#or else things in the band would be diff

[basu-shokikita]

bookklok is so funny because, in response to having his request to play a solo denied, toki proceeded to write a whole book flaming skwisgaar, publish it, promote it in the press, get drunk on power and popularity to the point he harshly refuses skwisgaar's request to have his festival appearance back, show up at said festival and completely flunk the solo in question because he never practiced. fucking idiot

[spdrwdw]

hi! I saw ur post abt accidentally deleting reqs and was scared since mine wasn’t answered yet (im not complaining bc ur other work is so so delicious to read 😍) anyways here it is. Ok imagine Miguel ohara being the heir to the mafia ‘throne(?)’ ima be so fr idk what they call it 💀 anyways and he’s in an arranged marriage w/ a girl from a diff mafia family as a way to make peace between the two families, except neither he or the girl are happy abt it. Enemies to lovers would just be majestic for the plot in my opinion 🤭. Anywaysssss thank u sm and remember to drink water 🫶🏻

Art by: Kimmy_art0912 Pairing: Mob Boss Miguel x Wife reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, very mild violence, no use of y/n Summary: You and Miguel come from different mafia families, forced to be married in order to form an alliance as threat from an outside. However, you and Miguel can only tolerate each other, at best. A/N: I swear I scratched and rewrote this like five different times.I am sorry it took so long. I am slowly making my way back into writing. I do thank anon and everyone else for their patience as I slowly make my way back to life and I will be writing more Miguel fics soon. I may do a part two to this, depending on interest recieved. I have been getting into mafia books so I am going to be looking into those for inspo if I do make more parts to this. Also, very very light editing was done. Word Count: 4.6k

Your family and the O’Hara’s have been enemies since your ancestors set foot into this country. Both immigrating from nothing but the clothes on their backs and pennies to their name. 

Your family started working in the food industry. Working in restaurants, bakeries, etc. Anything that had to do with food. Seven days a week. Working from twelve to fourteen hour shifts just to make ends meet. Your great great grandfather worked at the local deli as well as a restaurant. When he wasn’t cutting up meat, he was in the kitchen making food. Your great great grandmother worked at the neighborhood bakery as well as the tailors. Her dream was to make clothes- dresses. She wanted to be a fashion designer. She started taking classes at the local college once they saved up enough money to invest in her studies. 

Eventually, with their hard work and sacrifices, their dreams came true. Your family soon owned several restaurants as well as luxury boutiques. Everyone did their part in keeping the family businesses growing and going. 

At first, it was all simply honest work. Your family stayed humble and grateful for their dedication. Then, with your great grandfather, things took a slight turn. He wanted to expand and turn into construction. Nueva York continued to go and grow, with more people coming to try to make a living and a name for themselves. And in that mix, people with bad intentions also tagged along. The family businesses were in jeopardy of being taken over or shut down completely by these power-hungry thugs. He did not want that. So, he and the rest of the family banded together and began hiring people who would be willing to work for them and protect them, whether they were military vets, criminals, or even cops. Anyone who was willing to protect the family. 

Allyship with other mafia families also aided in the growth and protection. However, there was one family that yours always butted heads with. 

The O’Haras. They immigrated from Ireland around the same time your great great grandparents did. They built their own businesses, casinos, hotels, and clubs- and wanted their own power and a spot with the elites of the criminal world. 

At first, things were neutral between the two families. At one point, the two families were almost allies. However, one night, there was commotion going on at one of the O’Hara nightclubs. Members of your family got into a tussle with the O’Hara group and ended up being a blood bath, with both sides losing men. 

Ever since then, things were tense, and the bloodshed continued to grow as oppositions rose. 

No one really knew what it was that started the feud that night. Some suspected it had been over a woman. Others thought it was simply because some members were drunk and careless words were exchanged.

Either way, the rivalry continued on. Until a new threat entered the city. And there was no choice but to come together. 

—

It’s been six months since you moved into his house. Six months since you lost your freedom. Six months since you got married. To Miguel O’Hara. 

It all happened in an instant. First, you were out abroad, having recently gotten your first major job as a fashion designer in a luxury clothing company, wanting to be as successful as your great great grandmother, and now you were out on a little vacation to celebrate, when you received a call from your father, ordering you to come back home. 

You should’ve relished that Mediterranean breeze as long as you could, because once you got on that flight back home, your world was about to be flipped on its head. 

“I’m sorry…WHAT?!” You screeched at your father, you only looked at you with his calm, cool, distant, expression as he inhaled into his cigar.

“You’re getting married to Miguel O’Hara,” he repeated. 

“I heard what you said! But, why?!”

“The O’Haras had agreed to a truce. Kingpin is gaining on both of our families. We are losing men and traction left and right. We agreed by aligning our families together, we will gain strength in numbers and influence.”

“And you are shipping me off into an arranged marriage! This isn’t the medieval age or whatever! 

Plus, with Miguel?! At least have me marry Gabriel. He’s not an asshole like his brother.”

“Miguel is to become head of the O’Hara family as he is the first born. Plus, his determination has been promising.”

You let out a groan. You could not believe this was happening. You never wanted to get sucked into this life. That’s why you went off to college. To try to get away and make a life of your own. Your efforts were proven to be futile as you felt the rug be pulled from under you and you were being dragged along with it to the same life you were trying to escape. 

Your father’s eyes softened. A hint of sorrow filled them. 

“I know, sweetheart. This isn’t what I was hoping for you, either. But, it is the only way. We are running out of options. I am sure Miguel will take care of you, and you will be able to fulfill your dream of following your great great grandmother’s footsteps. I am sure she would be proud to have someone actively expanding her fashion legacy..”

You still shook your head. It was just too much for you to take in. Plus, wasn’t Miguel in a relationship with someone? Xina? No..they broke up months ago. That’s right. But, wait..he was seeing someone else? Ugh. The guy has a new girlfriend every other day.

Besides, you two did have a thing going on in the past. It wasn’t serious. Mainly the occasional hookups. You two were of rivaling families, after all. You both did have your reasons for disliking each other. So, the sex was pretty much hate sex? If that made sense. It wasn’t out of passion. Unless you could call hatred a passion.

Never did you think you’d actually be getting married to him. 

After the news broke out that you and Miguel were to be wedded, everything went by in such a blur. Preparations for the wedding. The actual wedding. The honeymoon- which was hardly a honeymoon because neither of you actually spent any time together. It was just too awkward, and you knew that he wasn’t happy with this arrangement as much as you were. 

When you first moved into his house, you wanted to sleep in a separate room from him, and he agreed. However, when both of your parents found out about this, they were all livid. 

“How will you two get to know each other more and become intimate with each other if you are sleeping in separate beds?” Your mom cried one day when she came to visit you. You assured her there would be other situations where you and your husband would bond. Public situations where you’d be surrounded by other people and talking to those people rather than each other. 

You two simply avoided each other as much as possible. And during the times when you two were together, your company was either met with silence or bickering. And sometimes even being at each other’s throats. 

He would call you names like ‘immature’ ‘wild’ ‘rowdy’ and so on, simply because you refused to listen to him whenever he demanded something from you. 

You’d retaliate and tell him that he was controlling and a perfectionist. Because well, he was. He had to have things done a certain way or it would ensue chaos. And while he was right about you being a little more rowdy and wild, it was simply because you had the luxury of growing somewhat more normal. Your parents did not drill the life of the mafia into your head the same way it was drilled into Miguel’s. Which is why you both clashed when trying to communicate with each other. 

Right now, you were at home in the library. You spend a lot of time there, and while Miguel’s taste in reading wasn’t usually to your taste, you’d sometimes find yourself reading some of the novels that he was currently reading, as well as reading some that you’ve been purchasing and adding to the collection. 

Which reminded you, you had to head over to the mall and purchase the next book of a spicy romance series you’d been reading. As well as look for an outfit to wear at the next charity event you and Miguel would be attending. 

One of the few things you liked about Miguel was that he was very generous and active in the community, helping those less fortunate.

Placing the book down, you rubbed your bag and keys and decided to head out for a bit. Saying goodbye to the house staff as you walked past them, you made your way to the garage, which housed Miguel’s collection of cars, ranging from vintage to sporty and modern to big black suvs that you’d use whenever a bodyguard was transporting you somewhere, like parties. You never understood why someone needed so many cars but, whatever, as long as it wasn’t your money being spent. 

You made your way over to your car, glad that you were able to bring it with you when you got married. It was your baby. One of the few things you were able to bring with you. 

Glancing over at the clock on the dashboard, you bit your bottom lip. You should have enough time to purchase some books before heading off to your parents for a bit. You did promise them you would show up. They were planning lunch for you. It was your birthday today, after all. 

—

Miguel stood in front of the battered man that kneeled before him, hearing the groaning of pain coming from their mouth as blood pooled around the cement floor. 

Miguel’s knuckles were bleeding. But, it wasn’t his own blood, but the blood of the poor bastard that withered before him. Miguel didn’t like to use violence. He thought it was a primitive way of negotiating with his enemies. However, there were times when a little violence was necessary to get his point across. And to send a message. 

Why was this man being battered like a sack of potatoes? 

The man spat blood, a tooth or two flying out with the glob of blood as he remained strapped to his chair. His face was covered in blood. Beat up and mangled by the hands of the tall, brooding man before him. 

Miguel slowly knelt down before the man, taking a fistful of his hair, forcing him to look up into his almost amber eyes. 

“ Eres un demonio! (You're a demon). Not even the devil himself will want you!” the man spat, a glob of blood landing on Miguel’s cheek.

Miguel let out a hum of disinterest. His eyes lacked any life in them. However, this was when he felt the most alive, seeing his enemies cowering and crumbling before him. 

He took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleaned the blood from his cheek before tossing the now soiled material at the man’s feet. 

“I take that as a compliment, you know. Maybe I want the devil himself to fear me.”

Miguel took out a cigar from his coat pocket and lit it before giving it a deep inhale and exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke at the man’s face. He couldn't believe that one of Kingpin's goons had infiltrated his circle and posed himself as someone who could've been trusted. Miguel was definitely going to send that fat son of a bitch a message, by killing this guy and sending his corpse back to Kingpin's front door. 

Not only that, but it also meant that they were going to have to redo background checks on everyone working for the O’Haras. That was going to be a pain in the ass.

"Gabriel! Hand me my gun," Miguel called out to his brother.

Gabriel, Peter, and Ben were all standing several feet behind Miguel, all watching as their boss beat and battered the man before them. 

Gabriel was Miguel’s right hand now that their father had stepped down as head of the O’Hara family. Many thought Gabriel was going to take charge, however, Miguel was much more brutal and cut-throat than Gabriel. It made sense for Miguel to take up the mantle, despite him being an illegitimate son. 

Plus, Gabriel preferred being on the sidelines instead of making the decisions. 

Gabriel made his way over to his older brother, handing him the gun before stepping back to his original spot. 

“Now. We can do this the easy way. Where I ask you a couple of questions and answer them. Or, we can do this the hard way, when I ask you said questions and if you refuse to answer them, I get to shoot you anywhere I want.”

”I would rather you just shoot me! I will never answer to you!” The man croaked. 

“You never got shot before, have you?” Miguel hummed as he removed the safety from the gun and cocked it before pulling the trigger, shooting the man on the foot. 

The man let out a screeching howl as he thrashed on the chair, letting out a series of curses. 

Miguel simply nodded his head. “That’s what I thought. So..shall we begin?”

The whole ordeal took only a matter of minutes, as Miguel wasted no time in trying to get his questions answered. The man was not sitting lifeless on the chair as bullet holes decorated his body. 

Kingpin had sent a lower ranked grunt to spy on them, trying to scope up any valuable information to report back to his true boss. Unfortunately for Kingpin, those in the lower ranks didn’t really get to be part of the action and behind-closed door discussions, so, this man’s life was unnecessarily wasted. 

“Send his body back to Kingpin. Just leave him on his doorstep,” Miguel said as he examined his suit, letting out a grunt when he saw small splatters of blood. He was going to have to go home and change. “Will do. You should start heading back home. I am sure you wife is waiting for you,” Gabriel said as Peter and Ben began placing the body into a black body bag and carried him out to the waiting pick-up truck. 

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t hate you, but he knew that you hated him. And you had every right. You got married to him out of force, and while that wasn’t necessarily his fault, he didn’t blame you for holding a grudge on him. 

“Keep me posted on any activity. I need updated background checks on everyone working for us. We can’t let anyone else slip through the cracks,” Miguel stated as he made his way over to his car, with his brother following behind him. Gabriel nodded his head as he watched his brother leave. 

He had to make sure no on in his inner circle was actually working for Kingpin. Is someone indeed was, might as well just shut everything down then and there. 

No. Miguel wouldn’t give up just like that. He would just have to work harder and steer Kingpin off track. 

But, for the time being, his main goal was to get back home and get to his wife. It was your birthday, after all.

–

You spent the majority of the day with your parents. You had gone over to your former home- which you still miss deeply. It was such a stark contrast from where you lived now. There was just so much character, so much history in this house. It was the same house your great great grandfather had bought as a gift to his lovely wife, your great great grandmother, once their businesses were booming.

It had twelve bedrooms and sixteen bathrooms. A library where your mother would take you to read. When you were young, you’d pick out a book for your mother to read to you in bed. Mainly a fairy tale story. 

You always thought your life would be a fairy tale. You always imagined yourself as the princess or heroine, going on adventures and falling in love. However, the universe was not like those in the stories. Maybe in an alternate universe. But, not in this one. 

Instead, you were forced to marry the enemy in hopes of forming an alliance. Which, depending on how you looked at it, could’ve been seen as a fairytale. It didn’t feel like it. You weren’t in love with Miguel. You tolerated each other at best. Plus, you guys had shared history which made things pretty awkward at times. 

—-

You were back home, waiting for your darling husband to come home and wish you a Happy Birthday. He also supposedly promised to take you out to dinner. It was really an attempt for you two to get somewhat closer together. But, you weren’t sure how well that would play out. You both liked to push each other’s buttons. You were sure it would occur tonight. And honestly, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. You wanted to be a thorn on his side. He was always so full of himself. Always thought himself to be this bigshot. Untouchable. Unweavered. You loved proving him wrong. 

You continued to wait and wait. The house staff had left for the night, including Miss Cheryl, your personally favorite housekeeper. She was an older woman, possibly in her mid-fifties. You never cared to ask her- mainly because you didn’t want to be rude and you actually liked her. 

Looking up at the clock in Miguel’s office, you saw that it was already seven thirty in the evening. Reservations were supposedly made for eight. Miguel had thirty minutes to get there. 

A part of you didn’t really care if he had forgotten or just waved it off. You didn’t want to force yourself to be nice with him, because who knew, you might just throw a glass of wine at him just as you did during your wedding reception.

You could hear a chime coming from the Alexa that rested on Miguel’s desk, signaling that someone had entered the house. 

Finally. You honestly thought he wasn’t going to come. 

Raising from his chair, you decided to go ahead and greet your husband. 

He was making his way upstairs as you made your way down the hallway, both of you making eye contact. 

“You’re late. I thought you weren’t going to come,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. 

As Miguel stepped closer, you could notice blood splattered on his white shirt. 

“I know. Let me get changed real quick,” he replied as he walked past you. 

You knew Miguel had a way of dealing with those who wronged him. You have seen his blood-stained knuckles, bloodied shirts and a dangerous look in his eyes. It’s pretty much like in the movies. Some poor unlucky soul gets tortured to death by the boss or someone higher up. You’d like to think that Miguel isn’t simply killing people just because of blood-lust. While it wasn’t your business to judge, you didn’t want to be married to someone who is a little too eager to get blood on his hands. 

You made your way to his room, standing by the door as you watched Miguel slip on a fresh pair of pants and button-up shirt, something more suitable for dinner. Once he was finished, he took another look at you, furrowing his brows a bit. 

“What?” You questioned. 

“What are you wearing?” 

“What do you mean ‘what are you wearing’?” You asked, looking down at your dress. 

“Don’t you think that’s too revealing?” He asked. 

“What? Revealing? Where? Don’t tell me showing a little leg and shoulder is prohibited. Come on! This is the height of fashion right now, as well as demonstrating body positivity.” Miguel simply gave you a look as if in disgust. Not for the body positivity part. But rather your fashion choices. He was aware of your family’s success in the fashion industry. He even applauded it. But, he was also a  man with much simpler tastes. Tastes that you would sometimes groan over. 

“Well, I’m not changing, so let’s just get going,” you said as you grabbed a shawl to compliment your dress, and to shut Miguel up. 

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, save for the music that was playing on the radio. You two had very different music tastes. Not surprising. Sometimes you’d change the station or hook up your phone to Bluetooth. But, you tried to sit back and let him listen to his music this time. 

When you two managed to get there, Miguel stopped in front of the valet and got out. The valet driver in-waiting opened the car door for you to help you get out as Miguel rounded the car, handing the keys over to the young man who then took the sleek black suv to the parking garage. 

He gave you his arm to take. It had become routine. Show some sort of display of affection while in public. You never knew who could be watching. Sometimes cameras would pop out in front of you two. 

The proposal was rushed. The engagement. The wedding. People grew suspicious, and rightfully so. Your families quickly came up with a story of how you and Miguel were seeing each other in secret despite the rivalry of the families. The alleged secrecy of romance and hurried marriage gave you two the the title of Romeo and Juliet. Two star-crossed lovers who went against all odds just to be together despite your families and their differences. But, unlike the story, your ending didn’t result in a double-suicide, but rather acceptance, wedding bells, and peace between the two families. Everyone bought it. Well..almost everyone. 

As you two made your way inside and were greeted by the hostess, you were taken to a more secluded area of the restaurant. There, the table had been set up especially for you. A bottle of wine rested over a bed of ice, candles were lit on the table, as well as around the perimeter of your area. It would have been romantic, had you actually had romantic feelings for Miguel.

Still, he was a gentleman and he did go out of his way to reserve a nice place for you.

 He pulled a chair out for you to sit and scooted you in before taking his seat across from you. The music from a live pianist in the main dining hall still reached your private area. Had it not been for them, the room would’ve been dead silent as you and Miguel silently looked through your menus. 

“Can I pour you a glass of your wine?” A waitress asked onceshe approached your table. She was young. Tall and thin with big blue eyes and blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. And wearing way too much makeup. At least for your tastes. 

You could see how she was looking at Miguel, batting her fake eyelashes. You thought they were either going to fall off or send her flying away. Either way, you simply rolled your eyes. You didn’t care if Miguel got hit on, but come on, at least not while you were right there to see. 

“Yes, thank you,” Miguel said, giving her a charming smile. It made you roll our eyes again. Yes, he was being polite and all, but you could see right through him. 

“Can I offer you both an appetizer to start?” She then asked, still looking over at Miguel. 

Miguel then looked over to you, giving you a nod. “Would you like something to start with?”

”Yes, actually. Some bread for the table. they usually bring it out at the beginning,” you started. Which was true. You were just trying to be a little petty. 

“And how about some crab cakes and a salad for the table?”

The waitress nodded her head, her smile now a straight line. So straight, you could swipe your card through it like a card reader. 

“Yes, of course. I will put those in for you and bring you your bread,” she said before leaving the table. 

You simply rolled your eyes once again as you settled back against your seat. 

“How was lunch with your family?” Miguel then asked, trying to make conversation. 

“It was fine,” you responded. Usually, your responses would be short, and Miguel wouldn’t entertain the topic further. You knew you should at least try to get along with him, giving that you are married and that you will be spending the rest of your life with him. You simply assumed that it just hadn’t kicked in yet. You were going to try, though. 

One day.

“Ah, Mr. O’Hara! Mrs. O’Hara! A pleasure to see you two here tonight!” Someone behind you exclaimed. You could hear their heavy footsteps before turning around and seeing the owner and head chef of the restaurant. “Javier. A pleasure to see you,” Miguel said. “We were just celebrating my wife’s birthday.” “Ah! Of course! Happy birthday, Mrs. O’Hara. You look as stunning as ever,” Javier exclaimed. The man was five foot three, a mix of tan to sunburned skin, and all round. He kind of reminded you of the Pillsbury mascot. He looked so squishable and jolly. 

“Actually, Javier. Would you mind me having a word with you, real quick?” Miguel then asked, scooted his chair back from the table and stood, easily towering over the man. 

“O-oh! O-of cours! Of course! Come, come! Let’s step to the side,” Javier stated, now looking a little nervous as he led Miguel out of the room, leaving you alone. 

All while Miguel was having his private conversation with Javier, the waitress came back with the bread and appetizers. 

“We are going to need a couple of minutes,” you stated as she placed everything onto the tables. 

“Of course! I’ll make my way back around in a few minutes,” the waitress said, giving you a tight-lipped smile.  

You tried your best to not roll your eyes at her again as she left. Letting out a sigh, you decided to dig into the bread and appetizers. You sure weren’t going to wait for Miguel to come back to start eating. You never waited for him. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you knew you’d be waiting forever for him. 

–

Soon enough, you were back home. You were still slightly curious about the conversation Miguel had with Chef Javier. But, you didn’t think you should press Miguel about it. Some things were meant to be kept in private. Besides, you wanted no part of this whole mafia stuff. It had stolen so much of your freedom already. You wanted to remain ignorant of what goes on behind closed doors as much as possible. 

You both made your way upstairs, neither of you speaking as you made your way to your rooms for the night. 

Tomorrow you were planning on heading over to the boutique. Your cousin was currently operating it and sometimes you’d go to help her out. It helped you get out of the house every once in a while. Plus, you were usually filled with inspiration when you were surrounded by your family’s clothing. You were still working on your portfolio to give out to various companies, in hopes they would hire you. 

You were confident that they would. You were talented. Plus, you have your family’s name to back you up. Now, all you had to do was to make sure you get a good night’s rest so you could get up refreshed. 

[jeonscatalyst]

https://www.tumblr.com/jeonscatalyst/763656696583290880/tkkers-never-listen-to-what-they-actually-say-if?source=share

I don't really check on any tags only because they make me want to counter attack their post because those posts would be full of lies and Projection and their takes really makes me frustrated with how they project so in order to not get mad at what they're saying i don't check up on any but since Tumblr wants to give me updates on what others are saying i got two post from tkkrs recommended and in one post it's the anons asking if jungkook really meant AYS trips were best of his life or if he was lying (didn't read what the blogger replied tho) and another one was the blogger (diff blogger) itself saying "what's big deal in staying at some place before going on trip" i mean yes it ain't a big deal even i didn't make any big deal out of it but it's the "staying at some place before going on trip" took me out because they said it like as if jikook were staying at some hotel that company booked or something and not exactly at jk's home itself that too after he came back from US. Mind you these were the same people who dragged jimin saying jimin doesn't even know jk's home because him and jk don't go to each other's home After that vhopekook live where vhope came over at jk's place after jk sent a message asking members to come over if anyone's free and vhope went there and later on left lol. No because I'm sure if tae said same thing they would be on cloud nine but since it's jikook it's either jimin is lying or it ain't a big deal and it's just "some place" and the audacity to say jimin don't know jk's home after jm posted jk's picture on his b'day in 2022 from jk's home where jm visited him with hobi lol.

lol anon

I’m sure I got sent some posts of some blogger swearing that Jk lied when he said AYS trips were his best trips ever but honestly anon, what did you expect tkkrs to say? That was a huge slap in the face to them after they spent a year singing about “private trips” only for Jk to go and say AYS trips were the best trips he ever had in his entire life. Mind you “entire life” which means including the “private trips” taekookers thought was the beginning and end of the universe so what else did you expect them to say? Their whole world blew up in their faces when Jk said that because imagine how painful it must have been for them hear that trips that were taken with Jimin the member who they claim he hates and cannot stand and which also happened to be “company content” were the most impactful for Jungkook? The heartbreak!!!

Jimin saying he spent the night at Jk’s before their Jeju trip shouldn’t really be a big deal because duhhh they are friends and have been band mates for over a decade but it was, especially to them and not in a good way (even though they’ll never admit it) because if you think about it, why would Jimin be with Jk, spending the night with him after a trip instead of Tae if taekook is real? Everyone knows that after trips, people just want to go back home to their lovers and not necessarily their friends but here we had Jungkook going back home, Jimin going over there, Jungkook cooking for him and them spending the night together with Tae nowhere in sight. Doesn’t really read as coupley for taekook now does it especially considering how much tkkrs had been loud about Tae (and Hobi) being with Jk at night before Jk had to leave for LA even though they know there is a huge difference now because we don’t know that Taekook have ever spent a night together before or after a trip like Jikook have. Tkkrs tend to downplay or invalidate anything that Jikook do which their ship doesn’t. They downplayed spending bdays and couple holidays together because their ship doesn’t, they downplayed spending nights and alone time together because their ship doesn’t, they downplayed sharing cars till their ship did it a few times, they downplayed matching clothes till they thought their ship did it and they are downplaying Jikook spending the night together before and after a trip even though that is something they thought their ship did and celebrated it like hell.

Accepting that the AYS trips were the best trips Jk ever had in his life like he said would mean that Jk preferred his company, time and activities on the trips with Jimin over those with Tae. It would mean that the “private” doesn’t hold as much weight and they desperately want it to hold and tkkrs can’t accept that because “privet” is all they have. They can’t accept that Jikook spending the night together before a trip means anything because deep down they know that if taekook was real like they want it to be, Jungkook would want to go home to Tae not Jimin especially since they claimed that Tae joined AYS to spend time with Jk since he was travelling so much (even though Tae was on his phone the entire time). So anon, they just cannot do or say anything else. Jimin spending the night with Jk before a trip doesn’t prove they are real but it kinda debunks taekook just like jikook spending bdays, couple holidays and other special days and times together debunks taekook because why would Jungkook want to do all those things and spend all those moments with anyone other than the person he is romantically involved with. Jikook spend bdays, couple holidays, nights, spend nights with each other after trips while taekook go to concerts, musicals, premieres and go on ski trips where Jk ends up being left behind alone because Tae wants to go back home with friends. Even if you didn’t know the first thing about relationships which one of these seem like things what a couple would actually do? See my point? They have no choice anon.

[abeautylives]

Times I Remember Well

(and Some That I Don’t)

Part 1

author’s note: I’m really excited to have something to share with you guys. It’s written from a diff POV than I usually do, but my main character girly pop has a lot of personality 😘 Big big big thank you to bff @samkiszkasfacialhair for all the help, the ideas, and the motivation 🤍

pairing: female!OCxkiszkas (just read it, you’ll figure it out)

time frame: 2010-2014

word count: 5.7k this part

warnings: language, illicit substance use, rampant teenage emotions and delulu, kissing, josh 🥺

I don’t actually remember the day I met Sam Kiszka.

Not the date, or even the day of the week. I do know what year it was, because it was the year my mom moved us to this quaint (read: weird) little town. Charming, but weird. And boring.

Boring, until I met Sam.

Eleven-year-old Sam was a menace, but twelve-year-old me was bored. So obviously, we became the best of friends. He taught me how to light a firecracker, I had an endless supply of Barbies to blow up. He showed me how to slip out of my bedroom window without making a sound, I told him how to impress girls without grossing them out. In our early teenage years, he introduced me to drugs and I taught him how to unclasp a bra. Chill out, it was weed, and I wasn’t even wearing the bra.

My mom just loved that I’d made such a great friend.

The first time I was allowed to play at his house I met his sister, who was closer to my age, but it was too late. Sam and I were already attached at the hip, though mine sat an inch or two higher than his for a couple of years, until a growth spurt and puberty eventually left him with the height advantage.

That was when he stopped calling me by my name, and started calling me Tiny. Like I said, a menace.

“You’re the coolest girl I know, even if you’re vertically challenged.”

Please note: the first time he said this to me, he had finally just surpassed me in height by half an inch.

Then of course, there were the twins. You’d think the eldest siblings would not have become a big part of my life, but they were just always around, and actually liked hanging out with their baby brother. Close knit family and all that. It’s weird, right? At the wise and worldly age of twelve, the two fourteen-year-olds terrified me. Josh and Jake were both scary in their own way to a pubescent girl on the cusp of teenager-dom. Jake was pretty quiet, but his ego was not. He was hot, okay? In like, a Justin Bieber-y way but also kind of a jock-y way, but a jock with a guitar. Whatever, I’m only human.

Josh was… well, Josh was Josh. Unlike anyone else I’d ever met, and not necessarily in a good way. He was loud, like, all the time. He never seemed to stop talking and ended most of his sentences at an eardrum-piercing decibel level. Fortunately, or not, he didn’t get hot until I was old enough to obsess over it.

I’m sure I didn’t speak a coherent word to either of them the entire first year of my friendship with Sam.

I have a million memories of the time I spent with Sam and his family, but I have no recollection of the day I fell in love with Josh Kiszka.

But once I did, it was a deep, obsessive kind of love that only a teenager can achieve. One day he was my best friend’s eccentric older brother and the next…

Well, the next he was a rockstar.

I mentioned the whole jock with a guitar thing that Jake had going on, and that really hadn’t changed, but somewhere along the way Josh had transformed from a loud, annoying theater kid to a genuine, full blown vocalist. I mean, for a while he was both.

When they first started playing together, I only gave a shit because they’d roped Sam into it too and it took up way too much of his time. I’d watch them play, and they weren’t… bad? They weren’t good either. My time could have been better spent watching R rated movies (scandalous) or, I don’t know, doing my homework. But nope! We were in a band now.

They practiced, a lot. It felt like all they did was practice, for at least a couple years. And I just watched dutifully, every weekend of every month of every year. They did get better.

But here’s the thing. I was there for all of it. I was there the day Jake ran into the living room and snatched Sam up by the back of his shirt. Come on Sammy boy, we need you on bass. I was there the day their buddy Kyle sat down at the drum kit and completed the ensemble. (I was also there the day he got replaced.) And of course, I was there the day Josh pushed his voice past the instruments and the amps, and went from a weak imitation of a rock singer to something else all together. Something totally and completely him.

That’s not the day I fell in love with him (I would’ve remembered), but it was the first time he had ever… impressed me. And not that I cared, but Jake was impressed too. I saw it on his face.

It was cute. In like, a sweet, brotherly way.

Okay, anyway! The combination of Jake’s skill and Josh’s raw talent got them noticed. (Sammy’s talent would develop over time, I didn’t forget about him. Sam, you’re the most talented one in the band.) And then they were playing actual gigs. I wasn’t allowed to go to most of those early ones, because for some reason these dive bars were permitting these pint sized, teenage Zeppelin wannabes to perform at them. Old people like our parents loved that shit. The locals went crazy for it.

They played Fischer Hall a couple times, right there in town, but around their third or fourth gig there, Josh had unbuttoned the flowy, floral, women’s blouse he was wearing and took to the stage with it hanging open, beaded necklaces draped down his bare chest and curly hair wild.

Why was he sort of… ripped? How had I never noticed? Were his pants always so tight? And low cut? I was sweating. I didn’t even know he was literally cosplaying Robert Plant.

Did I fall in love with him that night? Of course not, I already told you I don’t remember the day that happened.

The Saturday after my sixteenth birthday, I left my house around 8:30 to head to Sam’s. To my mom, this was an average Saturday night - I spent nearly all of them at Sam’s house, where his parents were always home. Ya know, or so mine thought. Whether the Kiszkas were actually home or not, we hung out in the garage.

That’s not as weird as it sounds, it was a really cool garage. With furniture and everything. And their instruments, a lot of them. I don’t know how every one of these guys knew how to play every instrument packed into that room, but they did. And by the time I was sixteen, they were really almost good at it.

(Jake was good. Very good… I told you he was hot.)

This particular Saturday though, this was going to be the Saturday that changed my life. And I wanted to dress the part.

In hindsight, I wore something I’d probably worn a hundred times. Then why had it taken me so long to get ready? I changed my jeans twice, my shirt at least ten times, added a sweater, threw it back on my bed, added a flannel, tossed that to the floor. Picked it back up and shoved my arms in, made sure it hung off my shoulder just so. Shoulders are sexy, right? Do guys like shoulders? Oh shit, what do guys even like?

Anyway, I left the house looking exactly as I always did.

I rode my bike slowly that night, already hyper aware of the sweat under my arms.

So I slowed my pedaling even further. When the house came into view, I hopped off the bike and walked it up the drive before tossing it to the grass outside the garage.

Okay, knock twice and just go in.

That’s what everyone always did, what I always did. Just knock twice then lift the door. Everyone was always welcome, come on in!

So go in, idiot.

Look, I did it eventually. Just like always, knock knock, lift the door enough to slip underneath, let it close behind me. Except when it rolled back to the ground, I lost my nerve and stood frozen there for a few seconds too long.

Sam called me out, because he’s a menace.

“The hell are you doing, Tiny? We started without you.”

I moved farther into the space, eyes bouncing between my options through the soft haze of pungent smoke that already hung over the room. There was my usual spot - on the floor, next to the spot where Sam sat cross-legged, his long frame folded and bent, his sharp elbows resting on his knees as he waited for the joint to make its way back to him.

Not tonight, I’m on a mission.

Jake sat to his left, in a well-worn, floral print wingback chair. It was comfortable enough for one person, decades of weight softening the strength of the cushion’s springs before it ever came to live in this particular garage. Jake’s body was slung over it, legs thrown haphazardly over an arm while his own were wrapped around an acoustic guitar. Typical. He tipped his chin at me from under the brim of a bucket hat, then nodded towards the floor beside him. Holy shit, does he want me to sit by him?! I think my fingers lifted in a barely-there wave but I’m not really sure they were functioning correctly.

Okay focus, he did not. Does not. Not in this lifetime.

Still without his next hit, Sam glanced up at me over his shoulder and patted the threadbare throw rug next to him. “Sit down weirdo, you’re making me paranoid.”

Nerves that I’d never, never, felt before in this room fluttered through my stomach, I let my gaze meet Sam’s before continuing the search for a place to plant myself.

There was really only one option left - the couch - and both ends were already occupied. Our friend Danny (Kyle’s replacement, sorry Kyle) was in the process of melting into the corner closest to Jake, his eyes glassy and already tinged pink when he looked up at me. Only his eyebrows lifted in greeting before he mirrored Sam’s offer to sit next to him, tapping the cushion beside him.

This is fine, totally normal! Danny was Sam’s other half. Well, his other male half. I guess we were in thirds. A trio.

I accepted the offering, stepping around the coffee table, scarred with years worth of “art” - drawings and carvings, a few discreet dirty words etched into the surface in between - to drop to the middle of the couch. One of Sam’s brows tipped up when I met his eyes again, his expression asking, “Dude, what gives?”

“Hey, you’re here!” He noticed me, finally. Silvery smoke crept from between his lips as he grinned, and I watched transfixed when they pursed together and he blew a cloud toward the ceiling. My stare was broken when he leaned across the table and passed the joint to an impatient Sam, but to the delight of the butterflies going nuts in the pit of my stomach, he leaned back into the cushions and threw an arm over the back of the couch behind me. EEEEP!

“Hey-“ It was a humiliating and unsexy croak, and I quickly cleared my throat and tried again. “Hey, Josh. Hi.”

His long hair was pulled back, his entire face available for my viewing pleasure. Things were going perfectly.

I joined the rotation, the weed easing the flutters caused by sitting so close to Josh, but amplifying the feeling that the other three were watching and wondering why I was acting so strange.

They were not. They were high.

Aside from the stray curious eyebrow from my BFF across the table, they actually acted like nothing was abnormal about my seating choice, even when I started to scooch imperceptibly to my left every time I adjusted the way I was sitting.

Pulled my legs up under me? Scooch.

Dropped them down so my sneakers met the cement? Scooch.

Crossed my left ankle over my right knee? Scooch.

It was totally subtle.

“I’m gonna grab a pop, you guys want anything?” Sam startled me out of a pleasant reverie as he jumped up from the floor, but my freaking knee was touching Josh’s knee! No I don’t want anything, I have everything I need right here!

It turned out Sam was a huge knee blocker. He gripped me by an elbow and peeled me from the couch as the others murmured at our retreating backs about needing Doritos. He pushed me out the side door and towards the house and had me in the kitchen before I could even tell him he was ruining everything!

Even through bleary, hooded eyes, his death glare was brutal.

“Saaammmmm, what are you doing?!” “What the hell do you think you’re doing, T?”

More glaring. He broke the glare-off first, jerking his head to the side to flick his hair out of his eyes and turning to open the refrigerator, but once his face was inside it, he called me out again.

“Why are you being so weird with Josh?”

I love him, I need him!

“Whaaa.. I don’t know what you mean. You’re just super high.” Yeah, I really thought that would work. Sue me!

Straightening to his full height (seriously, like two inches taller than me… maybe three), he spun to face me again. He actually looked down his nose at me.

“Do you like, like him? What the fuck, Tiny?” He whispered that last part, as if his parents were lurking around the corner waiting to bust him for cussing.

“Look, you wouldn’t understand Sam. I’m much older than y-“

“You’re not even an entire year older than me.”

“Eleven months is basically an entire ye-“

“That’s not the point!” That part was like whisper yelling. I swear it looked like he was yelling, but it sounded like he was whispering.

“Okay!” Yeah, I whisper yelled back. “Sammy, I like him… I’m sorry! I don’t even know when it happened but I woke up one day and I realized that he’s perfect! He’s funny and nice and he’s so… so… cute! Okay? He’s so cute I wanna die and I love him!”

Sam’s eyes were wide, as wide as they could be under the circumstances, and he stared at me like I’d grown another head. With a horn coming out of it.

“You love him. You realize how dumb you sound right now?”

Dumb? No no, this was serious. I pleaded with my best friend for forgiveness. And his help. “Sam… please. Don’t be mad at me, I- I don’t know, I can’t help it! That’s just how I feel, and I want him to like me back!” That’s when it hit me, I needed a wingman for this plan.

“Can you help me get him to like me back?” I gave him my best puppy dog eyes, bottom lip stuck out and everything. As if that had ever worked in the four years we’d known each other so far.

“Fuck no.” His eyes moved side to side, looking for sneaky parents again I guessed. “Definitely not. Why do you have to like my brother, dude? That’s sick, it’s like incest or something!” He stomped his feet a little, and I couldn't help but think it made him look like a child. He was a child! This was serious, grown-up shit and I didn’t have time to play games.

“Ugh, if you’re not gonna help me then at least get out of my way.” I pushed past him and headed back out of the house and into the garage. Not much had changed when I got there, but Danny must have left while Sam and I were gone. The entire couch was empty aside from Josh, still sitting cross-legged in one corner. Damn it!

I flopped into the spot that Danny had vacated, just as Sam hustled back in through the side door, arms full of sodas and bags of chips. My cheeks were warm when I looked up at him, and then they burst into flames.

“Scoot over T, I like the corner spot.”

He’s helping me! Oh shit, he’s helping me. Move your ass!!

Fumbling for a grip on reality, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Sam’s. He lifted his brows and tilted his head in Josh’s direction. I suddenly remembered why I wasted all my days with this kid - he’s my ride or die. And now I owed him, big.

As soon as I stood to shift to the center of the couch, Sam’s elbow snuck out and made contact with my shoulder. My feet tangled with each other and, balance lost, I tumbled. Right into the arms of my beloved.

Okay okay, that’s a reach. But I did land on him. Sam had nudged me just hard enough to send me toward the opposite end of the couch and I landed ass-first on Josh’s leg, still folded and crossed under the other.

Through the mortification, I heard Sam’s distinct snickering as he placed himself gently on the other cushion. Then, through the popping of soda tabs and crinkling of chip bags, I heard the sweetest, most beautiful sound ever.

“If you wanted to sit next to me so bad, you could’ve just done it, T.”

I quite literally had to extract myself from his lap, but Josh just giggled as I clumsily moved off of him. To my extreme delight and disbelief, I didn’t make it too far. He slung an arm over my shoulders and kept me at his side. We are sharing a cushion. ALERT ALERT - OUR THIGHS ARE TOUCHING.

His hand wrapped around the ball of my shoulder and squeezed. Not once, but twice. I felt like I was gonna puke, but I risked turning my head and meeting his eyes. And he. Fucking. Smiled.

“You good, Tiny?” I should’ve laughed. We were the same exact height, I could be calling him tiny. But this wasn’t funny, because he was still smiling at me and he’d lowered his voice to speak directly to me and I felt it all the way to my toes. Somehow I managed to smile back.

“I’m good.” I was soooooo good. Even when Sam shoved a bag of Doritos at me, I was good. Because Josh reached into it and pulled a few out for himself. He reached into my lap! For chips!

Risking a sideways glance at Sam, I found him eyeballing Josh’s hand that was still resting lightly over my shoulder. I gave him my best “holy shit holy shit holy shit” expression, to which he rolled his eyes and shrugged. Before turning my attention back to the love of my life, my gaze drifted past Sam and landed on Jake. Oh, he was still here? Hadn’t noticed.

Except I was noticing. And he didn’t look pleased. He locked in and held eye contact, absolutely scowling. He was pissed. At me?! I must not have hidden my surprise well, because after a few more tense seconds of the longest eye contact we’d ever held, he blinked away and flung the guitar he’d been cradling all night over the arm of the chair.

Look, he didn’t throw it or anything. The stand was right there and the guitar landed safely, if not a little roughly, in its place. But then he tossed the open bag of Lay’s to the table, swung his legs around and stood. He caught my eye again, his hair doing that flippy thing over his eyebrows as he shook his head.

“Whatever. Night, guys.”

Just like that, he was gone. Two down, one to go. GTFO Sam!!

The next hour or so passed in a blur. Sam kept hitting the joint long after Josh and I had turned it down, and by the time he’d deposited the roach in the ashtray he could barely keep his eyes open. I watched his head fall back into the cushion and pounced on my opportunity.

Leaning away from Josh’s loving embrace (shut up, I was in heaven okay?), I slapped Sam’s chest with the back of my hand.

“Sammy… Sam!” He snorted as his head whipped up, swiped a hand over his mouth and looked at me. I was still leaning toward him, my back to Josh, and I spoke to him telepathically. Or with my eyebrows.

Get out of here right now or so help me God.

He answered verbally, like he couldn't even read my mind. “Huh?”

I withheld growling at him like an animal. “Why don’t you go to bed, man? You’re toast.” Go. NOW.

His eyes tried to focus on me, they really did, before he shook his head and tried again. “Shit. Yeah, okay. Are you… do you wanna stay on the couch tonight?”

Yes. This couch. Allll night long.

“Yeah yeah, I will, but I’m not tired yet. I’m just gonna, um, chill here for a little bit longer?” At that, I turned my head and risked a glance at Josh. Thank God I did, because he was already looking at me, and he grinned. EEEEEEEP!

“I’m not tired yet either, we can listen to some music.” I doubted I could hear music at that point, not over the blood rushing in my ears. But then, oh then, he looked up at Sam and said, “I’ll make sure she makes it to bed, I mean, the couch. Downstairs, I’ll make sure she makes it downstairs.”

“Fine, whatever.” See? He’s my ride or die. “See you in the morning, T.” And then he was gone.

We were alone.

HELLO? WE. WERE. ALONE.

Sure, I’d been alone with Josh before. I’d been hanging around his house nearly every day for four years, we’d definitely been left in a room together at some point. But not while his arm was draped loosely over my shoulders, not while our legs were touching, not while my heart was about to beat out of my chest.

But now that we were alone, I had no effing clue what to do. Then Josh stood up. My heart dropped into my stomach, but he walked over to the stacked milk crates that housed a small part of their family’s record collection and crouched to skim through them. He found something he liked and set it on the turntable, the needle bringing the crackling beginnings of a song to life.

When he turned back to face me, I thought for sure he’d sit in that ugly wingback chair. Or at the other end of the couch. Instead, he circled the coffee table and sat on the opposite side of me than he had been all night. And now his other thigh was touching mine!

I’m pretty sure my throat closed up because I had to clear it rather unattractively to speak. “What, uhh, ha, um, who is this?”

Sexy, right?

Didn’t matter, his smile took shape right in front of my eyes and all I could see was the little barely-there gap between his front teeth. I wanted to know what it felt like on my tongue. Would I be able to tell? If I kissed him right now, would I be able to feel that little discrepancy in the perfection of his teeth? I lifted my eyes to meet his and realized he’d spoken, and I’d missed it.

“Sorry, uhh… what?”

His head tilted and his eyes searched my face for… something. “Wilson Pickett. Sammy hasn’t played this for you?”

Sammy? Who is Sammy? Ohhh right, best friend.

“Um, no, I don’t think so. But maybe? There’s always music on, he’s probably played this.”

He just nodded, at first in response to my rambling and then in time with the song. When it ended, he just… looked at me, for what felt like forever but was probably only a few seconds. I was once again hyper aware of my underarms. Sweating. So I slipped the flannel off of my shoulders, keeping my forearms in the sleeves but giving me some airflow to the pits. Josh’s eyes dropped from mine and landed on the now exposed skin. Yes! Guys like shoulders!

The realization slapped me in the face, so I grabbed it and ran. I slid my arms out of the sleeves and tossed the flannel past Josh and onto the chair, thanking God that I’d worn a tank top. He gulped. Like a full-blown gulp.

Omg I’m making him nervous!!

Confidence boosted, I shifted even closer to him, until our bodies were tucked tight against each other. I’d never been this close to him, aside from that one time we’d been crammed in the back seat of his mom’s car with Sam and Jake, their sister sitting pretty in the front seat. But then I had been a scrawny kid, only thirteen (and a half) and he had been a really weird fifteen year old, not yet having grown into his features. I hadn’t wanted any part of his stinky, sweaty, farty body near me and I’d squeezed myself so close to Sam I was practically in his lap.

But on this night? This Saturday after my sixteenth birthday, I was no longer a kid. And he was no longer weird. He was beautiful, and my face was really close to his face. I could feel it when he whispered, his breath actually touched my lips.

“Wha- what are you doing, T?”

He was looking at my lips, waiting for my answer. I licked them because I was freaking parched, but he watched. And I watched him gulp, again! My tongue slipped out and wet my bottom lip a second time.

“Josh?” Whispering is sexy, it’s seductive. I was sure of it. He did it back, just my name - my actual name - lilting at the end in question.

“Do you.. wanna… kiss me?” I leaned over him, placed my left hand on his chest and felt his collar bone under my fingertips through his t-shirt. Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

I saw the panic widen his eyes, then they darted around me, looking at anything but me. It was really so cute how nervous he was. He was eighteen, for Christ sake! And I was making him nervous!

“Kiss me, Josh.” His eyes snapped back to mine, slipped down to my mouth again and then back.

And then. He. Freaking. KISSED. ME.

In a split second that felt like hours, I watched his eyes close and perfect lips pucker. My eyes stayed open at first, I didn’t want to miss this.

Leaning further into him, I settled my lips against his and slid the hand on his chest up the side of his neck (his pulse was out of control, by the way), and then cradled his jaw. My fingertips were in his hair right behind his ear. I pulled his face closer and ramped up the pressure of our lips pushed together.

He put his hands on me. I swear to God, he really did! One reached for my hip and the other came up to rest against my cheek. My eyes fluttered closed and my body took over. Not a coherent thought left in my pretty little head. Especially when our mouths separated, and then he pushed them back together.

With a mind of its own, my other hand came up and gripped his shoulder. Then my leg swung over his lap and I. Was. Straddling. Him.

It wasn’t my fault. My brain had gone haywire, my body moving on instinct. I’d quite literally never done this before. I’d kissed plenty, I even kissed Sam once (barf), but this felt different. This felt mature. Probably a little more mature than I was ready for but like I said, it was not my fault.

A lot of blame fell on Josh, a whole mountain of it, when the hand on my cheek dropped to my other hip and gripped hard, pulled me flush against him. And his lips coerced my mouth open. And the tip of his tongue swept out and touched mine.

Oh, I was in way over my head. But this was Josh, the boy I loved, and he was loving me back!

A sound I’d never made before crept up my throat. Instant embarrassment heated my already toasty cheeks and climbed up my neck, but then. Ohh then. The same freaking sound came from somewhere below me. Josh groaned. Because of me.

My animal brain completely took over. My tongue was already sliding against his, and my hips decided to follow suit. With zero finesse, they rocked into his. Just once.

He broke the kiss and dropped his head back to the cushion.

No no noooooo, you like this! You love it!

I could feel the proof that he loved it. I was sitting on it. I could see it, his chest heaving.

So I leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his throat.

“Stop, T.” His hands fell limp and landed on my thighs. My brain scrambled to catch up. Stop? Go! His fingers spread across the denim on my legs. Go go go!

But then he pushed. I leaned back to see his face, find an explanation, but his eyes were still closed as he pushed me off of his lap. Helped me swing my leg back over. Kept his hands on my thighs until they were planted back on the couch and closed. Firmly. Then they left me, and I felt their absence like a knife to the heart.

“I… wow, okay.” It’s the best I could manage to formulate, but my brain was running in overdrive.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let that happen.” He rubbed his palms, the ones that were just holding me, over his knees then leaned forward and dropped his forehead into them.

Okay, maybe he just thinks we were moving too fast!

“Josh, it’s okay. I want this! We can just kiss, I’ll stay over here and you stay there and-“

It was so quiet, but it stopped my words on my tongue and slammed my lips shut.

“I can’t.”

Okay. Okay. Okay.

It’s because Sam’s my best friend.

It’s because I’m too young.

He thinks I’m still a kid.

Like his kid sister.

Fuck!

Anger rolled through me. “Why? Is it Sam?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face and turned to me. Looked at me, finally.

“No, I-“

“Am I too young for you? You’re not that much older, Josh and we’ve known eachother forever, it’s not that big of a de-“

“It’s not that, Tiny.” His eyes closed again.

“Don’t call me that!” He’d offended me, I was o-ffen-ded. “I’m not a little fucking kid!” Okay, I was pissed! I was a grown ass woman!

(I wasn’t.)

Both of his hands reached forward and he pulled mine towards him. Held them there. Opened his eyes. Was he gonna cry? Why are his eyes wet?! Shit, am I crying?

“It’s not you, T. It’s me.” Oh please. “I- well, I um, I like someone else.”

Back to angry! “What?! Then why the hell were you kissing me?!” What a scoundrel, what a snake, what an asshole!

“It’s not like that-“

“What the fuck is it like?!” I didn’t normally curse much at that age, but when I tell you I was mad? Hurt? Embarrassed? I couldn’t stop it from happening.

Shit, his eyes were definitely wet.

“It’s a guy.”

He whispered it, and it wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t seductive. It was sad. Scared. Defeated. I snatched my hands out of his.

There was a long silence. Uncomfortable. He stared at his empty hands and we processed.

“What did you say?” His posture shrank, like he was trying to disappear. “Josh, it’s okay. Talk to me.” It was my turn to take his hands. I held them in mine and squeezed once.

“I’m so sorry, I- I just don’t like you. Like that.” His eyes found their way back to my face, “I really like him.” They went wide and I’m pretty sure mine did too. He seemed shocked that he’d said it out loud, right before panic spread across his features again.

“Please don’t say anything, T. I haven’t- no one knows that. No one. Please.”

“No, I would never Josh, I swear. I just… why were you, ya know, kissing me?” Touching me, pulling me in. He pulled his hands away from me this time.

“I just wanted to feel normal. I wanted them to think I was normal.”

I couldn’t help it. I threw my arms around him and held on tight.

“You are.” Normal and beautiful and perfect. And not mine. A heavy sigh slipped from between my lips. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

He stayed silent, so I did too. I kept my arms around him for a few minutes before finally letting them slip free, rubbing a palm between his shoulder blades.

“I guess I should go… Are you okay?” Look, I was not okay, but it didn’t seem like that was important anymore.

“Aren’t you gonna stay downstairs tonight?”

Definitely not. “No, I think I should go home…” Probably won’t show my face over here for a goooood long time.

“Let me walk with you.”

I did. He walked on the other side of my bike while I walked it by the handlebars. When we reached my driveway, I left the bike propped against the side of the garage and turned to him. And just like in my dreams, he moved close and pecked a kiss into my cheek. Then he pulled me into his arms.

“I’m really sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, ya know?” His voice was soft and low, his breath tickling my ear. It should’ve been a literal dream come true.

A half step back and I rubbed my hands up and down his arms. “It’s really fine. I’m sorry for…” Humiliating us both? “Everything.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I mean it,” he emphasized when I shook my head. “Just… please don’t say anything. Even to Sam. Especially to Sam. I’m gonna tell them all when I’m ready, I think.”

Huge, massive sigh. “I won’t. I promise.”

And I never did. Not really.

[ruinedmefic]

Chapter 2 - I Know It's Over

Chapter summary: Clementine's social battery plummets Masterlist ✦ Ao3 Read this fic on Ao3 (up to chapter 5) I Know It's Over - The Smiths

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Read the Prologue first Or catch up on Chapter 1

January 9th 2024 | 10:43am

Clementine winced as the heel of her foot was pressed into her ass, her thigh stinging on the edge of painfully. “That's why I do yoga,” Lucky spouted from the masseuse table to her right, hearing Clementine’s hiss.

“Oh, you’d love my Pilates class,” Gabi said from the left, “I’m telling you, that’s why I snapped back so quick after having Luca.”

“Yeah, that was pretty insane actually,” Lucky said, “where’s the class?”

Clementine let their chatter drift around her, too distracted by the hand trying to worm its way beneath her shoulder blade. She bit her lip, her face scrunching up. These deep tissue massages were always Lucky’s idea, and sure, she felt great an hour or so after the ordeal, but during? It was good that she hadn’t inherited her mother’s easy bruising.

Taking a long swig from her drink bottle afterwards, she grumbled as they ambled toward her hummer in the lot outside, “I feel pulverised.”

Gabi laughed, offering a gentle pat to her arm, “you say that every time.” She zipped up her jacket, a soft, puffy thing that Clementine eyed with envy, she had layered up with a thermal hoodie under a regular hoodie, unable to find her jacket before Lucky was dragging her out of the house.

They climbed into the car, Gabi and Lucky had belted themselves in the backseat before Clementine had the chance to slot in between them, leaving her to sit beside Silent-Simon. “Right,” Gabi started, pulling out her phone, “I’ve got a meeting with Olivia and Kalahni at Tom’s place—Clem, Kalahni wants to talk with you. Lucky, you’ve got fittings with Klaus at his studio at twelve—take Linc with you please.”

“I’ll drop you off then, Lucky?” Simon asked with a glance at the rearview mirror. Clementine couldn’t help but glare at him, he used such a polite tone with everyone else—well, polite, monotone, same diff with him—but with her? Whatever partial sentence he gave her sounded like a fucking quip. The skin around his eyes would crease slightly, silver-blonde lashes catching the sun as he narrowed his eyes tauntingly. It was maddening. She hated it.

Lucky, unaware of the mental daggers Clementine was digging into the man’s side, just replied with an easy, “at home please, thank you.”

Simon didn’t so much as look at Clementine as they got onto the road.

“Are you gonna listen to me, or are you about to test my patience?”

For the past three days, it’d been like this. She knew it’d be simpler to just comply, but he had irked her like nonother ever had. If he couldn’t treat and respect her like the grown adult she is, then she wouldn’t offer him any sympathies. Simple as that.

— ✦ —

“For the sake of balance, I’m going to ask a little extra of you Clem,” Kalahni Carter had her locs pulled up into a bun, her glasses near sparkling as they perched on the bridge of her nose. “A lot of footage of you that we get, unless it’s on stage or with the rest of the band or your team, will need to be edited per your security details request to have their faces blurred wherever the shot is necessary to keep in. And in doing so, I would wager a lot of the material we get will just look poor or unusable.”

Clementine crossed her arms over her chest, “what do you mean? You want a shit ton of confessionals from me then, like some skit?” She hated when people watched her the way Olivia and Gabriella were doing now. Silent, watching the interaction, taking notes. She felt like an experiment, bugs crawling beneath her skin.

Tom was leaning against the kitchen counter, cradling a mug of tea. She was sure he was listening, but his attention was taught between his fraying notebook, computer, and phone.

Kalahni’s expression broke with a smile, “no, we’re not turning this into a comedy. I want what you want and agreed to—we’re keeping this real and personal. I was thinking we’d add in a little more of you into the voice overs with some nightly logs—”

“You want me to keep a diary?” she cut in, reaching up to twist her earring around her lobe. It made D’Angelo squirm whenever she did that, but it wasn’t something she noticed all that often.

“Pretty much. I won’t ask you to do it every day—I mean, a third of the tour is just going to be travelling— but I’m sure there’ll be a couple times where I’ll ask you to record one. However, if you could treat it like keeping a diary and make a habit out of it, that would be great.

“I was also thinking—and this is entirely up to you,” she started, waving her hand about as if she were instantly dismissing the idea, “I want to get you a camcorder to use at your own whim. If you ever wanted to record a picture to go with your diary, or there was something you wanted to contribute that we weren’t there for or really, just anything you wanted. You don’t ever have to use it, and even if you do, you don’t have to give the material to us to use. It would be yours to keep.”

She reached behind her, into her bag, nearly leaning off her stool, before pulling out a box with the Panasonic logo on the side, an image of a generic-looking camcorder promising lasting family memories, and adventure capturing from your point of view!

Clementine took the box, shrugging, “thanks.”

There was a moment of silence the Kalahni broke, giving Clementine a look, “I know I’ve said it before to all of you, but if there’s ever a day where it’s just too much, where you don’t want to be recorded, just let me or Seb know somehow, and we’ll pass the message onto our crew. This tour will be very demanding of everyone involved so I want you to know that I don’t intend to add more pressure on top of that on purpose. I think this will be a great opportunity to make something honest and passionate, you know?” she said, that warm smile on her face again. Clementine was yet to see her without it showing up at least once.

She nodded, an ounce of pressure loosening inside her chest. “Thank you.”

Tom spoke up then, drawing Kalahni’s attention to some date changes that he wanted clarified with the crew, making sure everyone was moving on the same days. And Clementine was more than happy to take her leave.

Olivia caught her by the door, “Clementine, I just wanted to properly introduce myself. Things felt a little awkward the other night, my nerves were getting the better of me,” she huffed a laugh, tucking a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear. She extended her left hand to the singer, “I’m Olivia Weaving, it’s very nice to meet you Clementine, I’ve been a fan of your work since your demo tapes and I’m excited to get to know you better in the coming months.”

The emerald sitting on her ring finger caught the overhead light in the foyer as Clementine shook her hand. “Oh, yeah, you’re recently married,” she murmured, looking back up at the woman, “will your partner be joining you? I haven’t seen—”

She shook her head, her cheeks turning rosier the longer the conversation went on, “no, he’s staying back for work. It’s okay, facetime is a great invention,” she smiled. “We’re long distance half the year any way, it’s okay.”

“It’s still a big sacrifice for a tour,” Clementine said, attempting to bury her hands in her pockets before realising she had the camcorder in one.

“He gets it, I’ve been talking his ear off about Eye For An Eye ever since you guys came onto the scene. I mean, I was a little reluctant to leave him so quickly after our honeymoon, but he said I’d be silly if I didn’t take the opportunity. Said it was my chance to travel for work.” A dimple popped in her cheek when she spoke about him.

Clementine took the bait with ease, shifting her weight onto her other foot, “what does he do? International journalist or something?”

“Oh no!” she laughed, “he’s in sports. The NHL actually—Seattle Kraken as of last year.” There was no hiding the way Clementine’s eyebrows rose. “I know, I even got some articles written about me for a change, super weird. But yeah, I promise it’s not so bad to go travel the world chasing you lot around.”

— ✦ —

Simon eyed the box in Clementine’s hand the moment she sat in the passenger seat, “takin’ up videography?”

“It’s a gift from Kalahni; she said I could use it for the documentary or just keep it for myself.”

His expression didn’t sway, if anything his brows pinched closer together, “I’m gonna check that out before you use it.”

She scoffed, finally looking at him, “oh, Las Almas is going to shoot me down from inside a camcorder? Simon, I hope you know the little people on the screen are just videos, they can’t hurt you.”

The look he gave her was somewhere in scathing territory, “why don’t you take this threat seriously?”

“It’s been almost two years since Mark was arrested and in all that time I haven’t seen or heard a thing from anyone even remotely connected. I’m not on their radar Simon; you can take a fucking breather—hey!” he took the box out of her hands. “Seriously? This is ridiculous.”

“Can you get the box out of the glove compartment?” he asked, flipping the camera over in his hands, brows furrowing at the screws.

Sighing, she opened the compartment in front of her, raising a brow at the two first aid kits and the mini toolbox. “Preparing for the apocalypse?”

“Toolbox,” was all he grunted in response. She handed it over and he flipped it open, lifting the bottom level of wrenches to flit through tiny screwheads that she’d seen her dad use on his glasses once or twice.

If he had a table in front of him, Clementine would’ve bet that the camera would be in pieces in front of him. He dismantled the camera in less than a minute, loose screws on the flat top of the centre console and stray parts in his lap or the dash. She watched him lift the skeleton of the camcorder into the light, peering between its bones like a bear checking it’d stripped a carcass of all its meat, before he began putting it back together seamlessly. It happened so quick she was surprised to see the loading sequence on the small screen, not realising that it’d been repaired again.

Simon’s voice broke her staring, startling. Her back into her body. “If anyone ever gives you anything like this; cameras, phones, computers, even gifs from your fans—I want to check them out before you use any of it.” She opened her mouth, but he raised a hand, “non-negotiable.”

“Non-negotiable?” she echoed, blinking, dumbfounded. “What is up for negotiation then?”

It was meant to be rhetorical.

“Not much, it’d be better if you just asked before doing anything.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right? What—I can’t take a shit without your permission now?”

He rolled his eyes, “nothing that trivial, any hotel room you stay in will be cleared by my team before you step foot in the room. You can take as many shits as you like in peace.”

“Oh, thank the fucking heavens,” she muttered, her own eyes perusing the ceiling of the car for any semblance of patience. Unfortunately, there was very little there.

“Look, if you think this is ridiculous, you’ll be shocked when we get out of Northern America. The UK will be more of the same—they’re more aware of the threat Las Almas is currently posing,” he said, shrugging, “but the rest of the world…I’m not promising a carefree escort service Clementine. I need you to take this seriously before we get out there.”

She levelled her stare with his, that knot of unease that had seized her the other night returning to roil in her gut. “Fine. Las Almas is out to kill me. What now?”

“Now you meet the rest of your security detail.”

— ✦ —

Not that she’d done any exploring in recent years, but Clementine was entirely unfamiliar with this part of L.A. Through Canyon Crest Road, a little slice of Altadena was tucked away. But they didn’t stop once they saw houses again, they kept going, and going, and going until Clementine felt a chill down her nape that wasn’t from the AC. “Where are we going?”

He spared her a glance out of the corner of his eye and the look on her face must have been a sight to behold because he actually laughed. “Fuckin’ hell, I’m not gonna kill you. I’m taking you to meet the rest of your security detail. I told you that already.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” she said, peering out the window and seeing only wet patches on the dirt and gravel road. What little greenery was left out here had a grey tinge, as if it was reflecting the sky. “And I’m not naturally inclined to believe everything you say— in case that hasn’t already been established.”

When they finally came to a stop, rain had started its gentle decent from the sky, landing in a soft pit pat on the windshield. They house they were currently pulling into the garage of didn’t exactly scream Protecta HQ, but again, Clementine braced regardless. “The fuck are you doin’?”

Opening her eyes, she looked at Simon. “Bracing.”

“For what?” he eyed her tightly clenched fists, the car jolting at the abrupt stop in the garage, the engine turning off at the flick of his wrist. “To break your thumb? Over your fingers, not under. You’ll injure no one but yourself like that.”

Feeling her ears burn hot she unclenched her hands. “whatever. Are you gonna show me your bunk bed or what?”

“What?”

“This is your clubhouse, isn’t it?”

He stared at her in a way that was becoming all too familiar, it made her feel strikingly stupid. Yet another thing he did that she hated. “It’s a temporary base of operations.”

“Okay special agent,” she scoffed, reaching for the door, “any booby traps in here or can I stretch my legs?”

His response came only in the form of him getting out of the car, appearing unharmed when he stood, looking back at her through the window. She got out, her hand itching to hold the camcorder if only for something to cling to. Perhaps she could use it as evidence of her kidnapping— “are you gonna join me or what?”

She made her way to his side, shoving her hands deep into her hoodie pockets. Following his lead, she shucked off her sneakers by the door and followed him inside into a…laundry room. She really ought to calm down.

“Where the fuck did ye put my pants Gaz? Fuckin’ bampot,” someone was grumbling, trudging through the corridor beyond the laundry in only a pair of boxers and a long sleeve navy henley. “Ach—Christ, Ghost, I’m puttin’ a fuckin’ bell on ye, I swear to—oh hello.”

“Put your eyes back in your bloody head Johnny,” Simon grunted, palming the man’s forehead and steering him in the opposite direction of Clementine, “and get some pants on. We’re not repeatin’ Amsterdam.” Johnny (allegedly) barked a laugh at the comment and retreated.

Clementine raised a brow behind Simon, murmuring, “what happened in Amsterdam?”

The man shook his head, “need to know.”

“Need to fucking know,” she grumbled as she followed behind him. She was reluctant to enter the house but not reluctant enough to linger behind and lose sight of him.

It was a very…normal house. Just lacking pictures. Well, pictures of people. There were more than enough landscape and nature photos. Nondescript blue skies and lone palm trees or aggressive postcard-esque imagery that looked like a stock image shoved into a frame galore. The more she looked around and found only similar photos, the more she figured that they actually werestock images stripped of their watermarks.

“Clementine Watson,” a grumble sounded to her right, making her jump, “started to wonder if I’d ever see more than just the name.”

The man before her had one hell of a moustache and beard. Clementine glanced at Simon who looked entirely indifferent, and she fetched her voice from where it’d been hiding behind a rock. “It’s nice to meet you.”

His smile immediately set her at ease, crow’s feet etched into the corner of his eyes that nearly squeezed shut, “don’t tell me Ghost has you scared stiff. Sent the wrong lad out to fetch you, huh?”

She frowned, looking at him and then Simon beside her, “Ghost?”

“Never heard a callsign before?” he grunted in answer, as polite as he’d ever get apparently.

“Ignore him,” the moustache said, the words appearing from behind a near-invisible mouth. “I’m John Price, you can just call me Price though,” he said, offering a wink. He turned, leaving her no choice but to follow him into the kitchen unless she stay stuck by Simon who seemed unwilling to move any further into the house. Boundary reached then, she noted. “Simon’s the head of your security detail, but everything else, comes back to me—”

“Price,” Simon grunted from behind her, “that’ll do.”

John looked at him over his shoulder and, in a flash, a decision was reached, “right. In your case, then,” he started again, that easy smile returning as he sunk into a single seater couch in the living room, “I’m just another Simon.” She must’ve pulled a face, he laughed, “one’s more than enough for you huh?”

She didn’t dare look at the Manc beside her, dipping her head. “Just not used to Simon yet.”

“That’s alright Miss Watson; I’d wager the rest of us are a touch more palatable.”

“Fuck off,” Simon grumbled, fetching himself a glass of water behind her.

She’d almost forgotten that that was something he’d need to do. Something he’d have to take off that damned mask to do. But the moment she turned, intrigue permeating the air, he turned away from her, shielding his face from sight.

The man from before entered through the living room doorway, now with pants (thankfully), he offered her a grin, quite unlike the warm smile Price had given. “If she looks like tha’, how bonnie d’ye reckon her ma’d be?” he asked Price, leaning across the couch.

Price slugged him across the shoulder, “take a cold shower you little prick.”

“Come off it, Johnny,” Simon sighed, (mask back in place, Clementine confirmed with a quick glance over her shoulder). She felt a little like she had in her meeting earlier, surrounded, examined. “You ought to play nice or I’m gettin’ you swapped for Hendrix.”

The Scotsman grumbled a curse, rolling his eyes, “call me Soap, lass.”

“Soap?” she echoed, frowning.

“Aye,” he cocked a brow in challenge, “ye got someone in yer band called Lucky, dinnae see ye laughin’ at her and she’s no’ the one watchin’ yer arse—”

“Well, her name isn’t a cleansing product—”

“But if she is watchin’ yer arse, I’ll happily take the night shift—”

“Johnny—”

“Simon, I want to leave, and I want someone else in this little squad of yours—anyone else.”

The jangle of keys was immediate, as was the scolding of one John to the other.

“That was short-lived,” a new voice said, emerging from the hallway she and Simon were just about to return to. “I’m Gaz, nice to meet you.”

The smile she gave him was taught as a rubber band, “you too.” She wanted to go home. She was still sore from her massage, analysed and ogled enough for a lifetime, and all she wanted was her bed. “No need to give you my name, I imagine,” she had aimed for a joke but couldn’t so much as muster a laugh.

His came easily, warming his face, “don’t think so, no. Soap say somethin’ crass?” he asked, his eyes raking over her face.

She turned away. Maybe this was why Simon had a mask, perhaps it stopped the feeling of the stares from singing his skin.“I’ve got somewhere to be. It was nice to meet you Gaz,” she repeated, her hands turning clammy as she wrung them in her pocket.

Heeding the tip of Simon’s head, Gaz moved aside, and she followed the broad man down the hallway, far too relieved to see the car again.

“Back to Lucky’s?” He asked, she nodded. To his credit, he didn’t say anything as she curled up in the passenger seat, drawing her hood up over her head, her tears burning tracks down her cheeks and fogging the window as she leaned her head against it.

— ✦ —

“Clementine,” a deep voice plucked her from the land of the unreachable, grounding her with a hand likely shaking her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Simon said, retracting his hand as she sat up, “we’re here.”

She looked out the windshield, blinking at the familiar house. She must’ve fallen asleep. “Oh,” she murmured, unbuckling her seat belt and opening the door. “Thank you.” She felt disjointed, sniffling, clearing her throat.

“Miss Watson?” His voice returned, a reminder in his tone.

Clementine turned back, her feet on the driveway, and saw the box oof the camcorder in one of his hands and a take-away cup and bag in the other. “Oh,” she said again, taking the box. “What’s that?” she asked, nodding at the take-away.

“You should eat something, I don’t think you’ve had lunch yet, it’s just past three now. It’s just chai and a bagel,” he said, holding the items out for her to take.

It was her usual from the bakery near the studio where they’d had rehearsal from the past three days.

“I’ll eat them if you don’t want it—” she took the food, her stomach suddenly clenching as it remembered itself.

“Thank you.” She lingered a moment, “could you—could you not mention—”

He held up a hand, “you have my word. Sorry about Johnny, he’ll acclimate within a day or two, acts like a fuckin’ twat but he’s solid.”

She just nodded. Lingering again. She didn’t know what to do—didn’t know if she even wanted to be in the house, the lights were on, and she could hear a gameshow playing.

Simon didn’t miss a thing, “want some more to eat?” She could hear his words for what they were, want to drive around a little longer?

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” she said, shaking her head and closing her door, making the short trek to the front door. Hopefully she could duck away and read for a while or just sleep some more. She didn’t look back as the car started behind her again.

He’d be back by nightfall; she knew that much.

[milfbrainrot]

severed ants spoilers

well that was fucking crazy

i still don't get why they would kill gemma once it's all completed. i think helly asked what happens when they remove the chip? which i guess is in reference to what they would do to gemma to then take the chip out and study/replicate it? but i feel like i missed someone actually stating and explaining that for iMark to understand that. i also don't really get... why 25 innies? to always have someone on standby for a new trauma? like 4 Tempers makes sense for 4 but why 25?

there also was a trailer scene that i thought had milchick maybe helping mark? so i'm not sure what happened there bc that wasn't included. maybe i made that up.

sound design as always had my heart in my throat 👍 the band was a horribly fitting way to carry it out too.

i hope devon and cobel are fucking nasty rn. and that reghabi is somehow there too. i don't feel great about her yeeting.

i also am... not of the camp that thinks devon has been lumon this whole time, but that painting that featured her and ricken was interesting. i'm guessing it was because of his book and the influence she had since iMark did meet her? hmm.

AN DI'M SO. GLAD. ABOUT THE GOAT. EVER SINCE THAT TEASER WITH IT I WAS SO SCARED. I WASTED LIKE 10 MINUTES WITH MY HAND OVER THE SCREEN WAITING FOR THE WORST. SEEING THE HANDLER LADY GO CRAZY WAS EVERYTHING. REST IN PISS DRUMMOND.

speaking of i wonder who gets charged for murder, iMark or oMark sdfjhklskldjf. well. probably no one because i doubt lumon can go public with literally anything without something to show for it, and the Experiment got contaminated. but lol.

who was controlling the kier wax doll thing. i feel like any time we've heard the name "seth" over the past few episodes it's just been dripping with venom lmfao. nothing will ever beat irv's but that was uh. creepy.

i appreciate that we actually got an answer for cold harbor because i would be going fucking crazy theorizing over the next couple years without something more concrete to work off of. and that would also mean unfortunately looking at fandom theories more than would be healthy for me given how fucking stupid the fandom is 90% of the time.

so i guess what's next is a proper innie uprising? i worry for gemma. i imagine she's going to figure out where to go next. devon and cobel are probably waiting with a getaway car or something ajl;sdlfkj. it would feel anticlimactic if she didn't manage to leave the building and work from the outside to switch roles. i REALLYYYY do need her and devon and cobel working together now.

anything further does kinda get fucked up bc of how much control the team has over the chips with diff contingencies and such. like... with gemma and cobel and reghabi and irv and whoever irv had been calling on the phone and devon and anyone else working against them from the outside, that's something! they can't control everyone.

they still could control gemma though which is... not great! clearly the chips' range is at least extended within the town given the otc and ortbo. and all the innies have to stay on the severed floor to operate any further.

it is also promising that jame sees... kier... in helly... i don't have the braincells to unpack all that but it gives her as her innie some sort of leverage. i hope this doesn't mean she'll be kinda dissected next the way gemma had been? but i think that's key to the change on the horizon. jame is pissed the experiment got fucked up but he also... wasn't pissed about her speech. he was intrigued by her efforts that go directly against him. so i think whatever they have stacks the cards in the innies' favors in some way.

oMark made it seem like reintegration has steps that he hasn't actually finished but if it is a natural process that can't be stopped, that... maybe renders the chip less controllable for him.

idk just cool to see them hashtag unionizing but wow! fear! but again i'm also glad we can kinda guess where the next steps of the plot are so the Theorizing is more on what's next rather than what lumon's fucking deal is.

i am unwell!

[gerardpilled]

Frerard is crazy because sometimes I don’t think Frank or Gerard are even friends beyond the band thing- like Gerard’s closer to Ray than he is to Frank. I get were Frerardies come from but thinking it’s real or it happened is just absolutely crazy. I don’t think they would have ever become “friends” if there was no band. Besides all this they’re just so straight. Both of them. Especially Frank. Gerard may not be typical straight guy but he’s just as average as the next guy when he talks abt women saying shit like “I like real people” then mentioning big tits as if that’s normal- Honestly I don’t think some of the Frerardies are fans even. Having fun is diff than “Franks always looking at Gerard 🥹” atp some of them are blind

Tbh at this point in my life I’m uninterested in making any serious assumptions about any aspect of their lives!! I just don’t see how it matters in the slightest especially when it’s usually not in the context of “what gender/sexuality does Gerard identify as I don’t want to be disrespectful” it’s usually unrelated to anything. I’m all for relaying the language used by the people themselves (i.e. Frank calling himself straight and Gerard using he/they) but anything else, idk imma keep that exclusive to the DMs when just joking around x

[bugdogg]

1 7 10 24 (For Mizuki and Blanch :3)

YEAHHH i get to think about them againnnn ^.^

1. are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

Mizuki is associated w indigo or purplish-blues and Blanch is associated w dark maroons or brownish reds. Mizuki likes blues and purples but sometimes just sticks w black when they can't handle making a fit, Blanch wears mostly red but only sticks to dark colors, she hates flashy shit or coming off that she wants attention (idk how to explain it cause im thinking "doesn't she and kara dress alike" NO THEY DONTTT but its funny to think about)

7. favorite animal? why?

Mizuki loves all animals a whole lot, mammals and bugs especially (i explain it better here). Blanch loves badgers and boars, she likes bears too but believes they're overated a bit. to summarize: she loves the animals w brute strength and claws, (also she likes dogs but isn't as crazy as Zuki is about em)

10. if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

Mizuki wears small ear rings but sometimes would wear silly, fun ones but i actually forgot about those kinds so for now they're just small ones😭. Blanch has 2 helix piercings (idk if you can do that but don't think about it too hard) a earlobe piecing on both ears, she also has piercings we can't see but idk if i'll ever get to drawing them (again) but yeahhh.

Zuki likes silver or rose-gold jewelry and Blanch sticks to titanium for everything, both don't care for what's "expensive" they just wear for aesthetic reasons.

Both of them know nothing about gems but Zuki likes any rainbow-y gems like opal and Blanch sorta just sticks w rubys because they're red.

24. do they have any creative hobbies? (art, writing, music, etc)

Mizuki draws and doodles thingss when they're bored, they occasionally play games while home but they're not very serious about most their hobbies (sometimes they get intense about art stuff when they go to galleries and stuff but their words get really garbled when they get excited so it gets confusing to everyone else). i've also thought of times when Zuki would experiment a bit w art and sometimes try diff medias, things wouldn't stick though but it's somewhat of a hobby, trying to find new hobbies

Blanch is in a band (which i never talk about btw "grins") but she isn't really a song writer or at least doesn't consider it like a hobby, sometimes she'll play guitar on her own and vibe but she's very busy, doesn't have much time for hobbies. She is sorta artsy though, and sometimes, after she got friendly w Zuki again, would try the things Zuki would be experimenting with. I think she'd enjoy doing collages a lot, she gets magazines often from her bandmates or would get some her band was featured in so she's got a bunch of material for it.

[januaryone2am]

Process update. BUILD ON PRINTED.

the main thing i took away from my convo with claude yesterday was that i cannot try to change the elements from what they are. and instead i should use them in the ways that they want to be used. in general this seems like a great quest for me.

So at some point, and perhaps this is throughout this week, i should journal about the pieces of the process that are most important to me and delve as deep as possible into the small elements underlying them. i think that this work could lead to a lot of breakthroughs down the road. and even just an enhanced love of the work today. 

So tonight i think it would be worthwhile to think about which parts of my process are the most valuable. And then starting tomorrow i will start my journalling on them. and maybe tonight i can talk to claude about what i am missing thru this process and/or what the best questions to ask would be. 

Cool. the first thing i could really deep dive on is water. Kinda my first love here and one that i haven’t done a ton with recently. the skeleton guy was water. but i’d love to look more into it.

A deep dive on different kinds of papers could be cool, but also that path feels extremely well-trodden and so in that case all of my work would be done only to chase after people (chase shewbridge) who have made that their grind. Would be cool if my grind here was more optimized.

Soap study would be awesome. what are all its different forms, how can it affect things it different ways / how can it be applied.

Glue study. 

Altered photography study. What does it mean to look at something through an altered lens? what are the small nuances in what it does to the picture? is there anything here that i could pick up and take with me as i grow. i have mostly left these ones behind thus far.

kinds of plastics (are there other forms of coated?)

alternate printers? what would getting something else look like? and/or what does a printer do in general? the more i know about it the more i can quirk it.

same thing with the scanner tbh. the more i know the more i can quirk. what is in a scanner? what are the components? how can it be altered?

methods of paper alteration. crimp. rip. wet and tear. burn. 

scan on water. 

study of transfers. things similar to my process but diff. butcher paper? etc. what are other options just outside my framework here that i have avoided for whatever reason. 

what are randomness generators that i can rely on consistently? what’s something like a printed process where i can do it to a slightly different outcome everytime. 

random elements study (fuzzy red straw guys. colorful rubber bands etc)

where does macro photo fit into this. can it and scanner photography exist in harmony? two wolves?

MIQ: What happens at the boundaries where different materials and processes meet, and how can I better understand these interactions? How do these differ from the inherent qualities of the pieces / how are they similar?

[passthepittcola]

reading hitchhikers guide recently and thinkings about what if it was a gravity falls au.......

also implied/mentions of stancest and stanbel but thats not the main focus here lol.

like portal ford stranded on a diff. dimensions' earth for a while and he finds + befriends this younger brother bc He Misses Stanley right. and hides the 6 fingers from stan somehow.

and then it turns out somebodys gonna destroy that earth to make space roads or whatever, so obviously ford takes stan with him and finally reveals who he ACTUALLY is

and stans just like "so your full name WAS stanford and i was just projecting.... I KNEW IT" (he did not, he's just sad. maybe his own ford died to something as a younger kid, so stan had a more normal life?).

so theyre on a vogon ship or smth and get kicked off of it, then picked up by somebody else, two people that both ford and stan know, somehow?

OH. portal!fiddleford as zaphod and an adult portal!mabel as trillian? mabel flirted with earth-stan at a party before portal!fiddleford took her back to the ship lmao.

and ford + portal!fiddleford arent related/not the same dimension, but theyve met before and lowkey have some beef. ford and portal!mabel have never met. earth-stan mostly doesnt care other than the "another version of himself is weird and kooky as fuck" thing and the "why is this young lady my niece??? whyd she flirt with me???" thing LMAO.

as for marvin the robot i dont think he really needs to change for plot, but for fun angst reasons i mighr make him a tate-bot fiddleford made? once taterbot realized why he looked how he did, he got kinda depressed about being a replacement son :(.

and i assume fiddleford has gotten rid of the mem. gun by now, but it's been a little longer for him and with all the dimensional stuff i assume it's done crazy stuff to his brain! IDK what exactly his reasoning would be to steal the ship and go to magrathea, so maybe some of that will change.

but ultimately some creature (maybe bill!) will want earth-stan's brain, and if bill it'd be to get into other dimensions' earths! so maybe earth-stan has connections with the all-powerful axolotl somehow? like same coin theory/au, but with stan and the axolotl instead.

so all four gotta band up and fight against bill! but even after they manage to defeat him (mostly with stan's connections to the axolotl), there's the big question: are they going to go home now?

fiddleford and mabel are from the same dimension. they're both older than their canon versions maybe? but ford and stan don't/can't go back to their original dimensions/planets (we know why, for stan, but unsure about ford at this time. maybe something bill related? or smth else entirely. not sure!). so end of has them going to fiddleford and mabel's dimension! mabel + dipper reunite, and the portal!stan twins get to interact with their older counterparts! yippie!!!

[whisperhushh]

""".......NOW it seems because he just isn't ready for that kind of heat yet. The way they promote her, invite her to perform all the time, it is so excessive. This type of promotion usually comes from a man in love. This is beyond PR to me, quite honestly. Like he is risking it all right now. And if he was with her, of course he would love her music and support her! But I have never seen a band promote anyone else more than her and don't tell me "same management, same label" guys… .....""""

Yeah, I totally get what you mean. This feels too much just for it to be only PR. And like you said--- their crew is also defending them and shitting on the fan base. They might not be dating, but you could say Noah is definitely, "pussy-whipped," by Poppy.

Lets say thats true, IF he is that whipped and "in love" shouldn't he behave diff when performing with her ? She even looked annoyed at him in Mayhem. IF he is THAT much in love to the point or RIDE or DIE he wouldn't be able to hide with his eyes and actions on stage too. And that's not the case. Remember, before they didn't really wanted to collab with anyone at all - they said they would be really selective - years later they made a whole album of collabs to also be a OST of the comic that was Sumerian Idea. Okay. And all this PR thing started.... I think is the label putting them + they are friends since they are defending her. What is already ick alone. Now, Lets say that they are really "dating/f*king" whatever, and he is really "whipped", he that was "pridefull" for being profissional/taking the band serious, now acting like that just to get his dick wet..... He needs to be really stupid.

.

[zaruba-needslove]

Saw a post on Geats saying that Ace barely changed after losing his DGP memories while Keiwa's personality just changed while Mich (if i recall their wording right) was a bit more calmer and Neon, just be more timid... yet I wonder if OP kinda forgot that when a DGP player was retired from a game or lost the game as a finalist, they don't just forget all of their DGP memories -- they forget and lost the will to wish/want the 'desire/wish' that they wrote on their respective Desire cards for that specific DGP tourney.

Just like how Amemiya Hiroki forget his desire to still pursue the dream to make WeatherHearts a successful indie band, or Sumida Kanato forgetting about wanting the world be destroyed, and so on...

So that explained why Ace's personality barely changed since aside from losing his DGP memories which should encompass all of his past lives memories of the DGP... Ace only had his desire to 'become part of the DGP staff' removed from him. And while that wish was made as a roundabout way for Ace to find info about Mitsume, that wish was not tied to Ace's wish to find mum. That's why Ace's personality barely changed. It'll be a diff story had Ace actually able to write in his wish to be able to see/find mum. 😃

So why Keiwa's losing his DGP memories changed/messed him so much? That's cos that wasn't the only thing that Keiwa lost. Keiwa's World Peace wish that he wrote down without thinking, was tied to his wish to make Sara happy and not let her cry again. Keiwa's world peace wish was tied to him having such positive and hopeful attitude as well as his kindness and empathy. Not to mention his love for tanuki soba since the memories that makes him love tanuki soba should be tied to memories relating to the Sakurai fam -> had smth to do with Sara's happiness -> connected to him wishing for 'world peace'.

So what happens when Keiwa's desire for world peace, his wish to make his sister happy etc removed from Keiwa's psych? He no longer felt any attachment to tanuki soba that was his fav food, he lost his selfless and kind personality to be charitable so he gain a habit to keep buying lotteries and he lost the drive to keep going to job interviews no matter how many times he failed cos he find it pointless to keep trying. All that remain was his cynical mind so is it a wonder why his personality changed?

[That said, imagine what kind of Keiwa we'd get if: Keiwa lost the desire/forgot the wish to revive all of the defeated players/victims of the DGP. Cos this was what I been thinking during the last Geats meta on how Ace would let Keiwa win the fox hunt since he didn't want Keiwa losing the desire to want that wish.]

A Michinaga who lost the desire to 'crush all Kamen Riders' would've definitely be more 'calmer' or stable/normal since that Mich would no longer bear misplaced hatred on random DGP players because of a grudge that he no longer remembered. The guy who no longer remembered why he hated Ace with a vengeance wouldn't have thought much about seeing a young celebrity up close but still would be so giddy when said celebrity offered to give them an autograph without any extra charge. Wouldn't YOU be excited if you could meet and get autograph and take pics with yo fav toku casts without needing to pay anything?

That Mich who no longer remember why he wanted to crush the 'people' that had a hand in Tooru's death, would have just be satisfied with going to work at the construction site, and since whatever happened with Mich's dad had nothing to do with why Mich lived by himself... we don't see much else that would've turned Mich into a diff person.

A Neon who lost the desire to find her 'Prince Charming' who could be a key to her venturing out from her very sheltered chaebol life and find her true happiness, would've end up just be satisfied with sticking to her sheltered life since she lost her reason/motivation to keep running away from home and document her adventure to find her true love!

While I can't say that losing her original wish really made her be 'timid', this Neon wouldn't have minded continuing her life of being constantly accompanied by bodyguards and would've just accepted anyone her mother choose for her to marry since she'd think that mum knows best. I mean, arranged marriages should be pretty common amongst the rich ppl society 😃 (Also the very fact that Neon barely changed much from her usual carefree rich girl persona - minus her NeonTV project - after losing her DGP memories, basically proved that aside from craving genuine love from people which should include genuine love from her parents... Neon's life as a rich chaebol girl wasn't really THAT unhappy or suffering as some people try to claim.)

And now for a bit of a dark what-if scenario. If Taira-san didn't actually die during that second round of the treasure hunting game... if he was just retired during the next round or retired in his current round due to losing his arrow buckle (either it was stolen from him or he dropped it and couldn't recover it before the time limit), would that meant that Taira would have forgotten his desire to save his sick son? Then what would've happened to the son then? The only reason that Ace end up secretly helping to cover the kid's medical expenses was because Taira told Keiwa about their reason to join the DGP before they died. So is it a 'good' thing that Taira died? 👀

And this was one of the many things that haunt me (occasionally) when I thought of the possibility that some of those player that died in the previous games or the ones that Mich crushed their core IDs during the Desire Royale who may have similar wishes as Taira. (Aka having a really desperate wish - that was not really trivial like sm1 claim - that couldn't be easily achieve using normal means/efforts) What happens to them 😃?

That said, enough of me rambling nonsense 😃

[applesfallingfromblondehair]

Hi! First of all you’re an amazing writer and I’m so looking forward to chapter 4, the previews keep me going lol. Your blog actually lead me to the 1975 fandom on here when the kiss happened. I remember you mentioning how you had a theory regarding moss and honestly I’m so curious to hear it because ever since the kiss I’ve been down a rabbit hole and kinda have my own thoughts but not sure how well I can articulate them. It seems during atvb they got really close and the beginning of the year leading up to may was bizarre. Matty with the whole stunting, which we all know how that ended up and for Ross there was the random page six article that talked about him being popular with the ladies after snl and how he was making out on the side of the street and had to be pulled away by a team member to leave. Which I felt was weird given he’s not the frontman of the band and a journalist wouldn’t care to publish that unless it was ordered from their team. Even the comments on it noted how gimmicky it was. And I obviously can’t know for certain if it relates to anything that transpired later with matty and his showmance, as well as him and matty being more affectionate than usual, but my theory is that the article was used to say look how straight he is. Why exactly? I’m not too sure but it screams pr to me and made me question why they feel the need to push it. Coupled with a random duexmoi anon saying they saw him do the same thing and make out with someone on the street, but this time after the kiss happened (which fans noted it couldn’t have been him given he was in a diff country) it’s all strange to me. I get if you don’t want to publish this and sorry if it doesn’t make sense, I just wanted to share my thoughts ever since I came across that article and wanted to see if anyone else found it questionable

I have read this and I agree with most of what you've said honestly. It would be an interesting discussion to have if The People who are around want to contribute too 👀

[officialtayley]

what’s everyone’s opinions on parahoy and the likeliness?

imo, i think it’s not happening sadly.

1. it feels too late considering parahoy is typically in march and tickets would probably be on sale by now

2. it kinda goes against everything with the band at the moment and how much they’ve been mentioning the environment and planet as a whole

3. they are touring for monthssss with taylor so probably want the break beforehand

i’d love for it to be replaced by something else if it does end up not happening because i think it’s a really special event and the ONLY time we are likely to get deep cuts considering the current setlist is very hit heavy.

i mean, who knows? maybe it’ll happen but i highly doubt it :( just interested in other peoples thoughts and if it were to be replaced, what would y’all like it to be replaced with?

not to bring kpop into it but i am, but i like how groups do fan meetings. my fav group svt do them every year and it's called seventeen in caratland and it's very cute and they play various games, often diff ones every year (except the past 2 years one has stayed bc the fans kinda started it and they like it) and also they perform several songs too and it's usually held over 2-3 days too. so i think something like that could be fun cause things from parahoy like the q&a, paraoke and stuff could easily remain. so i think something like that would be enjoyable. also svt tend to do live streaming of it too so if pmore did smth similar they could maybe find a way to include that so everyone can watch..... anyway..... ur welcome for me finding a way to talk about svt and how pmore could learn from them thank u for the opening

[wackpedion]

YAYAYA I LOVE UUUU OKAY SO MSI is made up of 4 members, the lead singer Jimmy Urine, guitarist Steve, Righ?, bassist Lyn-Z, and drummer Kitty. The first bassist for MSI was Vanessa YT but she left some time after the release of their second studio album Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy

MSI's gimmick seems very immature on their surface, basically their goal is to just offend and be unpalatable to the general public. However it's actually such an interesting approach they have to music, in where they refuse to abide whats profitable and easy to sell and rather do what nobody else dares to do, talk about things nobody else dares to talk about. They value free speech Alot, and refuse to tone themselves down for anyone else. Another core idea of MSI is this quote "oppression of the word is what gives it the power", it comes from this skit about slurs and the message is basically that to oppress a word gives it more meaning and power when it's used, and to normalize it as any other word removes that power. This quote was printed on the back of the FGWSSS CD, the skit was ripped and featured in Crappy Little Demo, and it's also in Jimmy's solo song Problematic. This leads into why MSI's so free with language and don't shy away from using slurs, which as you can imagine is very controversial (which is fair, there are things to criticize about that approach such as if its possible, correct, or if its even their place to make such an assertion)

Not to mention the sound of their music itself is such a unique and fascinating blend of so many styles. Basically, for their album Tight they recorded a cover of the song Bring The Pain in several different styles and genres that they liked and were looking to take inspiration from, and then they took the best parts of each one and edited them together. This sounds easy, but this was in the 90s and using shitty equipment so it was quite the difficult effort but they fucking did it anyway, and this mashed together cover served as the basis and blueprint for the MSI style. It's so interesting and makes them truely like no other, MSI likes to make jokes off this by calling their genre Industrial Jungle Pussy Punk

Additionally they're such colorful characters, especially Jimmy Urine. They're known for their crazy stage antics and performances, the band likens themselves to being more entertainers than musicians. Things they've done at shows: Lyn-Z climbed unto a balcony and threw bar stools down at the audience, Jimmy Urine set his own pubes on fire (and was later arrested for public indecency), start playing a wildly different style of music in the middle of a show to confuse everyone, one time Jimmy Urine said "I am going to fuck this up because I hate all of you" and then proceeded to sing a whole ass other song while the rest of the band played something else, they have this taxidermied canine called Chauncey that they would sometimes bring out to performances, Jimmy Urine making out with people at shows, Jimmy Urine making out with a man and then proceeding to call him a Faggot, Jimmy Urine pissing in a cup and drinking it, also Steve drinking Jimmy's piss and then spitting out into the audience, also Steve puking at shows, and etc. They're actually fucking insane nobody else does it like them.

also as you said YES HOME OF SEXUALS !! Jimmy Urine is so openly queer and I admire him so much for it, guy was so unapologetic and out in the 90s and early 2000s and didn't even stop to explain or label himself which is metal as fuck. I will always remember the time he had "RED IS FOR FAGZ" written on his back as he wore all red, I would say more but like I made some other post about it recently so I don't feel like listing out all the gay shit he's done

And now one last thing I'll talk about: Their album Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy, specifically its production because its such a funny fucking story. Basically, after the release of their debut studio album, Tight, many different record labels wanted to work with them. And so what did MSI do? Be as annoying as fucking possible for no fucking reason. They would charge obscene amount of money for their appearances, they would purposefully ruin their own songs, the investors wanted an album that would be good for radio and so naturally MSI filled it with as many curse words as fucking possible and then made nearly all of the songs under 2 minutes, then the song Faggot which is all about gay sex, they made the album as obnoxious sounding as fucking possible, on the CD's there would be stickers like "Be the first on your block to throw this new album out!", it has 30 tracks and they're all in alphabetical order, and also they priced it at 30 bucks so it wouldn't sell well. They basically did their fucking best to drain as much money as they could from labels and make sure they wouldn't make any money back on it its funny as hell like what was their PROBLEM. I love them. ok thats it sorry for this wall of text did u know i have autism

heyyy can i infodump to u ab MSI i feel like you'd get a kick out of their antics

Hell yeah tell me about the home of sexuals

[waywardrose-archive]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 13

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.4k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: More music description in this chapter (with some 🍆 thrown in at the end)! Whee! 😜

They paused their conversation as Gareth hurtled down the stairs to Jeff’s basement. At the top, Jeff’s mother closed the door after him. He whipped a folded sheet of copy paper from his back pocket and popped it open.

“Guys, check out this shit,” he said, and slapped the paper on the coffee table next to the open bag of potato chips.

Eddie leaned in from his gargoyled position in the corner armchair while Jeff and Dougie bent to read the paper from the couch.

BATTLE OF THE BANDS headed the flyer. An angled Flying V guitar silhouette underlined it.

Dougie said, “We’ve done that before.”

“Before I joined,” said Gareth.

“In Gary,” Jeff said as he reclined. “That was an expensive weekend, and—” He threw a hand up. “We lost.”

Eddie continued reading. The competition was set for mid-April in Indianapolis. Rock and metal bands preferred. At least two band members had to be eighteen or older. That was no issue, since he was nineteen and Jeff turned eighteen next month. Grand prize was $3000 cash and professional studio time to record a demo.

Just reading about the grand prize made him want to leap out of the armchair and do laps around the basement. They could give the judges horror, blood, obsession, and sex. God, so much sex now. The original songs he was writing were full of that dark, heady cadence.

He tuned into the conversation to hear Gareth proclaim his drum prowess. He was good, that was true. He was better than their previous drummer, Rich, who’d ditched them for Purdue. Rich had kept a steady beat, but had no pizzazz.

Despite wanting to, he couldn’t blame everything on Rich.

They’d had no stage presence in Gary, nothing to call their own. They’d worn other bands’ t-shirts and dirty sneakers. The only original song they’d had was a complete ripoff of Dio’s “Evil Eyes.”

Looking back, it was no surprise they’d lost.

“Dude,” Jeff said. “We need to practice more if we’re doing this.”

Eddie said, “And I need to finish some songs.”

Dougie groaned around a potato chip. “Those songs about your girlfriend?”

Jeff rummaged in the potato-chip bag as Eddie asked:

“What’s wrong with that?”

“We all agree your girl is hot,” said Gareth. “But come on, your new stuff sounds nothing like us.”

“And what, pray tell, do we sound like?” he asked.

“Like...” Gareth waved his arms around. “Like metal, man!”

He squinted at Gareth.

“That’s what I’m writing.”

“No, you’re writing something else. It’s all... moody.”

“It’s still dark,” Jeff said.

Dougie added, “But it’s not thrashing.”

Eddie sighed and said, “Not every song we put out should go like a bat out of hell.”

“But they shouldn’t all be about witches in the night,” Gareth said.

“Fine, but ‘Ride the Night’ can’t change.”

“I like that one,” said Jeff.

Gareth said, “‘Sabbath Smoke’ needs major rewrites.”

Eddie glowered around the room. He liked where that one was going. It was dark in a different way than “Ride the Night.” It was still about you, but not so overtly sexual. He hadn’t thought the rest of the band noticed his latest attempts centered around you.

“Alright, fine, ‘Sabbath Smoke’ can be about...” He shook his head as he thought. “A sacrifice to the devil, instead, with, like, all the hot blood and ropes of guts you want.”

“What about ‘Black Market, Midnight Track’?” Dougie asked.

Eddie stood and shoved his fingers into his hair.

“Jesus fuck—” His rings caught in his hair. Of course. “I don’t know. It’s a story.” He snarled as he freed them one by one. “I can get rid of the magic part, okay?”

He knew better than to comb through his hair while wearing his rings. Just like he should’ve known the band wouldn’t like the spooky — okay, maybe goth-inspired — turn he’d taken. Corroded Coffin had always been on the thrash side of heavy metal. Their original stuff had to stay in that vein if he wanted to keep the band together.

In that case, he should take the mixtape you’d made him out of rotation. There were songs about dark stuff on it, of course. The riffs were heavy and deep. Sure, most of it wasn’t “heavy metal,” but it was good shit. However, it was too much of an influence.

Maybe you were too much of an influence.

He’d been neglecting band practice since before Halloween. The four of them had only been meeting twice a month to play, excluding gigs at The Hideout, and once a month to write. He knew the guys practiced on their own. They talked on the phone about ideas, but that wasn’t the same as a jam session.

“Hey, dude,” Gareth said to him. “It’s not like we hate what you’ve written.”

“Something is better than nothing,” said Jeff, inadvertently reminding Eddie of the summer.

Summer had been a dry spell. Shit, it had been a fucking desert. The Sahara.

They’d played cover after cover during gigs. Eddie had burned through his stash, hoping to flow enough that original melodies and lyrics would come, but no dice. It felt like a dead end, like maybe covers were all he was good at. When school started in August, he stared at his future with this leaden feeling in his chest.

“No, it’s cool,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re right. Let’s do some reworking.”

“I like that devil’s sacrifice idea for ‘Sabbath Smoke,’” Dougie said, since he did enjoy horror.

Jeff nodded and said, “Let’s work on that one now.”

“Sure, absolutely,” Eddie said as he popped open the guitar case for his acoustic.

He didn’t want to follow his father’s footsteps by knocking up his first serious girlfriend right out of the service and scrambling to find decent work. Only to settle as a mechanic in, what Eddie realized way later, was a chop shop. As the years went on, he understood his mother. Ditching everything and everyone had its appeal.

That would make him just as bad as them, though. He wouldn’t respect himself if he did that kind of thing to Wayne, you, the band, or even Hellfire. He wanted to do right by his family and friends — and, most importantly, you.

Eddie brought out the composition book they worked in, flicked to the “Sabbath Smoke” page, and set it on the coffee table. Dougie rubbed his greasy fingertips on his jeans while scooting to the edge of the couch. Jeff found a pen on the side-table as Gareth sat on the floor opposite him.

Maybe the guys were right about you transforming his composing. Maybe he was thinking too much with his dick. He didn’t think love would stifle creativity. Wasn’t love supposed to inspire the artist?

With a mental snort, he thought of course he’d be the exception. That would be his luck, wouldn’t it?

Shit, he really did love you, didn’t he?

The new lyrics and melodies and chords and all the effort was for you.

He laid his guitar next to Jeff on the couch, saying he had to take a leak. Once in the upstairs bathroom, he leaned his rear on the vanity and stared at the ceiling. He needed the guys at his side. He wanted to lead Corroded Coffin out of Hawkins, confident they would triumph. It didn’t matter if they started small in Indianapolis or Chicago. They could build a following, open for a bigger band, find a manager, work the local concert circuit, get a contract with a record label, and move to Los Angeles or New York.

He could do it. They could do it, but only if they could write an album worth of songs.

This battle of the bands in April would throw them right into the fray. He smirked at the unintended pun. Still, the timing was perfect. He would prove himself to you, and to himself, and to Wayne, that every sacrifice had been worth it.

He couldn’t do any of that if he was distracted. He wouldn’t be good enough. He’d be like his old man. Without that small win, he wouldn’t be able to provide for you. Or keep up with you. He’d lose you.

He didn’t want to lose you.

The lower half of his vision went watery with a deluge of tears. He blinked the tears away and wiped at his lower lashes. Allowing himself to be shaken by that idea would help no one. There was a solution. He cracked his neck and took a deep breath. He had to keep his eye on the prize: $3000 and free studio time.

You’d understand when he explained it.

He used the facilities and rinsed his hands before heading downstairs. Jeff’s mother stopped him in the kitchen to insist he take cans of pop to the guys. With a wink, he thanked her for the fuel. She shooed him away, looking pleasantly exasperated.

As he descended the basement stairs, he said, “Gentlemen, I have procured refreshments!”

-

Your breath fogged in the chilly night air. Your thighs were nearly numb. Ignoring the weather, you’d chosen to wear a short skirt and fishnets. You’d heard the saying ‘a hoe never gets cold,’ but that also applied to goths. And you had every intention of being eye-candy tonight.

You dodged mounds of half-frozen slush in The Hideout’s parking lot. It had snowed earlier in the week. Not enough to close school, but enough to make the drive a hair-raising event. Eddie said he’d almost plowed into a few mailboxes, which meant he’d knocked over a couple of trashcans instead.

The Hideout was warm and dingy. Behind the sticky bar, the muted TV played a basketball game. Its light flickered through neglected liquor bottles. A few patrons entertained themselves at the billiard table. The jukebox played some country song.

Just like your previous visit, the bartender didn’t ask for ID when you ordered a vodka tonic. You tipped him well before claiming a barstool that faced the stage. You crossed your legs, letting the skirt ride up the outside of your top thigh.

Five minutes before showtime, Eddie parted the split in the stage curtain, guitar slung around his torso. His gaze found yours as he stepped onto the stage. Then he noticed what you wore — and stopped midway around the drum-set. He looked like he’d been slapped in the face. Jeff almost ran into him. Complaints came from behind the curtain. Jeff followed Eddie’s attention and gave you an appreciative once-over.

You smirked, taking a sip of your drink via the mini straw.

Eddie’s face flushed as he put a hand on his chest. You winked just as he was prodded into moving. He stumbled around a cymbal’s tripod legs. You noticed then he wore boots instead of his usual Reeboks. His jeans hugged his thighs and hips. He’d rolled the sleeves of his black t-shirt to show off his tattoos.

The other band members had dressed similarly: Jeff wore a simple Fender t-shirt, Dougie had a navy button-up tucked into black jeans, and Gareth wore a tight undershirt under a sleeveless plaid shirt. They looked good, like a professional band instead of a barrel of fanboys.

They joked with each other as they went through a quick sound-check.

With Eddie turned away from the bar, you could admire the lean lines of him and his round ass. In the morning after you’d gotten some magic back, you’d grabbed that ass as he’d pounded you into the mattress. He’d growled profanities and oaths into your neck with his hands hooked under your shoulders. You’d moved with him, grinding your pelvis against his.

You’d bitten his shoulder to keep from moaning too loud when you came. He’d only encouraged you by pushing into the pain and gasping, “That’s it, baby, that’s it, oh fuck.”

Your cheeks and neck grew hot. The bar was suddenly stuffy. You wiggled out of your leather jacket and pressed cool fingers against your neck. Maybe a quick jaunt around the parking lot would help. Or maybe Eddie not wearing such goddamn tight clothes.

You took another sip of your drink, then popped a thin ice cube in your mouth to take the edge off the heat.

Leaning around Eddie’s side, Gareth gave you a roguish smile. You grinned back. When Eddie glanced over his shoulder, you showed him the ice cube on your tongue. He faced you and waggled his eyebrows, making you snicker.

The jukebox music cut off before the stage lights brightened. Eddie greeted the meager crowd and introduced his bandmates. You set down your drink to clap. A few people slapped the bar in lieu of applause.

The band started their set with Metallica’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls.” Gareth used cymbals and the bass drum’s reverb to mimic the bell that starts the song. It was a cool technique and a difficult transition when the other three began the driving beat. Eddie and Jeff stuck their tongues out to each other before head-banging. Dougie added a few flourishes as Eddie approached the mic. You rocked with the rhythm and mouthed the lyrics.

When the song came to a thunderous end, you hooted and clapped. Eddie smiled at you, face already glowing with sweat. He looked so carefree, like nothing could bring him down.

The band played a few more covers until Eddie introduced an original song, “Sabbath Smoke.” You couldn’t believe what you heard. He hadn’t spoken about an original song in weeks. Naturally, you hadn’t wanted to pester him. It wasn’t your place to say what he wrote or what Corroded Coffin played.

The song had a dangerous edge to it. The lyrics Eddie purred were from a demon’s point of view. Jeff and Dougie howled after the chorus, piercing and ravenous. Goosebumps shivered down your arms, yet you couldn’t look away. The center of the song — the heartbeat of the sacrifice — sped with each repeat of the chorus. The song lashed on until the heartbeat abruptly stopped; the sacrifice slaughtered.

The bar was quiet for a moment.

You erupted from your barstool with a cheer. The rest of the patrons applauded or whooped. Eddie thanked everyone before announcing they’d continue in a minute. You rushed to the stage. He stepped around the mic stand and bent. You caught his dewy face and kissed him, unconcerned about smudging your makeup. His eyes went wide, then closed.

After breaking the kiss, you thumbed the lipstick off his lips. They were still stained and puffy. You pushed away the damp curtain of his bangs and smiled.

“Holy shit.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.”

He grinned, catching his lower lip between his teeth and averting his gaze.

“We got one more tonight,” he said and met your eyes.

“Another original?”

He nodded.

You kissed him again. Your lipstick fainter this time, but you still wiped it off for him.

“I can’t wait,” you said as you moved back.

He straightened, appearing on the smug side of pleased. The rest of the band murmured amongst themselves while hydrating. Eddie drank from the lone beer left on the stool behind Gareth.

You perched on your barstool, sipped at your drink, and then discretely neatened your lipstick. It wasn’t as polished as when you first stepped inside, but it didn’t matter. None of the other patrons noticed you.

Especially not when Corroded Coffin returned to their places on stage.

Eddie asked if everyone was ready for more and received a few ‘woo’s and applause in reply.

The band played some covers; one or two you’d heard previously. They were still good, but you awaited the second original song. Your stomach fluttered and your grip trembled, like you were the one who had to play.

You were debating on ordering another drink when the current song ended.

Eddie looked at you as he said, “Last one of the night, folks. We hope you like it.”

You smiled and gripped the sides of the barstool.

Gareth counted down and began playing a deep, primal rhythm you recognized. After a few bars, Eddie added a sultry metallic shred. Dougie added to the rhythm, making it a dark thrum. Jeff complemented Gareth’s rhythm while Eddie built to a grinding reverb. They went through a cycle of that until Eddie put his mouth to the mic to sing about drowning in magic, about fire licking down your spine, about riding the night.

His voice oscillated between crooning and growling, just like you imagined. He used his breath in the chorus, just like he’d panted into your ear. Your stomach swooped and cunt clenched. You wanted to run your hands all over him, cup his erection, and stare into his eyes as they went hazy. You wanted to lick the sweat off his neck and drag your teeth over his jaw and kiss his full lips.

The bar patrons disappeared. The clack of billiard balls and murmuring voices muted. It was you and him; a private pleasure turned public. There was something thrilling and honest about that. Anyone who heard the song would know you and him.

When the song ended, you inhaled a lungful of smoky air. Eddie stared at you — and you at him — as the other patrons applauded. Jeff signed off when Eddie said nothing. The stage lights dimmed. The jukebox kicked on. Someone behind you laughed, hacked, and resumed laughing.

Dougie and Jeff unplugged their guitars while Gareth stood to fold his low stool. Jeff bopped Eddie on the elbow to knock him from his daze and mumbled something close to his ear. Eddie nodded and unplugged his guitar.

With eye-contact broken, you slipped into your jacket and stood. You approached the stage, hands in your jacket pockets. Eddie wound the audio cable around his palm.

“What was the title of that one?”

“‘Ride the Night,’” said Eddie with hardly an upward glance.

“Makes sense.”

Dougie wound his own cable and said, “He wouldn’t compromise on that one at all.”

“Well, it’s his song from start to finish,” Jeff said, shrugging.

Eddie’s cheeks reddened when you focused on him.

“It’s my favorite,” you said.

“Mine too,” Gareth interjected.

Dougie snorted with a roll of his eyes. “No shock there.”

Jeff leveled them a look before turning to you.

“Thanks for coming out.”

“We missed you the last time,” Eddie said.

You smiled as something in your chest fluttered.

“I’m sure there’ll come a time when you won’t be able to pick me out in the crowd.”

Eddie ceased neatening his cable and looked at you.

“Never.”

Warmth creeped up your chest to your face.

Eddie passed his loop of cable to Dougie, who sputtered.

“C’mon,” Eddie said to you, wiped his hand on his jeans, and held it out. “I want to show you something.”

“Um, okay?”

You took his hand and put a foot on the stage, keeping one hand on the hem of your skirt. He pulled you up the short distance to lead you behind the curtain. Backstage was red-lit and littered with open guitar cases and containers for Gareth’s drum-set. Eddie switched off the audio mixer, secured his guitar in its case, and took your hand again.

From the slit in the curtain, Gareth asked, “Is it safe to come back here?”

He held a snare drum, his eyes shut.

Eddie snorted and threw you a grin. “No, Gare-bear, it’s a bit dangerous in here.”

You said, “Especially with your eyes closed.”

Gareth opened one eye to glare.

“Oh, screw you both.”

Eddie sing-songed, “You wi-ish,” though he stepped closer to you.

Gareth grumbled to himself as he unlatched the drum from its tripod stand. Eddie directed you to the coat-pegs by the backdoor and put on his jacket with vest. In the meantime, Jeff and Dougie entered with coils of cable and their guitars. Eddie told them he’d be back soon and tugged you through the backdoor before they could protest.

The chilly air hit your exposed skin and slithered up your skirt to ice your rear. You folded your jacket around your middle, holding it closed with your free arm.

“Jesus, it’s cold,” he said and shook the sweat-soaked hair away from his face.

The door clunked shut.

Only the green-tinted light above the backdoor lit the gravel service road beside the bar.

“Your hair’s going to freeze.”

“Nah, too salty.”

He dug around in his inner-jacket pocket one-handed.

“What did you want to show me?”

He huffed, released your hand, and patted his jacket down. You crossed your arms as you stepped around to watch.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Cigs are gone.” He glanced at his van parked a few yards away. “They’re probably in the van.” He patted his jacket along with his jeans pockets — though, how anything could hide in them you’d never know — and breathed a curse. “Keys are inside.”

“Is that what you wanted to show me? Cigarettes?” you asked with a laugh.

He met your gaze, eyes dark and full lips parted.

Your smile faded as you examined his beautiful, flushed face. Forget whatever he wanted to show you and hanging with the rest of the band and getting home before curfew. Eddie Munson had written you a song. All you wanted to do was kiss him.

“Fuck it,” he said before taking your hand again.

He walked you away from The Hideout’s backdoor and his van. The toe of your boot knocked some rocks loose from the compacted snow as you jogged to catch up. He remained quiet and marched around the corner. You had no choice but to follow him behind the building, your eyes adjusting to the unlit space.

You clutched his hand in both of yours.

“Eddie?”

He swung you around and stalked you against the cold concrete wall. You fisted the lapel of his vest to pull him close. He pressed his front to yours, hands on your hips.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” you asked, holding his warm cheek.

“Not exactly.”

He swooped in to kiss you, devouring and needy. Your waxy lipstick smeared between you. His hands trailed down to grip your ass. You pushed your fingers into his thick hair and slanted his head to kiss him harder.

He pulled away far enough to say, “Do you know how good you look tonight?”

You wiped your lipstick off with the sleeve of your jacket. He mirrored you.

“Why don’t you show me.”

You yanked him forward to kiss once more. He groaned and ground his hips against yours. Taking the opportunity, you licked into his mouth to tease his tongue. He tasted like beer, but you didn’t mind.

In reply, he pulled at your ass and sucked on your bottom lip. You mewled, feeling the ridge of his erection. You reached between your bodies to cup his fever-hot groin. His balls were high and tight in your palm, and you gently massaged them.

Eddie tilted his head up with a soft sound as he rocked into your touch. You kissed his jaw, tasted the salt on his neck, and stroked him through the denim. His erection pulsed in your hand. You bet his boxers were wet with precome—

And you wanted to see that.

You dragged his t-shirt from his waistband to snaked your hands over his firm sides. His warm skin was flawless. You had to stop yourself from stooping to worship him all the way down.

Instead, you said, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Look who's talking.”

You hummed a laugh and unbuttoned his jeans.

“Oh shit,” he said.

“Can I?”

“Baby, whatever you want.”

You unzipped his jeans and spread the fly. He shuffled the fabric down his hips enough to expose the thin thatch of his pubic hair.

Softly, you said, “Show me.”

He bit his bottom lip as he dragged his flushed cock from his boxers. It filled out further and bobbed in the air. Your mouth watered at the sight. He really was gorgeous like this.

A thick bead of precome rolled down his frenulum. You caught it with your thumb before wrapping a hand around the heft of his cock and spreading the slick precome over the tip.

Eddie cursed again, watching your hand. “I...” He swallowed and braced his hands on either side of you. “I need you.”

“What do you need?”

His hips jutted forward.

You met his eyes.

“God, I need to be inside you.”

“Yeah? Wanna come in me?”

With a groan, his head flopped forward and cock jerked.

You continued, “Haven’t felt that in so long.”

He kissed you hard. You felt his desperation, his longing. It reflected your own. He wasn’t in your bed enough. You wanted him there every day, every night.

You swept your hands around his waist. He pinned you to the wall with his body. His cock dug into your belly. The contrast of cold wall at your back and hot body at your front had you writhing. You grabbed his round ass as one of your thighs reflexively hitched onto his hip.

His palm followed your raised leg under your skirt. His lips slackened before he broke the kiss.

“You’re not wearing underwear.”

“Nope.”

He plunged his other hand between your legs, making you gasp. His chilled, callused fingers rasped over the fishnet covering your pussy and pushed against it. The texture and tease set your nerves alight. You rolled your hips into his warming touch and leaned your head on the wall.

He trailed kisses over your neck, using his teeth, and nosed under your jacket collar.

“So wet, baby,” he said against your skin. “But I can’t get to you.”

He hooked fingers into the fishnet and gave it a forceful tug. Your hips were jerked forward as the fabric tore with a sharp crackle. You gasped louder this time and slapped a hand over your mouth.

The thought of anyone seeing you both like this — your skirt rucked up and his dick out — thrilled yet unnerved you. You had to keep quiet, lest a bar patron or the other members of Corroded Coffin find you.

However, it felt like a monumental task when he circled your clit just right. You hauled him up by the hair for a kiss. He groaned and tilted his head. His puffy lips slid along yours until it was all madness and heat.

You raised yourself on tip-toe to cant your hips. Knuckles brushed your slit. Then the sleek tip of his cock slid between your folds. The heat and silky skin of his cock had your cunt pulsing in a prelude to orgasm. You rocked with him, breathed with him. It made you weak, made you want everything you couldn’t have just yet.

His tip glanced off your hole. You stiffened. He paused to look deep into your eyes.

“I’ll pull out before.”

“No, I—” You shook your head. You didn’t trust yourself to let him. “Condom.”

“I don’t...”

You’d slipped a condom packet into a jacket pocket before leaving the house. Just in case. It was your last one. You searched the pocket now, praying the condom hadn’t fallen out earlier. Your fingers brushed its plastic packet.

You grinned, held it up between two fingers, and said, “I do.”

“Thank Christ.”

He kissed you hard — once, twice. You held onto his vest and groaned. You were so close to getting him deep inside you. You needed it now, needed him, needed that fullness.

You clutched at his nape and said, “Fuck me.”

His expression went tight as he grit his teeth. He took the condom packet, made space between your bodies, and fumbled the condom on. You nodded and adjusted your leg on his hip. His cock slipped into your wet folds again, brushing your clit.

You tilted your pelvis while balancing with a hand on the wall. Together, you found the perfect angle and his cock pushed right inside. His knuckles bumped your mound as you panted. The stretch of him was nearly too much. The flared crown of his cock ground against nerves you could never reach.

“So fuckin’ tight.”

It was him, you wanted to argue, all him, but you couldn’t form a sentence. You could only hang on and take it. His cock pushed the air from your lungs as he slid to the hilt.

You swallowed a moan at the intensity.

He shushed you and kissed your cheek.

“Feel so good,” you whispered.

Eddie held you still with one hand cradling your ass with the other holding the underside of your hooked leg. You rested your forehead on his shoulder and tried to catch your breath. Your dripping cunt fluttered. He shivered and gulped in air and kissed the rim of your ear.

His voice was strained as he said, “Can’t wait.”

“Then don’t.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

His grip tightened as he started with small lurches of his hips. His cock rocked deep inside. You rubbed your lips on his neck, tasted the new sweat on his skin. Then he began to move faster, deeper, plunging hard with every thrust.

You clung to him with shaking limbs as his cock hit you just right. His chest was tight to yours. You threw yourself into it and moved counter to him. He groaned a broken encouragement. You made each of his thrusts bigger, ratcheting you closer and closer to climax.

“Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” He stilled and crushed you to the wall. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You clawed at his shoulders as your cunt clenched. His cock throbbed, but not enough. You covered your mouth to stifle a groan, because you were already on the edge of orgasm.

“Eddie...”

You stretched to catch his kiss-swollen lips. He met you halfway to give biting kisses and push his tongue against yours. His shoulders tensed as both hands held your ass. With no warning, he hoisted you off the ground. You squeaked, hung on, and wrapped your other leg around his waist.

“Jesus fuck...”

“Yeah, c’mon, fuck me.”

He dug his boots into the hard-packed gravel and slammed up into you. That was what you needed from him. You bit the meat at the base of your thumb, muffling your cries that punctuated every thrust of his strong hips.

He took you mercilessly, completely focused on getting as deep as he could. His breath stuttered in your ear. He forced you to the wall and controlled your body. He hammered his cock inside you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You twisted in his bruising hold a second before your body locked. Then everything came crashing through you — enough that you couldn’t see or hear.

You could only feel.

Each fierce surge of orgasm washed away your strength. You stared into the dark, trying to breathe. But you couldn’t. The pleasure kept going as Eddie fucked you through it.

He gasped the beginning of your name, suddenly, his cock throbbing and filling the condom. You wished you could feel him flooding you with each pump of his hips instead. He’d make a mess of you both.

You hugged him with arms and legs as he stilled. He panted and mouthed at the hinge of your jaw.

After a moment, he lowered one of your legs and eased you down to stand. It was enough movement to displace his softening cock. You whined at losing the feel of him inside you.

“I know, sweetheart. Me too.”

He kissed over your jaw to your lips. He brushed his lips against yours, easy and wanton. You let him support your weight as you lowered your other leg. He swept his hands around your waist until he wrapped you in his arms.

You hummed against his lips and grinned, breaking the kiss. He rested his forehead on yours. You hadn’t expected any of that — the songs, the heated looks, the sex — when you’d arrived tonight.

“Wow,” you said.

“Yeah.”

As you were starting to learn, surprises with Eddie could be really, really fun.

He straightened your skirt, then patted your ass.

“I forgot what I was going to show you.”