!

Subtext: Despite Jan-Olof being set up as kind of a villain, opposing Wilhelm all the way, at the end of the day he is employed by the royal family, and Wilhelm does outrank him and can order him around.

Culture: I live in Hawaii, so imagine my surprise when I went to Sweden in 2019 and suddenly noticed tons of places selling poke bowls of all things, when no-one would have known what that even was a year earlier. Sweden has this funny ability to take a trend from zero to a hundred seemingly overnight, leading to over-establishment and people burning out on trends as quickly as they appeared.

Subtext: Simon knows that cheating doesn't work, so he has enlisted Rosh to help him out with his workout in preparation for the competition, while Wilhelm is having a lazy "room-service" dinner with Felice.

Subtext: To be fair to Simon, Wilhelm has been manipulating things in order to stay close to him, and not the other way around.

Subtext: I'm gonna headcanon things a bit about Marcus here, but this is my take on it: Since they went to the same school, I think Marcus knew who Simon was, knew that he had come out as gay, and has been secretly crushing on him since. Marcus is probably really in love with Simon, and so caught up in finally going out with his crush that he isn't exactly picking up on the fact that Simon isn't on the same level.

Subtext: Simon is wearing a purple hoodie which means he's thinking about Wilhelm according to our popular colour theory. And he's wondering why he can't fall in love with Marcus? It's a complete mystery!

Subtext: The only times Simon has reached out to Marcus has been when he's feeling hurt by Wilhelm. But right here he realizes that he actually likes Wilhelm more, which is why he ignores Marcus.

Subtext: Everyone has been encouraging Wilhelm to talk about his feelings, so this is a start, he's finally found a friend he can talk to. Ironically, he's trying to let go, just as Simon realizes he shouldn't move on.

Subtext: Ah, Nils, never change! Boris isn't like the other teachers and staff at school, he doesn't fit in with the upper classes, which is why he's got this nickname. For all his derision though, it doesn't stop Nils from seeing him.

Culture: Nils shows contempt for the concept with his air quotes, but hbtqi-certifiering is a real thing offered by RFSL, Sweden's oldest and largest gay rights organization. For a psychologist to have that certification, it just means they're equipped to deal with the unique mental health problems queer people face.

Subtext: In his own way, Boris actually does answer the question without answering it, hinting that Erik also had problems with the role of being the crown prince and the weight of that responsibility.

Subtext: He's not wrong, though. The more money and power and fame you have, the more people will want to get close to you and use you and potentially blackmail you and leech off of you. There is a legit reason for the secrecy and privacy among the upper class.

Blink and you miss it: He's talking about Erik while touching the watch he wears as a memory of him.

Subtext: This old question again, "Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?" I'd say he's lying to himself here, it hurts right now, but he is better off for it.

Culture: The authors are four very well-known Swedish authors from the turn of the century, these books are classics, and every high school student in Sweden will have read some works by these authors, if not these specific books.

First up is Den Allvarsamma Leken by Hjalmar Söderberg, which is about a couple who met while young, couldn't get together, but stay in love over many years and relationships. Obvious parallels to Wilhelm and Simon's situation. This novel has been made into a movie several times, and the 2016 version was directed by none other than Pernilla August.

The second book is Kris by Karin Boye, and as the characters explain, it is an autobiographic novel about a lesbian love story hampered by tradition, because being gay in the 1930's wasn't exactly kosher.

The third book is Herr Arnes Penningar by literature Nobel prize laureate Selma Lagerlöf, which is about a murder-arson-robbery gone wrong. I certainly hope it's not meant to parallel our story! Selma used to be on the Swedish 20-krona bills introduced in the 90's, but design was replaced in 2015 to feature another author, Astrid Lindgren.

Edit: Thank you @emberc and @richtearex for finding out the title of the fourth book!

I can't make out the title of the fourth book, but the author is The fourth book is Getting Married by the internationally most well-known Swedish author and playwright August Strindberg. Many of his works are about challenging tradition and social rules, and he was seen as very controversial during his lifetime. The book is a collection of short stories about different kinds of marriage, including same-sex ones, which was extremely controversial when it was published in the 1880's. Again, obvious parallels to the show itself.

Subtext: If you haven't picked up the super duper obvious parallels between the novel and this story by now, I have completely failed in teaching you how to pick up subtext, and you are as completely clueless as Henry, who completely misses the point of the novel!

Blink and you miss it: Wilhelm really doesn't like speaking in public.

Subtext: Given how clueless Henry is, he's probably also completely missing the tension between Simon and Wilhelm, and he's that guy in a group project, always escaping responsibility. But him bailing to get coffee actually allows our boys to have a talk.

Subtext: Earlier, Simon chided Wilhelm for not being able to talk about his feelings, and now Wilhelm flips it and criticizes Simon for his lack of honesty.

Subtext: Simon starts reactively texting Marcus about meeting up to break up. But this time it's a reaction because he's slowly realizing he doesn't want to move on from Wilhelm. In the end though he changes his mind and doesn't send the text.

Subtext: Obviously, Sara is trying to sabotage the horse sale. Unfortunately for her, everyone else realizes what she's doing and is pretty much ignoring her.

Subtext: Simon did not fool the music teacher, she immediately realized that the song was actually about Wilhelm, but gives him suggestions on how to salvage it into a proper school song.

Subtext: Wilhelm's plan of replacing August backfires some more, Vincent is his usual douchy self, and Wilhelm realizes he can't control him like he could with August.

Subtext: First Brutus, now Judas. August really sees Vincent as the ultimate traitor.

Subtext: I think Marcus is getting an undeserved amount of shit in the fandom, because up until this point he's been nothing but good. He's actually getting his heart broken here by Simon, because he thought he really had a chance with him.

Subtext: Marcus says he is willing to wait for Simon to be ready for a relationship, which is the exact same thing Simon broke up with Wilhelm about, because he was not willing to wait for Wilhelm to be ready.

Subtext: He lied, like a liar. Wilhelm is 100% the reason Simon wants to call it off with Marcus at this point.

Subtext: But from this point on, I agree with the rest of you, this is manipulative behaviour from Marcus' side and not ok! He is clearly getting ahead of himself and wanting to salvage this relationship by any means, because in his head it's this beautiful thing that was meant to be.

Subtext: August is definitely sending some mixed signals here, he says he just wants to talk, so why is he lounging around half-naked waiting for her? However, it's also the case that Sara is the only person he can talk to about the sex tape at this point.

Subtext: Everyone has been telling Sara that August is the worst person in the world, using those exact words, and here he is saying it himself. But because he does that, Sara thinks he's self-aware enough to change and to redeem himself for what he did, which is why she's encouraging him to turn himself in.

Subtext: Except Sara felt like everyone hated her at Marieberg because she was bullied, which was absolutely not her fault, whereas August's situation is totally his own damn fault.

Subtext: I'm not sure exactly how to interpret this sequence, but I have some ideas. In season 1, we saw August being an extremely selfish lover with Felice, but here he's offering to go down on Sara for her sake, so that's a nice change. There's also a parallel to Wilhelm going down on Simon, making this a mirror to that scene. Or Sara is just nervous about having sex for the first time and not ready for oral sex?

Subtext: She lied, like a liar, clearly super happy about having had sex for the first time.

Subtext: Of course the horoscope matches her situation perfectly...

Subtext: ...it's just that the jealousy drama is not her own, it's Simon and Wilhelm's drama.

Subtext: Felice thinks she's talking about Rosseau, Sara is obviously talking about August. Or both.

Culture: I described the house system back in season 1, so it's nice to see it fleshed out a bit more in this season. The inter-house rivalry is strongly encouraged by the school, and here we see Sprucewood hyping themselves up before their Quidditch match against Slytherin indoor rowing match against Forest Ridge.

Subtext: Yeah, no, that kiss clearly crossed the line, it's not what Simon wanted. But Wilhelm saw it, thinking Simon lied about him and Marcus not being together, oh shit, oh no.

Subtext: Remember the talk about cheating and who gets the blame? Of course Vincent blames Simon for it, instead of Wilhelm, even though it's actually Wilhelm's fault Skogsbacken lost.

Subtext: So Simon quits the team, which means he's gonna get lower grades, getting unfairly punished yet again. And Wilhelm's plan for staying close to Simon backfired even more.

Blink and you miss it: Aww, Wilhelm keeps a small photo album labelled "Simon" on his phone, with a bunch of private photos of them.

Cinematography: If you listen carefully, the quality of the music changes noticeably in the cut, because the show does a diegetic switch between us hearing the music come out of Emo Wilhelm's earbuds, and it being a general soundtrack. It's also a very pretty montage of Angsty Teenager Being Angsty.

Culture: In season 1 there were only some distant shots of the royal castle, but this time we're getting a beautiful close-up of it. In real life, we're looking at Stora Sundby, which is Sweden's largest non-royal castle.

Subtext: You should all have read my previous piece laying out my thoughts on this entire plot, but note that the Queen only mentions Wilhelm quitting because he can't handle the pressure, she says nothing of the issues of being in a same-sex relationship or not having an heir, so she should at least get credit for that. Also note that this is specifically what Wilhelm's outburst in episode 1 was about.

Subtext: The show continues to paint the Queen in a good light, further separating her wishes from that of the nefarious System that forces her to do this.

Lost in translation: In Swedish, she doesn't say August is next in the line of succession, she says he's closest in the line of succession, which isn't the same thing, so the original is explaining this plot point slightly better than the subtitles.

Cinematography: This entire cursed scene is a mirror of the one in s1e4, which starts by Wilhelm asking Simon to hold him.

Cinematography: It's also physically mirrored, because Wilhelm and Felice are on the opposite bed on the opposite side in his bedroom.

[falloutbridge]

heartbreak vs. sixteen

It was an uphill battle But they didn't know, no they didn't know We were gonna use the roads As a ramp to take off

Always on (always on) You said you'd keep me honest But I won't call you on it

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 13: Budding Spring - Episode 15: Ketchuped Thoroughly

Employee A: I apologize for the inconvenience.

Employee A: We are doing relatively well in English-speaking countries and Asia, but this region is difficult and not a lot of people within the company can help…

Employee A: I’m considering out-sourcing, but I have yet to receive approval. Please at least correct the parts that don’t make sense through machine translation.

Chikage: I can do this much quickly, it’s alright.

Chikage: …

[Keyboard keys clicking]

Chikage: (Is this the last one?)

Chikage: — —

Chikage: (... Same last name? I’m starting to develop a bad habit of reacting on reflex.)

-

Tsumugi: It’s been a while since the voting period started, but the notifications for debut performances don’t seem to be letting up.

Kazunari: There are still a lot of announcements about new theater companies being formed and member recruitments~

Kumon: Oh yeah. A kid in my class also said they wanted to try acting.

Tsumugi: As more people are exposed to theater, more of them want to try it out.

Tenma: And because of the SNS voting, more and more companies are focused on online distribution.

Omi: While working on a photoshoot the other day, I met someone who works in the video industry, and they said they suddenly got a lot busier.

Yuki: There’s also comments from overseas on online reviews.

Tasuku: As they said in the press conference, the New Fleur Award is revitalizing the world of theater.

Azuma: That’s amazing, considering it’s only just begun.

Sakyo: Yukio-san’s the kind of person to be smack-dab in the eye of the storm when it comes to theater. 

Guy: He has gotten busier as the award gains more attention. He has been doing a lot of interviews together with Kamikizaka.

Sakyo: Well, I’m sure Reni-san’s handling that part just fine.

Yuki: The reviews on En.com are also increasingly rapidly, but there’s a lot of bad ones.

Yuki: Even plays by famous troupes and screenwriters have comments like, “They spoke too fast, and I didn’t understand a thing, the costumes were cute tho”.

Yuki: There’s also, “I didn’t understand why, but they suddenly broke into contemporary dance. It was interesting overall, however.”.

Azami: Honest but harsh, huh.

Sakyo: They probably don’t understand the artistic beauty of theater and are just sharing their first impressions of it.

Tsuzuru: They’re interesting to read, but it’s scary to think how that might be us next time.

Sakuya: I wonder what they’ll say about us…

Izumi: Don’t think about it so much and get discouraged. We’ll be fine if we do things as we usually do.

Itaru: Tru. If we worry about it too much and worry our fans, we’ll be putting the cart before the horse.

Yuki: It’d be a good idea to keep review checking in moderation.

-

Yuzo: Good morning.

Tsuzuru: Good morning.

Sakuya: Good morning! Thank you for today!

Izumi: Sorry for calling you here when you’re also busy with your own troupe.

Yuzo: I don’t mind.

Itaru: Have you thought of any strat for the New Fleur Award, Yuzo-san?

Yuzo: We’re just gonna do what we usually do. The pre-voting stung, though.

Izumi: MANKAI Company came up 70th.

Yuzo: We got 103rd.

Sakuya: Lower than us!?

Tsuzuru: Even though you sell out all your tickets and have a loyal following…

Yuzo: Most of our fans are pretty old.

Yuzo: There’s probably people who didn’t know about the pre-voting, or they just didn’t know how to participate.

Yuzo: It seems like it’ll be an uphill battle, but all we can do is be ourselves.

Yuzo: Well, this round ain’t over. We’ll go at our own pace, with no rush.

Yuzo: Still, Yukio-san threw a curveball at us like he always does. I’m always amazed at what he can come up with.

Izumi: Haha… You can say that again.

Yuzo: Alright. If you’ve finished getting ready, let’s start.

Sakuya: Yes! Thank you very much!

-

Yuzo: …

Izumi: What do you think…?

Izumi: (It’s been a while since I last felt this nervous…)

Yuzo: Hah… As rough as ever.

Yuzo: Since it’s a sequel to your debut performance, your interpretation of your characters is good. What you’re lacking on is spirit.

Yuzo: And Tsuzuru, you’ve still got your doubts about the script, so you can’t concentrate on acting it out, yeah?

Tsuzuru: … Yes.

Yuzo: The rest of you guys are too caught up in wanting to put on a good show in order to produce good results for the ranking.

Yuzo: Having to put on a good performance is common sense. I’m sure you guys understand that by now.

Yuzo: So, you need to think about what you want to convey and achieve through this performance on top of that.

Yuzo: Do you want a better place in the rankings, or do you want to show how much you’ve grown…

Sakuya: — —

Yuzo: It’s not a bad thing to want the audience’s reception to be positive, obviously. But if that’s all you’re aiming for, then this is all just a way to earn points.

Yuzo: All your thoughts will be things like, “if we do this we’ll get more popular and get more points” and “if we do that we’ll get extra points”. But what we’re doing here is theater, not a competition.

Yuzo: What is you guys’, what is the Spring Troupe’s acting all about? Who are you doing it for? For what purpose?

Yuzo: You’re doing a sequel for your debut play. What did that debut mean to you guys?

Yuzo: If you’re going to go through with this, wouldn’t it be a good idea to discuss and re-evaluate your origins?

Yuzo: …Heh, but do so with some self-discipline, yeah?

Izumi: (I wonder if Yuzo-san also has various concerns regarding the New Fleur Award?)

Izumi: (No, I’m sure troupes other than Yuzo-san’s do too… It’s not just us.)

Izumi: (What role should our theater company have in this world of theater that is rapidly changing in front of our eyes…)

Izumi: (We may have to re-evaluate the direction we’re headed in.)

-

Citron: It’s been a while since he ketchuped us so thoroughly~

Masumi: Criticized us so thoroughly?

Itaru: But he’s upped his kindness levels recently.

Chikage: Doesn’t that mean he approves of us?

Masumi: But the parts that are no good have become much harder to fix.

Sakuya: That’s true… We can’t come up with an easy answer this time. Our acting… Our origin…

Tsuzuru: It’s surprisingly difficult to just be ourselves.

Chikage: Probably because we’re the ones who understand ourselves the least.

Izumi: We chose to make a sequel of our debut performance with the intention to go back to our roots and remember our beginning…

Izumi: So, what do you think was the best thing about the original RomiJuli?

Sakuya: Honestly, I think I was pretty bad at acting. All I had going for me was how badly I wanted to act.

Tsuzuru: Though those feelings of yours haven’t changed.

Sakuya: Yes! If anything, I love and treasure acting even more now.

Masumi: So, we have to find what our current selves are “lacking”.

Itaru: I do feel like my current self is more absorbed in acting than I was back then.

Chikage: Our bonds have deepened, and we’ve all leveled up.

Citron: I can not think of anything we’re lacking~....

Masumi: But I understand what Yuzo’s saying.

Tsuzuru: Right… He’s also right about me still doubting the script.

Chikage: A difference from our debut performance, huh… For better or worse, it’s no longer our “first time” acting.

Itaru: You mean, like our freshness has disappeared? I guess a writer’s debut work always has a certain kind of oomph to it.

Sakuya: A “beginning” only comes once, so it’s not something we can replicate…

Tsuzuru: So in a sense, we’ll never be able to surpass our debut performance…?

Itaru: Sad but true.

Masumi: Something that can’t be surpassed despite our growth…

Itaru: A “first time” and the image of innocently rushing forward both have a certain kind of impact.

Sakuya: Hmmm…

Izumi: …

Izumi: (Everyone’s mood dampened.)

Izumi: Let’s put this on hold, think about it individually, and then have another meeting.

Tsuzuru: ‘Kay.

Itaru: … Good idea.

[Phone vibrating]

Sakuya: Oh–

Izumi: The meeting’s over, so it’s okay if you go out.

Sakuya: I’m sorry, please excuse me.

[Sakuya walks out]

Sakuya: — —Hello, This is Sakuma speaking.

Sakuya: Ummm, I’m sorry. About that…

Iv: long af maint shiki: i’ve got a test tomorrow, so i might not be on much Iv: we start on thurs Kar: gl Iv: aren’t you also starting soon Kar: been at it since the day before ytd Iv: oh you already did shiki: you’re so chill about it momo has entered the chat Kar: sup shiki: you’re late today Iv: have your tests started too? momo: i ran away from home Kar: sudden mood shift lmao

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[6ad6ro]

ok. i finally finished final fantasy vii rebirth. and i wanna talk about it. i guess you could call this my "review". this post will be vague and spoiler-free unless you click on the "read more".

i do love this game, but it's an absolute mixed bag: story: 10/10 combat mechanics: 9/10 music: 9/10 art direction: 10/10 voice acting (jp): 10/10 open world (non-quest stuff): 4/10 sidequests: 6/10 minigames: 3/10 pacing: 1/10 does this game have flaws? yes. is it as good as the og ff7? no. but is it worth playing? absolutely. i almost feel like this game needs a "cheat sheet" in order to know what parts to play and what parts to avoid. but the good parts (mostly the linear main story stuff) is SO gd good that it's still a must-play game. ok but now i'm gonna go into details (and spoilers) under the rm cut.

so i'll go over some of my scores. firstly, the story is the main reason to play this. they def fuck around a lot, maybe they bait and switch a bit too often, but in the end it makes for a very compelling (or at least interesting) narrative. at first, i was REALLY worried that this game was gonna turn into just some "fan pandering nightmare". and it felt like it was "ff7 without it's claws". esp when everybody was dancing like pop stars and aerith and tifa kept high fiving. but... it def got into that good ff7 trauma we know and love later on. and respect to them for following through with killing aerith. yes, they did what i sorta expected. they teased tifa dying instead, teased aerith NOT dying, and then killed aerith anyway. they EASILY could have left her alive, but they didn't. they kept in the loss angle, which imo is what makes ff7 "ff7". i kinda LOVE that now you have a batshit cloud "seeing" aerith's ghost like it's star wars. and everyone else seems almost... afraid of him. and rightfully so. also i LOVED the zack stuff, even though it was absolutely confusing. i like that they're hinting at zack somehow breaking through his reality into the rm universe. i also like the tease that... idk... will there be another "party" involving zack, kyrie, biggs (if he's still alive or not)? regardless, a great story!

the combat feels mostly improved over rm. the gameplay is fantastic with very few flaws. difficulty is way more balanced than rm, with easy feeling a bit harder and normal feeling less unfair. the only times i felt frustrated by the gameplay was when they laid the "stone" status effect on too thick in parts bc it felt cheap. is it as good as the og combat? no. it still def has the unfun "you desperately need to heal but don't have a charge and the enemy is immune to everything so you just die" thing. but credit where its due, the "free item a few times per battle" materia fixes a lotta those issues.

the music is incredible. the remakes of old songs generally kick ass. some of the new music was pretty good, too. though it gets a point off because a lot of the open world stuff music felt... generic? this is just a situation where the og game's music is TOO GOOD, so the new music will always be fighting this sort of uphill battle.

the art was perfect. just the shading alone... like jesus this game is absolutely beautiful. i took so many goddamn screenshots in game, and they'd often end up looking like key renders, even tho it'd just be a random ss i could take at any angle. this game went above and beyond all expectations.

the voice acting... there was SO MUCH and it was all SO GOOD. tho i did switch to jp voices. bc... in this sorta storytelling, eng just sounds like "drama club"? idk there's a reason the language of origin cast is usually better and that's just how it is. it was perfect.

ok now we're gonna get into some of my issues, starting with the open world. it's not ENTIRELY awful? some was genuinely fun and exciting. but the majority was busywork. like it's so weird when the mainline stuff was so good that this would feel like a shitty ubisoft game. and chadley... fuck that dude. worst character in the series. but for SOME gd reason he ends up talking to you nonstop! i hit the point where i'd wince any time i heard his "radio" turn on. he took an already mediocre open world and made it way worse. fuckin chudly.

the sidequests that weren't just repeated busywork were usually neat. tho some were bad, and others withstood their welcome. the cutscenes/dialogue were usually fun or genuinely great, but they too often came at the cost of wasting your time. they often had shit rewards. and they often incorporated the shittiest "minigames" ever (i'll go into this more in a minute). example: you gotta find ingredients for a character who is learning to cook. but it isn't just going out to find them in the world. no no no. you gotta follow a dog (ftr i love the song) as they slowly meander through a jungle, running into every mob they see. and when you finally get to where the "salt" is, there's a dumb scavenger hunt minigame where you need to find only the 5(?) salt piles that look like the photo. THEN you gotta get on your chocobo and look for mushrooms in a confusing, puzzle-like terrain. which also involves a smelling/follow the direction minigame, which always leads you into mobs. and once you get to each mushroom? there's this STUPID picking minigame. after all that, what reward do you get? an accessory that functions like maybe the worst materia in the game, but also takes up the accessory slot, making it even more unusable. FUCK this game sometimes, lol.

speakin of "fuck this game", the minigames. the 200 minigames (exaggeration, but it really feels like that many). some are genuinely incredible, like the piano minigame? which might be one of my favorite minigames of all time, it's legit THAT good. or "red xiii rocket league". but for every good minigame, there was a mediocre one. and then a terrible one. or one that gets WAY too hard in higher difficulties, like the mog game which starts fun but ends up dogshit and unplayable a few levels in. even tho the good and passable minigames are the majority, the bad minigames? they're maybe some of the worst minigames i've ever played in my goddamn life. like, by design, they're almost anti-fun. i genuinely believe some of the people in charge of the bad minigames should be blackballed from the industry. it's bewildering.

and finally that brings us to the pacing. if you play the game the way they seemingly expect you to play, getting to each new area and sidequesting a bit before continuing on with the story? then you'll spend five hours of mediocre/bad sidequest for each hour of good story. that's even worst if you're a "completionist" at all, you can triple or quadruple that number. we all loved remake because it "expanded the midgar section". we were all hoping they'd do the same with the og open world. the very idea of "big open world, but so much bigger" seemed incredible. but they certainly gave it to us! like they gave us exactly what we said we wanted, lol. when i first started playing rb, i was mostly completing each area. by the second or third area, i was more than 50 hours in. "burnout" is a gross understatement. all the mediocre sidequests combined with the sometimes unplayable minigames ALSO COMBINED with fuckin chudly? and i actually started to hate this game. it made me miserable. i'd get to a new area and just roll my eyes. i'd see a new minigame tutorial pop up and i'd mash "cancel". but wouldn't you know it, once i started skipping most minigames/sidequests? i started havin a ton of fun. turns out this pacing issue can be mitigated a lot. straight up you can ignore most of the open world, and i would actually strongly recommend it. if you DO wanna sidequest a bit between story, i'd say put on a podcast, set the difficulty to easy, and turn the voices down (bc chudly). and don't do everything. oh no. just do enough to unlock the chocobo, to buy the best materia chudly has from that area, and maybe get the summoning. even THAT is probably too much. bc near the end of the game, you get the opportunity to go back and finish a bunch of the stuff you missed the first time. and i actually enjoyed a lotta that stuff then! it was almost like a period of rest and relaxation before the end story stuff.

there are ways, intentional or not, to make this game feel even BETTER than remake. when you skip most of the side stuff, it's paced incredibly well. so it's hard to say it's a bad game. it's actually a really GOOD game with "too much side content". if you treat the open world stuff as just like, a living, detailed world you glance at as you zoom by? it's actually really cool that it's there. i have a couple more pros/cons that i wanna mention, but i don't know where else to put em. like the end fights. thematically, i adored em. in execution, it went on for way way WAY too long. it was like a 15 (yes FIFTEEN) phase fight. on normal, i swear it felt like it took close to two hours, full of unskippable cutscenes and only like one checkpoint. it also takes away al of your team composition too, consistently forcing you to use characters you don't wanna use in the hardest fights in the game. first time, i got through to the very last sliver of final sephiroth's health, only for him to cast some dogshit unblockable "everyone is at 1hp" move at the end. it was ok bc "i'd prepared for this". so i instantly had one character use a gigapotion on the other, who i switched to so they could dodge just to be extra safe. the potion... missed? how? and then before i had a chance to use another, he killed the remaining character. bad game. shit game. but whatever, i hit retry. and i couldn't believe it. it sent me back 7 phases. i was livid. it had sucked the air outta the room. so i said fuck it and restarted the whole fight from the start on easy, because i can't tolerate that kind of scumbag game design that wastes a player's time. and wouldn't you know it, turns out i'd been at the very end of the fight when i died. if the potion had gone off like it shoulda, i would have won, no question. ironically even on easy, that trash situation happened again, but the potion actually went off this time, that was the only difference. but yeah. fuck that fight. it was cooler thematically than the final fight in rm, but it was three times as long, and three times more unfair. fuck whoever designed this fight, they too should be blackballed from the industry, lol.

the last thing i wanna talk about is queens blood. bc my feelings on it are sorta all over. so it starts out kinda boring, like as basic as ff8 triple triad, but wayyy less fun. and you're very limited in who you can play and what cards you can add to your deck. the ai seemingly "cheats", but it's so "linear" that you can win anyhow. and they musta known they'd lose most players, so they legit give you the ability to "flip the game board" at any point in the match and start over with zero punishment. they knew the game wasn't rly fair by design. but it's still good they had the easy retry feature, or they woulda lost me too. the qb experience sorta continues this way until you get to the latter junon area, where suddenly you run into... idk what to call it. intense difficulty spikes? like this dickwad who's playin a rockabilly guitar. FUCK that dude's deck and FUCK his ai. almost single-handedly got me to drop qb altogether. i was absolutely done, had decided qb was just a poorly designed game. thankfully, right after junon they have this big tournament on the boat to costa del sol and it's really fun. you suddenly are getting cards that have actual strategy. and suddenly qb opens up. there was a slight misstep after the boat where they make you play these stupid "puzzle" versions of qb, but you can look up guides and, even if they aren't fun, they help teach you about the game. anyways, i cautiously started playin more matches in later areas (skippin fights that seemed too lame), and before i knew it, i'd kinda fallen in love w the game. it also helped that they started incorporating this fun n bizarre story, too. so idk. i'd say play qb the same way you play the side content, skip a lot of it until you get to the end game? and then go back with cards you bought or won and finish the ones u missed. it's so weird that so much of this game works this way. and i could see someone arguing that "it's just a bad game". because when most games hand you content, even side content, most players expect they should at least give the content a fair shot. it really is kinda poorly executed. but! there are so any ways to mitigate the bad and focus on the good. knowing what i know now, i like this game even more than remake (which i really REALLY love). rebirth was fuckin great. and thank fuck i didn't get spoiled, tho i never wanna hafta try n rush through a 100+ hour open world ever again. i'm really excited for part three, just hopin i can remember to skip over a lotta the optional stuff. also hoping i won't have to buy a fuckin ps6 or whatever just to play it.