#project rationale

[lizardson]

one of the smaller changes I loved to see in the wot show was min being disguised as a servant instead of the lady elmindreda. maybe it's the queercoding of it all but I hateeee to see masc/androgynous female characters feminized for the sake of espionage

[tacticalgrandma]

I’m sorry but fuck off, it only takes a small but violent hate group to make a place unlivable for a marginalized group; large swathes of the populations of those countries (I know the majority in Egypt) were born after the Jewish population had been forcibly emigrated to Israel or killed, or they were children at the time, they had no say in it; the fucking audacity of accusing people interested in preserving their local history & examples of Jews & Muslims living peacefully together—which was almost always the fucking case!! or how the fuck else do you think those Jewish communities established such long roots!!—of “self-righteous memory-keeping” while using those same long-gone Jewish communities to justify your islamophobia. Fuck off

[daemonbrain]

"One of me is cute but two though!"

2.4k, cw: breeding kink, smut, kinda baby trapping (?), not proofread

a/n: based off Juno by Sabrina Carpenter hehe happy reading :)

Simon Riley who would go to the ends of the earth for his bird. You wanted to watch your favorite movie for the millionth time with him? Done. You were craving take out from that special spot across town in the middle of the night? He’s placing your order and grabbing his keys to go pick it up after a quick goodbye kiss. You wanted him to kill a little red-haired prick who got too close to you -grazed your arm- yesterday at 17:37 while in a crowded line when he went to the loo, with his bare hands? Fan-tastic. (He may be projecting a little)

But he was worried. He might not be the most perceptive man, but he wasn’t so thick headed he couldn’t see the signs.

The way you made googly eyes at every baby you passed by. Fuck sakes he had never seen so. many. babies. 

Little things everywhere nowadays, though it might just be he’s now paying enough attention to notice. It definitely helped the unintentional search that your grip on his arm tightened every time you saw one. Your soft coos as you turned to him to say for a third time in a row that the babe was the “cutest thing you had ever seen”.

He loved you like he loved his gun after it got him out of a tough spot (he loved you more, but he's pretty poor at putting an example on it), but there was one thing he was wholly unsure he could give you. Being a father has never been something he was sure of, his own making his childhood a living hell assuring him that it wasn’t in his genes or anywhere in his future. He came to terms with that years ago and shoved the idea out of his mind entirely. 

As you both sat down at a coffee shop while taking a break from your park walk, you just happened to get seated right next to another woman, a stroller in your direct view.

Fuckin’ great.

Biting your lip you take a peek at the chubbiest little thing in a deep sleep. Catching the gaze of the mother you smile. “She’s adorable” you chirped. 

As the mother responded with a smile of her own, Simon felt a foot gently nudging his leg as gave him the prettiest eyes. Did you even try to hide it anymore? No, you really didn’t. Eyes filled with thinly veiled intentions, eyes that said “Look how cute! Jump across this table and give me one now,” 

“Isn’t she cute Si?!”

He sighed and replied in his usual grumble, “course, ‘er little jumper is nice.” Tactics. Swiftly move out from the topic and do not let the missus see the little bows… on the jumper… he just pointed- for fucks sake you saw it.

After quite some time giggling with the mother over photos, because of course that had to be the natural progression of things, Simon observed in his characteristic shadow-like demeanor before the little one began to fuss in her sleep. The mother excused herself and the babe to nurse and it’s then you finally turn back to your silent companion with your usual beaming.

“ ‘avin fun there, yeah?” He laughed which came out more as a snort as you mockingly kicked him under the table.

“I am as a matter of fact!”

Pulling his hands into the air in surrender he looks you head on. “Okay, I get it.”

“The baby was just so- ugh! Did you see how chubby she was? Her little hair.. Gosh!” Stay on task. Do not get distracted by the target's beautiful smile or laugh. Someone had to be the voice of rationale after all.

“Like I said ‘er jumper was nice.”

When the pout came to your lips, he considered it a success (you were hot either way) and chalked the whole thing as a minor bump in the road. Whatever this baby fever was would pass.

Nonetheless, he should’ve known his bird better than that. She wasn’t a quitter, that’s for damn sure. As you cooked up dinner in that cute apron and served it plated up so nicely it dawned on him just how… domestic this all was.

It was nice, he concluded. Calm.

You remained pensive and quiet for the most part during dinner, clearly desperate to say what you had been on your mind for weeks. He could see the way your mind's gears turned, wanting to blurt it out. Like an animal going feral at the bars of its cage. Except your the animal and your cage is the inherent trust you will not go awol and chuck your birth control pills into the trash while he’s not watching.

“Simon…” 

Here it comes.

Simon grunted out his response while chewing on his food, looking up to meet your cautious gaze. Leaning across the table you gently lay your hand on his which held his fork, pushing it down.

“I’ve been thinking… a lot lately.” There you went with that look again. “Have you… ever thought of kids before? I- I know we’ve had this talk before… but-”

“C’mere.”

He outstretched his big arms and patted his lap. With quick acceptance you hurried over and let him pull you on top of him, one hand on the back of his chair and the other on your ass for support. The deep kneading of it was also for support of course. 

“You know how I feel about them. ‘Is jus not somethin I think about.” He didn’t dare look away from your eyes. If he was about to take that gleam out of your eyes he at least owed it to you to watch.

You grabbed his face with a light touch and caressed the stubble which had begun to grow with a look beginning to resemble a spot of desperation. Pressing yourself further into his body, you couldn’t help your protests.

“Si.. I just- I want one so bad.” You began to slide your hand down the side of his neck, pressing forward to gently place a kiss. Leaning your forehead in the junction between his shoulder and neck you continued before he could respond.

“Don’t you? A little baby with us all the time.”

Someone had to be the voice of reason and Simon was going to have to put his foot down on this.

“You’re not thinkin straigh’. It would be cute-” He was cut off in shock as he felt the slight rock of your hips as you cowered into his shoulder.

“Just imagine it! One of me is cute enough, but two!” The pace began to speed up as you blatantly started grinding against him. He let out a little huff. Voice of reason. Though his reason was nowhere to be found when he put his hand that was idly on the chair to your backside to encourage the movement.

You knew what came next, you had to sweeten the pot. You knew you were being mean, but you just had to! You were practically given no choice!

“Don’t you want that Si! Don’t you wanna make something together?” You all but pleaded. He looked straight past your head with a crumbling steely demeanor. Fuck.

You already began to tug at his shirt and with a final glare, Simon couldn’t help but look at his pretty bird. His pretty bird on top of the prize she coveted, heat passing between their bodies. Just one time. One time and then they could talk about this properly. 

Simon gathered you up in his arms and stood while pressing an eager kiss to your lips. It was a soft and long thing as he brought you both to the bedroom you shared. He threw you down on the bed and stripped himself as you excitedly did the same.

Smiling up at him as if you won. You did not win. This was not a win, right? You were on your birth control either way, he would pull out as needed. What harm is there in fucking his own girl.

Pushing you on to your back he parted your legs to look what lay between them. There was the prize he was most proud of. Puffy cunt at the mercy of the cool air being pushed out by the vents. You were already beginning to shine.

“You were just waiting for it weren’t you? Knew I couldn’t leave you hanging, yeah?”

With a giggle you spread your thighs further and wiggled your hips teasingly. Simon dropped to his knees and pulled your body to the edge of the bed. Throwing each of your legs on either of his shoulders he spit into your cunt, taking two thick fingers and rubbing it in, catching on to your hole lightly as he played with the slick. He could see the way your stomach tightened as he circled your clit and he winded you up further when he firmly flicked it.

“Si” you whined.

“Wha’ is it?” He grinned as he lowered his head to press a kiss down. Devolving from a kiss, he grabbed onto one of your thighs with a strong grip and began to sloppily lick while you let out your breathy little moans, sensitive to the absolute tank holding you still as he ate straight from the source.

He licked and it just kept going. Dragging his tongue around your cunt, up to your puffy clit. He harshly sucked as he latched on to it drawing a cry from your vulnerable form. Tugging at his hair, he only looks up with his eyes, refusing to pull away his mouth. 

Shaking your head with wide eyes you couldn’t help but push your fluffy little agenda.

“Si please. Please. Please, I need it! I’d never ask for anything else-” you moaned in surprise once again as he added a finger into your hole. Willing himself to pull away from you, Simon continued to fuck his finger into you as he spoke up, spittle and slick coating his mouth. He had to switch gears, use logic (and cum) to deter you.

“We’d never have time. All this?-” He added another finger into your clenching pussy “Gone. We’d be cleaning spit up instead.”

“We’d have a baby!” You exclaimed insistently.

You were practically off the edge, usually by now Simon had you fucked into your own little world. This incessant begging for a little one of your own is keeping you sharper than usual. He’d fix that.

“Please Simon” You pulled him up, the strain of his cock to be inside you encouraging him to follow your movements. He looked at you pretty tits, pretty like everything else on you. Taking a nipple between his fingers and rolling hard.

“These’d get all full.”

Fuck that backtracked his own point. His mind fighting back the onslaught of thoughts at the sight of your tits growing round and heavy because of something he could do. Would your body get all soft- NO.

Lining himself up and looking at that pleading expression, the only time he’d ever seen you so wanting of something you were willing to roll around with nothing else on your mind.

“Just one Si, just one with your eyes your nose your hair-” Your breath went short as he pushed himself in, giving shallow thrusts to feed into your aching cunt. Recomposing yourself you gripped on to his bicep, “Just do it, lock me down tonight.”

Simon couldn’t help the way he subconsciously began pushing your thighs up to give himself a deeper angle, your ankles dangling weightlessly above your head, knees to your chest. The groans which sounded through the room as his hips hammered into you in a desperate chase. 

The two of you could do nothing but stare into each other's eyes, losing yourselves in each other while your cunt squeezes him like a vice. Determined to keep him there, body obstinately stuck on one thing.

 Someone had to be the voice of reason. Someone had to object to a little one with his eyes and your personality. Someone had to be rational and not think about painting the nursery while you waddled about. Someone had to remain level-headed and not imagine the way your eyes would light up with unfettered joy.

You tossed your head back and he couldn’t help but grip your face in his hand, tugging it right back to him.

“With me bird, with me. Look at me.”

Someone had to be rational.

Nodding your head shakily you keep your eyes on the massive man pounding away at you, feeling the way your stomach bulges trying to accommodate all of him, your cunt coaxing him further into the sticky trap.

Your body begging for one thing, you looked like you needed it. Tongue lolling out of your mouth as you were fucked stupid, sweat collecting on your brow. You looked perfect. Your whining swallowed by his own mouth when he presses another kiss to your swollen lips, body enduring in hopes the fat cock ruthlessly disturbing its peace would grant it the big load it craved.

Someone had to be rational?

Maybe it was the way you sucked him in, the way he couldn’t stop thrusting into you, but it’s as if your body sent some message to the receptors in his mind. All that flashed before him images of happy and full and with his baby.

As if you could sense his thoughts, your own peak quickly overcame you white hot. The way you spasmed around him with a loud cry of pure ecstasy.

“Give it to me!” You somehow managed. His mind went blank as drunk off the pleasure as you were, the only thing he could do was thrust, unable to comprehend anything else.

 A shame Simon couldn’t be rational when it came to his bird.

With the final slam of his hips, his release went into the deepest depths of you. His grip on your hips burning from how tight it was as he kept himself flush against you.

It took a few moments to come down from the high. Simon looked at your sweaty face, hazy from lack of energy. Maybe you did win this one, but he really didn't get all this effort (not that he was complaining) if you were still on birth control.

Birth control... which he hasn't had to remind you to take for quite some time...

Out of pure curiosity at his realization, he gently pushed the two of you further up the bed while keeping you plugged up. Opening the first drawer he manages to grab the box which contained your birth control pills. Upon further inspection, he notices it remains unopened and untouched. Shaking his head with a gruff laugh he peers down at you as you shiver from the rumble.

“Dirty girl”

You just smiled.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

All bets are off

When unions are outlawed, only outlaws will have unions. Unions don't owe their existence to labor laws that protect organizing activities. Rather, labor laws exist because once-illegal unions were formed in the teeth of violent suppression, and those unions demanded – and got – labor law.

Bosses have hated unions since the start, and they've really hated laws protecting workers. Dress this up in whatever self-serving rationale you want – "the freedom to contract," or "meritocracy" – it all cashes out to this: when workers bargain collectively, value that would otherwise go to investors and executives goes to the workers.

I'm not just talking about wages here, either. If an employer is forced – by a union, or by a labor law that only exists because of union militancy – to operate a safe workplace, they have to spend money on things like fire suppression, PPE, and paid breaks to avoid repetitive strain injuries. In the absence of some force that corrals bosses into providing these safety measures, they can use that money to pay themselves, and externalize the cost of on-the-job injuries to their workers.

The cost and price of a good or service is the tangible expression of power. It is a matter of politics, not economics. If consumer protection agencies demand that companies provide safe, well-manufactured goods, if there are prohibitions on price-fixing and profiteering, then value shifts from the corporation to its customers.

Now, if labor has few rights and consumers have many rights, then bosses can pass their consumer-side losses on to their workers. This is the Walmart story, the Amazon story: cheap goods paid for with low wages and dangerous working conditions. Likewise, if consumer rights are weak but labor rights are strong, then bosses can pass their costs onto their customers, continuing to take high profits by charging more. This is the story of local gig-work ordinances like NYC's, which guaranteed a minimum wage to delivery drivers – restaurateurs responded by demanding the right to add a surcharge to their bills:

https://table.skift.com/2018/06/22/nyc-surcharge-debate/

But if labor and consumer groups act in solidarity, then they can operate as a bloc and bosses and investors have to eat shit. Back in 2017, the pilots' union for American Airlines forced their bosses into a raise. Wall Street freaked out and tanked AA's stock. Analysts for big banks were outraged. Citi's Kevin Crissey summed up the situation perfectly, in a fuming memo: "This is frustrating. Labor is being paid first again. Shareholders get leftovers":

https://www.vox.com/new-money/2017/4/29/15471634/american-airlines-raise

Limiting the wealth of the investor class also limits their power, because money translates pretty directly into political power. This sets up a virtuous cycle: the less money the investor class has to spend on political projects, the more space there is for consumer- and labor-protection laws to be enacted and enforced. As labor and consumer law gets more stringent, the share of the national income going to people who make things, and people who use the things they make, goes up – and the share going to people who own things goes down.

Seen this way, it's obvious that prices and wages are a political matter, not an "economic" one. Orthodox economists maintain the pretense that they practice a kind of physics of money, discovering the "natural," "empirical" way that prices and wages move. They dress this up with mumbo-jumbo like the "efficient market hypothesis," "price discovery," "public choice," and that old favorite, "trickle-down theory." Strip away the doublespeak and it boils down to this: "Actually, your boss is right. He does deserve more of the value than you do":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/09/low-wage-100/#executive-excess

Even if you've been suckered by the lie that bosses have a legal "fiduciary duty" to maximize shareholder returns (this is a myth, by the way – no such law exists), it doesn't follow that customers or workers share that fiduciary duty. As a customer, you are not legally obliged to arrange your affairs to maximize the dividends paid by to investors in your corporate landlord or by the merchants you patronize. As a worker, you are under no legal obligation to consider shareholders' interests when you bargain for wages, benefits and working conditions.

The "fiduciary duty" lie is another instance of politics masquerading as economics: even if bosses bargain for as big a slice of the pie as they can get, the size of that slice is determined by the relative power of bosses, customers and workers.

This is why bosses hate unions. It's why the scab presidency of Donald Trump has waged all-out war on unions. Trump just effectively shuttered the National Labor Relations Board, unilaterally halting its enforcement actions and investigations. He also illegally fired one of the Democratic NLRB board members, leaving the agency with too few board members to take any new actions, meaning that no unions can be recognized – indeed, the NLRB can't do anything – for the foreseeable future:

https://www.npr.org/2025/01/28/nx-s1-5277103/nlrb-trump-wilcox-abruzzo-democrats-labor

Trump also fired the NLRB's outstanding General Counsel, Jennifer Abruzzo, who was one of the stars of the Biden administration, who promulgated rules that decisively tilted the balance in favor of labor:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

Trump is playing Grinch here – he's descended upon Whoville to take all the Christmas decorations, in the belief that these are the source of Christmas. But the Grinch was wrong (and so is Trump): Christmas was in the heart of the Whos, and the tinsel and baubles were the expression of that Christmas spirit. Likewise, labor rights come from labor organizing, not the other way around.

Labor rights were enshrined in federal law in 1935, with the National Labor Relations Act. Bosses hated – and hate – the NLRA. 12 years later, they passed the Taft-Hartley Act, which substantially gutted the NLRA. Most notably, Taft-Hartley bans "sympathy strikes" – when unions walk out in support of one another. Sympathy strikes are a hugely powerful way for workers to claim value away from bosses and investors, which is why bosses got rid of them.

But even then, bosses who were honest with themselves would admit that they preferred life under the NLRA to life before it. Remember: labor militancy created the NLRA, not the other way around. When workers didn't have the legal means to organize, they organized by illegal means. When they didn't have legal ways of striking, they struck illegally. The result was pitched battles, even bloodbaths, as cops beat and even killed labor organizers. Bosses hired thugs who committed mass murder – literally. In 1913, strikebreakers working for the Calumet and Hecla Mining Company started a stampede during a union Christmas party that killed 73 people, including many copper miners' children:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italian_Hall_disaster

Workers didn't take this lying down. Violence was met with violence. Bombs went off outside factories and stately mansions. There was gunfire and arson. Bosses had to hire armed guards to escort them as they scurried between their estates and their fancy parties and their executive offices. The country was in a state of near-perpetual chaos.

The NLRA created a set of rules for labor/boss negotiations – rules that helped workers claim a bigger slice of the pie without blood in the streets. But the NLRA also had benefits for bosses: unions were obliged to play by its rules, if they wanted to reap its benefits. The NLRA didn't just put a ceiling over boss power – it also put a ceiling over worker militancy. Von Clausewitz says that "war is politics by other means," which implies that politics are war by other means. The alternative to politics isn't capitulation, it's war.

Trump has torn up the rules to the labor game, but that doesn't mean the game ends. That just means there are no rules.

The labor movement has many great organizer/writers, but few can match the incredible Jane McAlevey, who died of cancer last summer (rest in power). In her classic A Collective Bargain, McAlevey describes her organizer training, from a tradition that went back to the days before the National Labor Relations Act:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

McAlevey was very clear that labor law owes its existence to union power, not the other way around. She explains very clearly that union organizers invented labor law after they invented unions, and that unions can (and indeed, must) exist separately from government agencies that are charged with protecting labor law. But she goes farther: in Collective Bargain, McAlevey describes how the 2019 LA Teachers' Strike didn't just win all the wage and benefits demands of the teachers, but also got the school district to promise to put a park or playground near every school in the system, and got a ban on ICE agents harassing parents at the school gates.

This wildly successful strike forged bonds among teachers, and between teachers and their communities. These teachers went on to run a political get-out-the-vote campaign in the 2020 elections and elected two Democratic reps to Congress and secured the Dems' majority. McAlevey contrasted the active way good unions involve workers as participants with the thin, anemic way that the Democratic Party engages with supporters – solely by asking them for money in a stream of frothing, clickbait text messages. As McAlevey wrote, "Workplace democracy is a training ground for true national democracy."

Militant labor doesn't just protect labor rights – it protects human rights. Remember: MLK, Jr was assassinated while campaigning for union janitors in Memphis. LA teachers ended ICE sweeps at the school gates. Librarian unions are leading the fight against book bans.

The good news is that public opinion has swung wildly in favor of unions over the past decade. More people want to join unions than at any time in generations. More people support unions that at any time in generations.

The bad news is that union leadership fucking suuuuuuuucks. As Hamilton Nolan writes, union bosses are sitting on vast, heretofore unseen warchests of cash, and they just experienced a four-year period of governmental support for unions unheard of since the Carter administration, and they did fuck all with that opportunity:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/confirmed-unions-squandered-the-biden

Big unions have effectively stopped trying to organize new workers, even when workers beg them for help forming a union. Union organizing budgets are so small as to be indistinguishable from zero. Despite the record number of workers who want to be in a union, the number of workers who are in a union actually fell during the Biden years.

Indeed, some union bosses actually campaigned for Trump, a notorious scab. Teamsters boss Sean O'Brien spoke at the fucking RNC, a political favor that Trump repaid by killing the NLRB and every labor enforcement action and investigation in the country. Nice one, O'Brien. See you in hell:

https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2024/08/teamster-union-trump/679513/

Union bosses squandered a historical opportunity to build countervailing power. Now, Trump's stormtroopers are rounding up workers with the goal of illegally deporting them. Fascism is on the rise. Labor and fascism are archenemies. Organized labor has always been the biggest threat to fascism, every time it has reared its head. That's why fascists target unions first. Union bosses cost us an organized force that could effectively defend our friends and neighbors from Trump's deportation stormtroopers:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2025-01-28-trumps-lawbreaking-also-aimed-at-workers/

Not every union boss is a scab like O'Brien. Shawn Fain, head of the UAW, won an historic strike against all three of the Big Three automakers, and made sure that the new contracts all ran out in 2028, and called on other unions to do the same, so that the country could have a general strike in 2028 without violating the Taft-Hartley Act (Fain was operating on the now-dead assumption that unions had to play by the rules):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/11/rip-jane-mcalevey/#organize

A general strike isn't just a strike for workers' rights. Under Trump, a general strike is a strike against Trumpism and all its horrors: kids in cages, forced birth, trans erasure, climate accelerationism – the whole fucking thing.

A general strike would build the worker power to occupy the Democratic Party and force it to stand up for the American people against oligarchy, rather than meekly capitulating to fascism (and fundraising), which is all they know how to do anymore:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/10/smoke-filled-room-where-it-happens/#dinosaurs

But before we can occupy the Dems, we have to occupy the unions. We need union bosses who are committed to signing up every worker who wants workplace democracy, and unionizing every workplace in spite of the NLRB, not with its help. We need to go back to our roots, when there were no rules.

That's the world Trump made. We need to make him regret that decision.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/29/which-side-are-you-on/#strike-three-yer-out

[lunarpunctuation]

i would also like to point out that hes the same asswipe that appointed Powell as chairman of the fed in the first place. Obama initially appointed him to the board and Biden renominated but still. Trying to foist his own guy.

And on top of all this crap, Shitbreak wants to fire Jeremy Powell. If he does that, you can pretty much light the economy with a torch since the feds are what is holding our economy with a VERY thin thread.

[vague-humanoid]

When lots of people are worried about bubble valuations in stocks or a specific sector, all it takes is a small poke to make the whole thing wobble precariously.

Why it matters: That can cost investors $1 trillion or more in a single day, as happened Monday with the global AI rout.

It can also challenge the fundamental assumptions behind an entire economy, like the nascent Trump administration's push to invest hundreds of billions of dollars in American AI supremacy.

Zoom out: In the 1950s, the Soviets beat the U.S. into space. In 2025, China appears to have potentially beaten the U.S. to building a better AI mousetrap.

Last week, the small Chinese upstart DeepSeek announced a newreasoning model, R1, that appears to outperform the best America has to offer, including OpenAI's ChatGPT, Anthropic's Claude and Meta's Llama.

The problem? Those companies spent billions of dollars building their models, fueling growth for companies like Nvidia, whose chips are the gold standard in that training process.

DeepSeek spent a mere$6 million, figured out how to do it faster and more efficiently with cheaper hardware, and then released the whole thing as a free, open-source platform.

The big picture: President Trump's economic vision relies on massive growth, fueled by the AI boom that his closest advisers have sold as the country's future.

The biggest economic announcement of his first week in office was Stargate, a five-year plan to spend $500 billion on AI infrastructure. (Complicating matters, Trump ally Elon Musk immediately cast doubt on whether anyone actually had the money to fund the project.)

But if China can do AI better and faster at one one-thousandth of the cost, it casts a shadow on the rationale for spending that kind of money and leaves the country playing catch-up.

[danothan]

100%, thank you for enabling my theory. we are right

smosh rpf theories are always like “persona A and person B are secretly dating,” meanwhile i’m cooking up conspiracies like “chanse sabotaged the jenga tower during smosh vs aliens on purpose.” and i carry that with me like a truth and a burden

[cheralith]

— reroutes. feat. oliver aiku || wc: 2.1k contains: gn!reader, no pronouns used, teacher!reader, dilf!oliver, single parent!oliver, miscommunication, fluff, alcohol consumption a/n: people keep saying that oliver is dilf material usually based off his looks so sure what the hell . let me entertain the thought and feed the masses also a reupload since the og wasn't allowing me to edit for some reason

trying to butter up the president of the parent-teacher association over a candlelit dinner to gain his approval and vote for you as a a worthy candidate incoming principal isn't exactly the easiest task in the world, nor is it your vision of spending a friday evening. but with adult life comes sacrifices, even if it means you'll be missing out on the season premiere of your sitcom.

you've heard rumors about him from other teachers in passing—quite the charmer with a natural flair for leadership, hence why he's been on the board for a few years now, even longer than you've been teaching the second grade at this school. many people on the association look up to him, his approval being worth more than some of the district's, a smile and nod at a suggestion being made being worth more than gold itself.

hence why his vote is the one you need to gain the most—if oliver aiku is in favor of something, then surely it must be good.

the single father to one of your shyer students, he's the complete opposite of her. where rena is quiet, soft-spoken, and spares her words, oliver seems to exude this calm confidence—a calculated rationale weaving into every sentence he says with that baritone, caramel-rich voice of his.

you smile tightly as he rests his cheek on his fist, bright and attentive hues of malachite and amethyst daggering into your stiff figure, that typical smile on his lips that you've seen he gives everyone.

"you know," he starts, tone smooth and sweet. "it's rare that rena has a favorite teacher. but she seems to talk about you a lot these days."

"oh does she?" you laugh, trying to filter out the nervous edge as best as possible. "i'll admit, she's one of my more creative students. she seems to really love arts & crafts."

oliver shares his chuckle with you. "oh i bet. she's always asking me to put up any art she takes home on the fridge. trying to get into it is almost impossible these days with how much stuff is on there—you should see it, really."

he takes a slow sip of his wine, his eyes scanning you for a reaction at his last few words and his eyes lid attentively when you fidget in your spot. oliver uses the swirling ruby in the glass to hide his growing grin.

"ah well," you flicker your gaze toward anything that isn't him, his stare piercing every possible fiber of apprehension within you. "i'm glad. y-you know, for students like rena, they'd really benefit from art walks! i visited one of the charter schools nearby that does them every few months to help cultivate—"

"oh yes, we've been looking to dabble in those as well," oliver says dismissively, ceasing your words in a gentle, clean cut. "maybe one day... if the district increases our budget."

a sharp inhale ensures your composure doesn't falter at the lack of concern. there's many projects you have in mind if you were ever the principal of the school, but you need his approval if they were to ever go through. the voice of the parents mattered just as much as the district's after all.

you fold your hands affirmingly. "well, i've also noticed that we don't have an actual sci—"

"are you doing anything after this?" oliver cuts in again, a smile that's a bit larger now still on his face intently.

you pause, breath hitching. your eyes lift from the food on your table to him. your eyes narrow.

"excuse me?" you ask.

oliver leans back in his seat almost a little too casually. it's only then you notice two of his shirt buttons are undone, exposing a hint of his plated chest. "rena's at her mom's this weekend. i was just wondering if you had any plans after. because if you aren't... i'd love to spend more time with you. somewhere a little more private, perhaps?"

he sends you a knowing wink, a twinkle in his eye that flashes intimately at you. at first, you're confused, trying to understand what he's implying—until...

oh. oh.

"oh—" you choke out. "—my god. excuse me?!"

oliver blinks, smile faltering at your dropped jaw. "what?"

"you thought this was a date?" you rasp.

perplexity takes over his handsome features, oliver tilting his head and sitting up. "sorry, i'm confused. was this dinner not about that?"

"no?!" you're trying your absolute hardest to stay professional, but it's hard to do see when you runover his interactions toward you in your head. the kiss to your knuckles when you met him at the door, the intense eye contact, the unbuttoned shirt... oh, how could you be so stupid?!

you stiffen. "i'm terribly sorry that i gave you the wrong impression. but i only invited you over for dinner so i can discuss what my future plans would be as principal."

oliver is quick to interject himself. "oh. well. i apologize then. i'd be happy to talk more about that matter if you'd like."

the audacity of him to bypass it so casually, as though he wasn't lusting over you for nearly an entire hour when you were trying your absolute best to woo him with your ideas, with both of you ending with nothing but dust in your hands at the end of it all.

you shake your head and start packing your things up, which alerts him.

"no, i'd rather not," you mutter, taking out some wads of cash and pushing it over to him to cover your cost of the food. "i don't think we should proceed this conversation further. at least not for now."

he grabs your hand before you can proceed any further—strong and firm. maybe even desperate, dare you say? "hey, hold on. i swear, i'm really intrigued by your plans. especially the art walk. how 'bout we just finish this dinner and talk things over?"

"i've been trying to do that since we came!" you exasperate loudly, your sharp tone making him flinch a little, especially as you gather some onlookers who glance your way. "i'm sorry, but i'd rather not dabble in a one-sided conversation for another hour."

you plop your phone in your purse and quickly shuffle on your coat, offering him only a disappointed look before you leave, one that pinches an unknown twinge in his chest.

"have a nice evening, mr. aiku," you mutter solemnly, leaving him in the dust.

the next time you see him is the following monday, when he picks up his daughter with the rest of parents.

you're working with another one of your students, introducing him to another book that you think he may like, until you feel a tap on your arm. you excuse yourself from the boy and come face-to-face with rena, who holds up a collaged butterfly she was working on made from spare magazine parts from the crafting table proudly. her eyes that match a familiar two-toned hue sparkle at you.

"look!" she exclaims, her normally-soft voice now replaced with a more voluminous one—a self-curated confidence that you helped bring to life. "i even made it your favorite color. do you like it?"

she lets you hold the collage up to the light, the colors glistening. "oh, it's beautiful, rena!" you praise, your smile being mirrored by hers. "you should put it somewhere you can see it in your house."

she shakes her head, noir pigtails bouncing as she giggles. "it's not for meee..." she sings and then points to her left, where the door is. "daddy said i should give it to you instead!"

your voice suddenly falters, the mention of her father making you look up and suddenly catch the gaze of oliver, who stands idly at your classroom's door. he scratches the back of his neck when you stare at him.

you turn back to her, your eye twitching a bit. "are you sure, sweetheart? i'm sure your father would love to have this instead of me. i think you should keep it somewhere safe."

rena frowns. she seems almost unimpressed.

"he said it himself!" she protests, "it's yours! i'm gonna get my stuff from my cubby now."

abruptly, rena shuffles away without the art piece and to her designated shelf, leaving you. you sigh, standing up and making your way to oliver, who has yet to move his earnest eyes away from you.

"i think this is yours," you murmur and offer rena's piece to him.

oliver shakes his head and pushes your hand back, his larger hand enveloping yours for a slight moment, the leftover desperation from saturday still ghosting his skin.

"she really wants you to have it," he says quietly. "it'd make her happy. really."

you open your mouth to try and reply, but when nothing comes out, you nod and take the piece back, planning to display it somewhere for the children to see. before you can turn on your heel and return your attention back to the boy from before, oliver catches your wrist and shuffles something in your hand.

you turn back and open your palm, seeing the bills you left for him on friday night back into your hand and look up at him.

oliver chews his cheek. "i've got friday's dinner covered. think of it as an apology for um..." he flickers his eyes toward the other parents that wait for their children to finish packing up, not wanting anything to conspire if he said the wrong thing. he leans toward you, his hand shielding his words. "... getting the wrong idea."

he lets out a shaky laugh, trying to break the tension between you and him, though it does so to no avail when you only react with a thick silence. "i mean, i was gonna pay for our dinner regardless, but—"

you hold your hand up, the shake of your head making him stiffen. "it's fine. really. i apologize myself for not making my own intentions clearer."

oliver swallows dryly. he then moves himself out of the classroom and motions you to follow suit to hold a more private conversation, away from the eyes of the children and parents.

"listen," he mutters lowly to you. "again, i'm really sorry for sending mixed signals. i mean this when i say it, but i really do want to talk over your plans as principal one day more sincerely. i should've done it earlier, but..." he lets out a loose laugh, scratching his cheek.

he lifts his gaze to you, the familiarity of eye contact making you squirm.

"... you were just so pretty, i really couldn't help myself," he continues, forcing you to inhale sharply, even though you can detect the sincerity. "rena praises you a lot at home, so when i finally got to meet her favorite teacher formally, i didn't expect you to be so beautiful. and the fact you had asked me to dinner just made me go over my own head."

his buttery words attempt to make you melt, but all they really do is just make your nerves go rigid, your consciousness telling you not to trust them.

you stay quiet, letting him finish.

"i think you'd make a great principal," he says. "and compared to the other contenders, you've definitely got my vote. i'm sure you'd have no problem wooing the others on the board."

your toy with your fingers, pushing the brief spark of happiness over his approval away, not sure if you trust his words as you suspect with a gut-feeling they've been recycled for you.

"i'm glad to hear that. but i'd rather you vote for me because of my mission, not because i'm just another pretty face," you state with a hard look in your eye.

oliver shakes his head, a slight grin lifting on his lips. "that's just another bonus added. i mean it when i said i'm intrigued by your ideas, and i really would love to discuss them over another dinner... if you'd let me?"

he blinks slowly at you, almost fondly, with a slight desperation in his gaze.

your jaw tightens, doubt inking your tongue as you try to find the right words. you merely take a step back when you can't find them, teeth biting your lip. rumors spread fast, and the last thing you need is for people to gossip about the fact you may be privately conspiring with the president of the pta when all you initially wanted to do was just simply persuade him with a presentation of your ideas.

"i don't know," you hesitate. "i'll think about it..."

you try to escape back into your classroom, but oliver grabs your wrist again tenderly and makes you look back at him.

there's that earnestness again in his eyes, the one that really tests your guard and makes you put it down for the moment you capture it.

"you still have my number, right?" he asks quietly. your lips tighten, but you nod, making him sigh out in relief at the fact he hasn't been blocked yet. "okay, good. if you make up your mind, i'm just a text away."

a blank look is his only reply from you, with the mercy of a soft nod, right before you enter back into the classroom and tend back to the leftover children who still wait for their parents to pick them up.

her backpack jangling behind her, rena says a happy goodbye to you as she clutches her father's hand, chiming that she'll see you tomorrow and waving excitedly back at you.

you return it back with an affection on your face, a softness in your eyes at her drastic social improvement as you follow her figure out—all the while not noticing the way that oliver looks at you in the same tender manner.

[mariacallous]

There are situations in which tariffs are a useful tool to address a trade deficit, or to protect key sectors of a country’s economy. Then there are situations where you accuse a bunch of penguins on an uninhabited island of currency manipulation. Guess which one we’re living in?

This is the takeaway of the manifold tariffs announced by President Donald Trump on Wednesday afternoon. In addition to the penguin-occupied Heard and McDonald Islands, the tariffs target the British Indian Ocean Territory, whose sole occupants live on a joint US-UK military base on Diego Garcia island. Yes, the United States is levying reciprocal tariffs against its own troops.

And then there are the tariffs against countries that have actual goods and services on which US consumers depend. China: 54 percent. Vietnam: 46 percent. Cambodia: 49 percent. South Korea: 25 percent. No corner of the US consumer economy will go untouched. Prices will rise. The stock market is spiraling. A recession looms. The tech industry will be turned upside down. Mark Cuban, noted billionaire, is encouraging people to stockpile consumables before it’s too late.

It’s reckless, it’s absurd, and it’s also everything Donald Trump said plainly he would do on the campaign trail. True, he didn’t telegraph how misguided the methodology would be—you can read about it more here, but suffice to say it’s thoroughly detached from the realities of international trade—but he loudly, repeatedly promised to tariff his way to glory.

The stated goal is to return manufacturing jobs to the United States, which is a bit like resurrecting the dodo. The US still manufactures plenty of goods; it’s second only to China in annual output, according to the World Bank. But many of the industry’s jobs have been replaced by automation, a bottle you can’t re-cork. And higher domestic labor costs mean US-made products will inherently be more expensive, a trade-off American consumers have consistently rejected. All of this was already true in Trump’s first term. It’s even more so now.

And let’s say a plurality of companies did decide to reshore or set up factories in the United States. The timeline for those decisions and implementation is measured in years, if not decades, and follow-through can be spotty. (Just ask Foxconn.) So what happens in the meantime?

The rationale has all the weight of a soap bubble. There isn’t a world where the US suddenly manufactures all the items the country has decided to target. There’s a 47 percent tariff on Madagascar now. Do you know why the US has a trade deficit with Madagascar? They produce vanilla; we don’t. Unless we’re suddenly setting up vanilla assembly lines in Ohio, that’s not changing.

But maybe Trump’s so-called Liberation Day is all just a master negotiating ploy. “Everybody sit back, take a deep breath. Don’t immediately retaliate. Let’s see where this goes,” said Treasury secretary Scott Bessent on CNN Wednesday. “Because if you retaliate, that’s how we get escalation.”

It’s an interesting tactic, to start a bar brawl and ask everyone not to punch back in case someone gets hurt. It’s not working. China has already vowed to retaliate; the EU suggested that it could as well. (New Zealand is officially chill.)

Set the economics of this aside for a moment, though. The insult on top of that looming injury is how sloppy this all is. It’s the same blunt-force destruction that DOGE has implemented within the US government, that Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has imposed on the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, now projected on a global scale. Yes, Elon Musk and DOGE have taken a blowtorch to federal agencies. But the tariffs are a helpful reminder that it's Trump who's fiddling while it all burns.

It’s the instinct to measure wins in units of pain and suffering. It’s an assumption that the only way to help yourself is to hurt other people. This is just what America is now.

The optimist’s case is that this is all a feint, that other countries will capitulate or at least make enough of a show of it that things will go back to normal. Seems unlikely. First of all, they’re already doing the opposite, all apologies to Bessent. But even if they weren’t, even if this is just posturing from the US, that posturing has consequences. Whatever equity the US has built up over the last century as a reputable trade partner has been largely wiped out by a businessman-president best known for his bankruptcies.

And then there’s the pessimist’s case, which also seems increasingly like the realist’s. The US is barreling toward a recession for no good reason, and dragging the world—and a few thousand penguins on remote Antarctic islands—down with it.

[sxswriter]

Not Safe for Work

Summary: Maybe agreeing to work on a project with Mr. Sylus, CEO of a billionaire company, wasn't the greatest idea you had

WC: 2.4k

CW: Mature content (mdni), fingering, smut

As a fresh graduate, securing a position with Onychinus Corporation’s strategy and business development department was almost a dream come true. Over your first two years with the company, you poured your heart into your work, and your dedication paid off as you consistently delivered impressive results. You quickly rose to become one of the top performers in your department. 

So, when the CEO, Mr. Sylus, sought someone from your department to collaborate on a pivotal project for a stakeholders’ meeting, it was no surprise to anyone that your supervisor personally recommended you. This was the breakthrough you had been waiting for—a chance to prove you were ready for a bigger role.

However, your enthusiasm soon began to fade as you encountered the harsh reality of working one-on-one with Mr. Sylus. The infamous rumors about his ruthless reputation proved all too accurate. In the first few weeks, you found yourself increasingly frustrated as he dismissed every idea you proposed without hesitation, dragging you back to square one repeatedly. 

Working closely with him, you slowly began to understand the rationale behind his madness. To ensure his company remained a leader in the industry, every decision needed to be calculated and precise–there was no room for mistakes. Although the progress was slow, you quickly learned everything he taught and were able to finally gain his acknowledgment.

As the months passed, another challenge emerged: your growing attraction to him. He was undeniably attractive, and the constant proximity in his office made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. You still cursed yourself for wearing new heels that one day, which led to a slight stumble and a coffee spill all over his expensive shirt. When you instinctively reached to wipe the stain, you felt his muscles tense as he grasped your wrist, his voice smooth as he reassured you not to worry. But when he turned his back to change into a spare shirt, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by the way his back muscles flexed. The image would linger in your mind throughout the day.

Or that one time he had asked you to retrieve something from his bookshelf. Even with your heels, you struggled to reach it, your fingertips barely grazing the item. Just then, you felt his warm presence behind you, his body pressing against your back as he effortlessly grabbed the item you were straining for. You turned your head slightly, catching his smirk as he leaned in closer. With a low, teasing whisper, he said, “Whenever you find yourself struggling to reach anything, just call me. I’d be happy to help.” The heat of his breath sent a shiver down your spine that lingered long after he stepped away

Perhaps the most distracting incident came on the day you quickly grabbed a muffin for breakfast at the first-floor bakery. Waking up late left you with only five minutes to meet him outside the conference room for an important meeting. As he asked you to wait before entering, the atmosphere changed as he stood right in front of you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips as he gently wiped away the crumbs. “You had something on your lips,” he said, his gaze lingering on your mouth. The warmth of his touch sent a rush of heat through you, and when he held the door open for you, your mind was still reeling. Inside the conference room, you struggled to focus on the meeting as thoughts of that brief, intimate moment consumed you.

You also began to see a different side of Mr. Sylus. Beneath the stern facade of the ruthless CEO, he was surprisingly human. He would occasionally play melodic tunes on the record player in his office, which meant enduring his comically off-key humming. One day, you playfully teased him about how horrible he sounded, and he shot back with a critique of your taste in music, making you laugh. He opened up about mentoring two young men named Luke and Kieran, recognizing their potential and taking them under his wing. He shared his calendar with you, encouraging you to drop by his office whenever he had free time, and gave you his number for any needs that might arise.

As time passed, you couldn’t ignore the feelings developing for him. You tried to rationalize it, convincing yourself it was simply a result of working closely together. But deep down, you knew it was because you saw him for who he truly was, not just the CEO but a passionate, driven man with a vulnerable side.

And you knew it was wrong. You had agreed to take on this project for the opportunity, but now you found yourself distracted. A part of you understood the potential consequences of continuing down this path. After all, he was the CEO—there were more important things on his mind.

That morning, you sat at your desk in the strategy and business department, tapping your nails against the surface as you pondered the best way to distance yourself from him and bow out of the project. After a moment of hesitation, you slowly typed up your email:

Dear Mr. Sylus,

I hope this email finds you well. I want to express my gratitude for  the opportunity to work under your leadership for the past few months. Learning from you has truly been an enlightening experience. However, due to personal reasons, I would like to be removed from this project. Although I am saddened to come to this decision, I am confident that many talented individuals within the strategy and business department can pick up where I left off and deliver promising results. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Y/N

With a sigh, you hit send, feeling a mix of relief and dread. You knew this was the right choice for your sanity before you fell in too deep. As you stared at the screen, anxiety churned in your stomach, unsure of how he would respond.

An hour later, you saw his reply: 

Stop by my office at 12 PM.

Fuck, well that backfired. 

Nervously, you entered his office at the designated time, your heart pounding as you approached him. He leaned against his desk, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with a black pen. The intensity of his gaze made you feel as if you were his prey, walking into a trap.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady.

His gaze was heavy, almost piercing. “You’re avoiding me,” he said, getting straight to the point. “Why?”

“I’m no—“

“Don’t lie to me.” He interrupted, his eyes narrowing slightly, a hint of frustration evident.

What was his deal? you thought, a mix of annoyance and confusion bubbling within you. You straightened your posture, defiance rising. “Mr. Sylus, I am not avoiding you. I just have too much on my plate and can’t balance this project on top of my other responsibilities.”

In a swift movement, Sylus grabbed your wrist, and lifted you, positioning you atop his desk, his legs between yours, you could feel the heat radiating from him. His hands were planted firmly on the desk, one on either side of you, effectively caging you in. As he leaned in slightly forward, the proximity made your heart race, a mixture of frustration and undeniable attraction coursing through you. “I said don’t lie to me.”

You glared at him, pushing against his solid frame, but he didn’t budge. “Sylus, what the hell?!”

Frustration bubbled within you, and you finally relented. “Fine! I…” You started, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’ve developed feelings that shouldn’t exist. As a result, working with you now… feels inappropriate and is starting to affect my work.” The admission hung in the air, heavy and raw, as you fought to keep your voice steady, feeling both vulnerable and exposed.

You pushed against him again, desperate for some distance from him. “Anyway, If you have a problem with me no longer wanting to be around you, you could easily find someone to replace me! I’m pretty sure there’s plenty of employees who would jump at the offer.” Your frustration was mounting, “Now, can you please move?”

Sylus gently cupped your chin, drawing your gaze to his intense eyes. “You seem to misunderstand, so let me clarify: I have no intention of replacing you. Do you know why?” He leaned in closer, the space between your lips almost nonexistent. “Because I adore you.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, and you stammered, “W-what?”

“I’ve been aware of how inappropriate it would be to voice those feelings, so I stayed silent,” he continued, his tone steady and serious. “I didn’t want to put you in a compromising position or make you feel pressured to reciprocate because of our roles. I wanted you to come to your feelings for me in your own time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, shifting everything between you.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. It took your breath away to know that he felt the same way you did. A whirlwind of emotions surged through you—relief, joy, and a lingering frustration. The vulnerability of the moment wrapped around you like a warm embrace, making you feel both exposed and cherished. Your heart swelled, the weight of uncertainty lifting as you realized you weren’t alone in your feelings.

Before Sylus could continue talking, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a sudden, electrifying kiss. He responded instantly, a fire igniting between you, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as much, if not more, than you. He pressed you down until your back was flat against his desk. Kicking your heels off, you wrapped your legs around him, drawing him even closer, determined to eliminate any space that remained between you both. 

Leaving your lips, he trailed kisses down your neck, and you couldn’t help the soft, sweet sounds that fell from your lips. The warmth of his touch sent shivers coursing through your body, and the ache inside you deepened. You felt a heat rising within you, the desire for him growing stronger, turning into a palpable longing that was impossible to ignore. He carefully lifted your blouse over your head and removed your bra, his intense gaze fixed on you, a fire burning in his eyes. As you lay exposed, you welcomed the coolness of his desk against your skin, a refreshing contrast to the heat igniting between you. 

Your nipples hardened as if yearning for his attention—and who was he to deny them? He took one of your sensitive buds into his mouth, while his fingers skillfully teased and tugged at the other. Your body instinctively leaned into his touch, a silent testament to the effect he had on you. You lifted your hip, signaling the area where you craved him the most. 

Lifting himself, he gently pulled your pencil skirt off and underwear, leaving you fully exposed. With one hand planted on the table, the other began teasingly rubbing against your core. He watched as you whimpered in delight, the sounds spilling from your lips were music to his ears. Gently, he inserted one finger into your entrance. He smirked in satisfaction feeling how wet you were. “You’re so eager for me, kitten,” he said while inserting another finger, establishing a slow and steady pace inside you.

He lowered his face to your lips again, sharing a slow kiss while his fingers quickened their speed. “Such a good girl.” He whispered into your ear. Maintaining the steady rhythm he set, you sensed your climax quickly approaching. 

Just as you felt yourself about to unravel, a voice you recognized as the receptionist crackled through the speaker: “Mr. Sylus, the consultant company you asked for is on line 1.”

No! you thought desperately. 

You were so close.

“Make sure to stay quiet; we wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea,” he said. You were confused by what he meant by that.

It wasn’t until he accepted the call while still working fingers inside you that the realization hit you—he had no intention of stopping. Meeting his gaze, you saw him lift his unoccupied hand and press a finger to his lips, urging you to be quiet

As Sylus engaged in the call, his eyes remained fixed on you. You could see the playful glimmer in his gaze as he entered a third finger, making it hard to contain yourself. You slapped your hand against your lips to stay silent.

“I trust that this is something you can handle,” he said in response to something the man on the line mentioned, but the way he looked at you made it clear the message was for you.

“Thanks for your time Mr. Sylus, I’ll follow up with any updates next week.” The voice on the speaker faded, followed by the sharp click that marked the end of the cell. 

“Sy—ahh—,” you whined, your thoughts a jumbled mess, unable to form a coherent sentence as pleasure coursed through you. All you could focus on was the sweet finish ahead and the man who would take you there. Desperate for some stability, you pulled Sylus closer, seeking his warmth as a way to ground yourself. His breath was warm against your skin, making it harder to think straight, but you needed him there, anchoring you in the moment.

When you finally came undone, your eyes rolled back, engulfed by the overwhelming rush that consumed you. You hadn’t expected for it to feel this intense, leaving you breathless.

As you struggled to catch your breath, you watched as Sylus finally removed his fingers, your face was practically burning as you watched him lick the fingers which brought you to an indescribable high. 

You noticed him press a button on the phone at his desk. 

“Yes, boss?” his receptionist answered.

With a slow, purposeful motion, he unbuckled his belt, his eyes locked onto you with an intense desire. “Cancel the rest of my meetings for today. I have more urgent matters to attend to.”

You gulped as you realized, the fingers he had in you not too long ago were just a small taste of what he had in store for you.

[belokhvostikova]

𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | With the seed planted, Operation Eddie Munson Must Die falls into plan, as—despite your dismay—a double date is secured with Winnie Ambrose, and Small-Town-Hottie Steve Harrington.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, tiniest mention of drugs, alcohol consumption, bits of arguing, insults, overall disrespectfulness, brief moment of a creep, mentions of past bullying, mentions of STDs, and explicit sexual content: oral (male receiving), cum eating, and protected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Apologies in advance, I found that as I wrote it just kept getting shittier, and shittier. So if it's bad, I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing. Also desperately wanting to make Reader the villain, and have Eddie end up with a girlfriend... who knows :) Big thanks to these lovely anons (you, you, and you) for the plotline suggestions!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 16.2K

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

“God, I told you- I told you just how much of an asshole he was!” The front door shut with a slam, as Winnie’s handbag went flying to the couch in an adrenaline rage. 

Your bottom plopped alongside the discarded purse, where you made the rash endeavor to release your ankles from the tight imprisonment of strappy heels that left your feet sore beyond repair. “C’mon, Winnie, I knew since the first time he left you crying that he was an asshole.” 

With your fingers attempting to mitigate the soles of your feet, your tired eyes had a hard time keeping up with Winnie’s rampant pacing, as the concoction of a martini plus Eddie Munson had her on a buzzing thrill. 

“And you!” Her finger projected to you, tight hands coming to clutch onto your shoulders. “You were incredible! Waving him off, and whatnot! Truly, if it was me, I would have been in his bed by now!” Winnie violently shook your shoulders. “God, he was so desperate, a-and crazy- god, Y/N, you made Eddie Munson crazy!”

“Oh, please, c’mon, Win, Eddie’s not stupid.” You shoved her hands off. “You even said he does this to every girl-”

“Not chase them!” Winnie urged. “For the love of God, he ran into traffic! Eddie Munson doesn’t chase, we chase- I, embarrassingly enough, chased him! That’s his whole game, but you- he went after you!”

You exhaustedly sighed, shoving your fingertips into the skin of your temple. No matter how enthusiastic Winnie’s words came out, your rationale merely vindicated his motives as nothing but self-indulgent and the furthest thing from interest. “Winnie, what kind of girl doesn’t swoon over a big, really stupid gesture? Like I said, Eddie isn’t stupid.”

With a pop, Winnie sunk to her knees, reaching eye level, as her’s unsettlingly burned into yours. “Y/N, believe me, I know Eddie more than you do,” but you knew his type more than she did, “he wanted you. Hell, he’s probably thinking about you right now!”

“Oh, fuck, baby, feels so fucking good, pussy feels so fucking good.” Eddie Munson clinched his eyes closed, as his hips punctured each thrust with a sticky slap of wet skin. 

“Mm! Eddie! Please, don’t stop, ple-”

“Sh! Don’t talk, don’t fucking talk.” His voice grunted, as his heavy hand muffled Santina Rodrigo’s whines into the pillows of his bed. “Just let me fuck you- fuck this pretty pussy until you can’t speak.” The words rolled off his tongue like a studied script. 

If you weren’t going to be in his bed tonight, someone else surely was.

His thrust became harsher. Bumping into the ripple of her ass, as her back curved to the gluttony of her body that just wanted more, and more. Pounding breaths were ripping through his flared nostrils, with pellets of salty sweat bleeding into his mouth, as a firm bite to his lip kept his moans at bay. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby. Eddie, I’m gonna-”

“Cream on my fucking cock, show me how good I’m fucking you. Scream it, sweetheart.” His stomach cramped with each fervent squelch of his dick ramming into her cunt.

You blinked. “You really think he’s thinking about me?” A shy smile unwarrantedly invaded your face. 

Winnie jumped with joy. “Yes! He totally is!” She squealed. “But don’t you dare let that get to your head.” Her hand suddenly came in contact with your forehead. 

“Ow!”

“That’s like strapping steak on your chest, and going into the lion’s den. If you’re not ready to fully face the charming wrath of Eddie Munson, you need to tell me now!” Christ, that accusatory finger was degrading you again with its vicious point. “Okay, you can’t fall for his shit!”

“I- no, n-no, I’m ready, like, so, totally ready.” Your face became stern under her glare. “Yeah, um, very much ready.” Your voice quieted. 

“Remember Y/N, it’s guys like Eddie that get girls to think they’re so datable.” Her eyes dragged to the back of her head. “Okay, all this ‘oh, you’re so special, I’m obsessed with you, I’d do anything for you’ is a little bullshit game that gets girls to fawn over him.” She mocked with such a guttural voice. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect! Perfect just for me! Cum, baby, cum all over my fucking cock.” Eddie’s voice cracked through gritted teeth, as his hands painfully molded to the fat of her ass, squeezing until her skin was tender. 

“Yeah, baby? Fuck, I’m cumming! I’m- aughhh!” Santina mewled into the rumpled sheets that soaked with her perspiration. 

Eddie didn’t give her a minute to spare, as her scalp suddenly burned with the brutal grip of her hair in his hand. Her body nearly collapsed, as she trudged through the attempt of supporting herself on trembling legs, when Eddie forced her face to his body. The stretching of rubber slapped off his cock, as he haphazardly discarded the condom onto the expanse of the bedroom floor. 

“C’mon, baby, open up, lemme cum down that fucking throat.” Her head could barely confirm his request with a nod, before Eddie shoved his length down her airway, with a thick gag to harshly pair with his deep groans. 

Spit slung down the curve of her chin, doubling the stains that had previously bled themselves into his dirty sheets from a week of late night endeavors catered to different women, but always ended the same. 

And Santina Rodrigo was no fool, she was fully capable of grasping the reality of Eddie Munson. 

Which is why this night would end differently. 

“Yeah, I know, which is totally why this date isn’t happening.” You proclaimed. 

But Winnie Ambrose has other plans. “Oh, no, it totally is.”

“What?” You jumped from the couch. “What happened to the, y’know, ‘Eddie wants what he can’t have,’ going on a date with him is giving him exactly what he can’t have?”

Winnie sighed, a shake of disappointment came with the sympathetic look she burdened you with. “Oh, you poor, innocent thing.” Her manicured hand patronizingly caressed your head with pets. “Y/N…” her breath deepened, “…this is all a part of the plan!” She exclaimed. “Remember, you give and you take. Leading Eddie on will only grow his feelings, but never fully giving in will leave him wanting more! This is the basic principle of dating!”

“I don’t like this kind of dating.” 

“Well, it’s what’s gonna work! We have to take him down!” Her hands harshly dug into your shoulders, bulging eyes of crazy staring into your soul. “And we will not back down! Say it with me! We will not back down!”

“Our neighbors are going to think we’re crazy, Winnie.”

“C’mon!” She incited you. “We will not back down! Eddie Munson will come down!” Winnie Ambrose truly had to be drill sergeant in her past life. “We will not back down! Eddie Munson will come down-”

“-Your throat. F-Fuck, gonna cum down your throat. Just keep gaggin’ on my cock, baby.” Eddie held a tight grip to Santina’s head, her hair now in an irreparable state of dishevelment from his unyielding grip that gave him the leverage to pummel his cock down her constricting throat. 

With his balls tensing under the thick globs of spit that squelched his cock towards that buzzing bliss, Eddie suffocated Santina’s nose with the curls of his pubes, as his heavy grunts announced his orgasm, with streams of salty spurts invading her mouth. 

“Mm, fuck, yeah, better swallow that shit down, fuck.” He slowed his movements, until his cock pulled from between her raw lips, as her tongue lapped up the strings of saliva that clung to his dick. 

And here it came. Like clockwork.

“You okay, baby?” A caressing hand; pivotal for the illusion of caring. With his thumb gently stroking the breadth of her cheek, softly swiping the remanments of a blowjob from her lips, Santina Rodrigo melted into his touch. Next, words of affirmation. “Did so good for me, baby. Fuck, that was incredible.” Eddie Munson smiled. “Was that okay for you? Not too hard? You can tell me, sweetheart, want you comfortable, beautiful.” Something to flutter the heart, every person likes being cared for. And with a tired mouth too exhausted to confirm her contentment, Eddie went in for the kill. As Santina peered up at him with the roundest eyes to appeal to him, Eddie cemented this act of love with an intimate kiss on her gleaming forehead. 

It was quite profound, actually. 

Something about his large build hovering over, so easily chalked up to the roughness of man actually being vulnerable enough to express affection. It would have any girl swooning. 

Eddie Munson knew that, but more importantly, Santina Rodrigo knew that. 

So, as his back laid against the cushion of his pillows, his fingers reached for a cigarette to ease his mind of the inevitable downpour of cries that were about to be spewed his way. But the sudden movement beside him had his eyes connecting with hers, Santina. “Listen, sweetheart-”

“I’m off work Saturday.” With his sheets covering her once exposed breasts, she sat with her head held high, eyes unfaltering. 

“I-”

“I understand you put on the theatrics for your gain, but I don’t want it, unless you mean it.” Santina smiled. “Really mean it.” 

Eddie’s brows cinched to the center of his forehead, where his mind blanked at the unheard of bluntness from his—what was supposed to be—one night stand. “What are you getting at here, sweetheart?”

“I want a date on Saturday.” She asserted. “C’mon, you really think I would just let you fuck me, and move one?” Eddie’s face twisted with the laughter that smacked his face. “Grow up, Eddie. This act can’t last you forever.”

His thoughts were invaded with the tumultuous mix of unwanted astonishment that—as much as it pissed him off—sparked a little curiosity in his dazed mind. A laugh scoffed past his lips. “A date? Okay.” If it meant another easy fuck, who was he to give that up over a simple date. 

“And no bullshit, Eddie.” Santina affirmed. “If I’m going to be allowing you to fuck me, it’s just going to be me.”

Eddie laughed. “Hold on now, baby, this,” his finger maneuvered against the space between them, “has only been a one night thing, you can’t, um, you can’t expect me to just stick to one pretty girl, now, c’mon, sweetheart.” He proffered a sly smirk that had her rolling her eyes. 

“None of which will be as good as me.” Her confident stature had Eddie sucking in breath through his teeth-bitten lips. “And you’ll realize that quite quickly, but far too late for me to ever care for. So, Eddie, I suggest you clean yourself up nicely for this date. I don’t like anything cheap.” Stunned, he watched her naked body emerge from his sheets, as she quietly gathered her clothes. Her hand found itself wrapped around Eddie’s chin, nails digging into his skin to keep him face-to-face. “If I were you, I’d reconsider this whole ‘noncommittal’ act you like to screw girls over with.” She smiled, soft breaths against his lips. “I’m different Eddie, and you’re going to respect that. Goodbye.” Santina brandished her lip gloss to his lips with a wet kiss, before her heels clicked their way out of his apartment. 

Eddie Munson blinked, screwing his eyes closed, as he scoffed in disbelief. “What the fuck?” 

“Alright, alright, we’ll take Eddie Munson down.” You shoved your hand over Winnie’s mouth to quiet her voice, only for her muffled squeals of excitement to bleed through. 

“Okay, okay!” She jumped with adrenaline, a bright smile to pair. “We have to be methodical, Y/N. Simply going on the date with Eddie isn’t going to cut it. We have to make sure you’re the only one dating Eddie. He’s never gonna take this seriously, if he’s still seeing other women. We have to cut off the source.”

“The source?”

“The source that makes Eddie Munson so dateable!” She huffed so obviously. “We have to make Eddie undateable.”

“Right, make the tall guy with nice hair, who plays lead guitar of his own band, and just so happens to be known as the man who can make any girl finish undateable. Yeah, that seems totally plausible.” You deadpanned.

Winnie Ambrose sighed. “When will you learn to never underestimate me?”

Next day by brunch, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, Winnie found herself sipping on one too many mimosas, and with the boredom of her lonesome company and the once baby blue polish that was mindlessly chipped to nothing, her endeavors brought her the social setting of Marie Ann’s Nail and Spa. “He gave you what now?!” Suddenly, the nail tech was hesitant to touch Winnie’s fingers.

“Mhm.” Winnie solemnly nodded, as the other women amongst her gasped. “At first, I thought it was just regular discharge, but then it just got worse, and worse!” She dramatically exclaimed. “And then suddenly, I was in pain, it hurt to pee, and I was getting these awful fevers.” Her acting twisted the faces of the fellow patrons to concern. “So, I did what any girl would do, and I went to the doctor, and what do you know it: the clap!”

“And Eddie Munson gave it to you?” Shirley Brinkle, with her toes soaking in the warm water of her chair, massage setting on, interrogated with her manicured hand clutching her necklace. 

“Yup! I mean, he was the only one I’ve ever been with.” Quite the act. “And it checks out, y’know, with all the girls he’s been with, and whatnot.” Winnie fought to hold back a smile, as the ladies around her nodded in agreement. “So, I’m warning you. Do not get with Eddie Munson. He’s, like, a total walking biohazard.”

And it had worked… for some time. With how notorious the playboy had been, word spread quickly through groups of girlfriends who once gossiped about the sheer size of his cock, now having hushed conversations to stay clear of said cock. So, that evening, when Eddie had found himself in flirtations with the lady at the gym, who just looked too good in her gymwear to pass up, his confidence faltered at her sudden departure, when her friend stared him in his eyes, and whispered to her friends. Like, so motion, Eddie heard the quiet word slip from her mouth, “gonorrhea.” Panic.

But rule number one in warfare: never underestimate your opponent.

That Monday to come, Winnie dragged herself through the streets of Indianapolis to clock in her hours at work, though when passing the empty bar that saw its busiest attendance on the particular Saturday nights Corroded Coffin would perform, her body halted. Retaking her steps back, her sunglasses raised, eyes squinting to see if she was really seeing what she was seeing.

Posted on the window, “END THE STIGMA: Let’s talk about gonorrhea.” Eddie and his stupid face plastered on a poster was enough to make Winnie scoff. “Saturday night STD fundraiser! Live show included, here at The Albatross!”

“That conniving, little bitch!” And, of course…

“While an advocate, I, Eddie Munson, do not have gonorrhea or any sexually transmitted diseases.”

And just to rub some salt into the wound, “So sweet, isn’t he?” A stranger—a pretty one at it, too—voiced her admiration to Winnie, as they gazed upon the poster. “He’s, like, the only guy I know who would care about a cause.” 

Damn it, the bar was in hell.

But while Eddie Munson may have gotten the upper hand in this round, he and his confidence in his system of juggling girls could not anticipate the events of Black Tuesday.

-

On Tuesdays like such, customers found little time to meander in the relaxation of the coffeehouse, as midweek work obligations called for the swift in-and-out transaction. 

You quite like Tuesdays like such. 

When little visitors frequented, your boss would tune up the small radio that allowed soft music to linger about, where it once would be drowned under the cacophony of shouting patrons, who took to vividly expressing their lives in conversations.

Spurt. Spurt. You hummed to the voice of Billy Joel, as the fragranced cleaner invaded your noise with lemony pinewood, providing that sleek gloss to the wooden table tops, as your damp rag smeared across the perimeter. Too ingrained with mimicking the tunes of “Vienna,” you hadn’t paid much mind to the chime of the door bell, simply throwing out the usual, “I’ll be with you in a minute,” as you continued the task of swiping away leftover crumbs of pastries that accompanied the light splatters of spilled coffee. 

But turning on your feet to reach the register fell short, when you were suddenly face-to-face with Eddie Munson. “You’re quite hard to get a hold of… Y/N.” Ever so slightly, the sardonic tone of his voice curled his lips upward. 

With a lump caught in your throat, you made the rash decision to merely walk away to the counter, screwing your eyes shut at the sound of following footsteps that stomped behind you. You cleared your throat. “What can I get you?” 

“A date.” He nonchalantly nodded. “As you agreed.” 

“Uh, no, I di-”

“Y’know, after asking you out, I came by Sunday to make plans for our date.” He interjected, as your eyebrows shot into the creases of your forehead. 

“Didn’t work Sunday.” You blunted provided.

Eddie hissed, shaking his head. “Yeah, much to my disappointment.” His hand came up scratching the shavened skin of his cheek. “Though, also kinda lucky.” He laughed off, leaning in close. “Had some mess to deal with, all fixed now, so if you hear otherwise, it’s a lie.”

Oh, Winnie.

You suppressed the bulging of your eyes, and waved off his attempt at a conversation. “What do you want, Eddie?”

“I already told you: my date.” 

“Can’t. Busy.” You turned your back to wipe off the counters that you had already cleaned before his arrival, though luckily, he didn’t know that. 

“Alright, so I’ll accommodate. When do you get off?” With his forearms against the counter, his biceps bulged against his constricting arm sleeves, and maybe, just maybe, Eddie tensed his arms to let those veins pop, as you faced him again.

Annoyance was beginning to bubble in your chest. With what few customers did visit, all seemed to have a stick up their ass with their disrespectful attitude towards you, and you weren’t exactly keen to play into Eddie’s games. “Look, you forcing me to say yes to date, because you did something absolutely stupid is not me actually wanting you, okay? So, unless you’re going to order something, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

Eddie propped to his extended height. “Hey, alright, look, you’re right, I’m sorry.” His ringed hands landed on his chest. “That was real stupid of me, but I meant what I said Saturday, I do have this funny, little feeling that you’re special, so can you really blame a guy?” You wanted to slap that smile off his face. You probably wouldn’t even be able to count how many times that one liner was used on other women, and your face showed it with the scowl that took over. “Alright, so you can blame me.” He laughed. 

“Get out.”

“Hey, no, I’d like a latte, please. My usual, c’mon, Y/N, you know my usual.” Ugh, you did know his usual. 

“It’ll be $5.” 

A scoff chuckled out from his mouth. “What? It’s usually $3.10.”

“Not today.” 

Eddie laughed in disbelief, as he reached for his wallet, slapping two $5 bills onto the counter, and sliding them over. “The extra five is for you, feeling generous.” He cockily shrugged. Degrading and patronizing? To hell with it, you were a service worker, of course, you took the tip. You once again turned, given another distraction of actually concocting his order to find reason not to entertain him. “Think the universe is in my favor, no? Came in Sunday, you weren’t here. Came in Monday… you weren’t here. Why was that anyway?”

“Had class. Got the night shift.” 

“Ah, so you go to university. See, look at us, we could be getting to know each other just like this, but on a date.” You despised the soft laughter that echoed through your nose, something Eddie surely had picked up on with the large smile that took over his face. “But then y’know what? Came in on this fine Tuesday, and what d'ya know? Third times a charm, here you are.” 

“Unfortunately.”

Eddie laughed. “Oh, you’re funny.” Oh, Christ, you were smiling. Thank god your back was turned. “You like the movies, got a favorite film.”

“Hate them, actually.”

“Alright, well, what about dinner?” Eddie proffered. “Got a nice restaurant in mind, could order you some nice steak, ooh, the lobster is always incredible. 

“Don’t eat meat. It’s disgusting.” You lied.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Y/N, sweetheart, you gotta work with me here.”

“I quite literally don’t.” You slid over the plastic cup of coffee. Winnie would be so proud of you. 

“Ooh,” he hissed, “I actually wanted this for here.” Eddie matched your movement, sliding back the latte, as his eyes never left yours. 

You sighed, shrugging your shoulders to match his considerably cool apathy, when in reality you were ready to hurl your guts over the mortifying experience of having to talk to a guy like him. “Well, you should have specified that. Too late now.” You shoved the cup back. 

Eddie smiled that sickly grin, leaning in close enough to have you cowering below him. But your eyes stayed staunch to the confidence you were trying to exude, never forfeiting the staring contest he forced you into. “C’mon, just tell me what I gotta do to get you on a little date with me. What’s it gonna take?” His head tilted with that devious smirk. 

“Well, maybe…” you sincerely sighed, “...if you would just leave.” You round eyes peered up at him.

A guttural laugh bubbled in his chest, as he blushed down with a suppressed smile. “I’m being serious.”

“And who says I’m not?” You smiled back. 

“Alright, look, it’ll all be on your terms. Your wish is my command. Anything you want.” Eddie laid his cards out flat on the table. 

You swallowed thickly, regulating yourself through the heavy breathing of a long sigh that escaped from you. Realistically, being one-on-one with someone like Eddie was a set up for disaster. As embarrassing as it is to admit, you’d only survive this far with the words of Winnie Ambrose playing into your ear, coaching you through the complexity that is Eddie Munson. You give and you take, and so far, the easiest thing was taking away, and even that had your stomach twisting with the gruesomeness of anxiety that left your mind on overdrive with intrusive thoughts. 

What did Eddie Munson think of you? How much of an embarrassment would you make out of yourself suddenly falling into his trap? No, you were better than that. This wasn’t going to be another Dalton Barron moment- ugh, Christ, you don’t even want to think about him. Okay, so you learned from your mistake, it won’t happen again, just don’t trust Eddie Munson. Yeah, don’t trust Eddie Munson. Surely, anyone would agree with you on that one. But what if not trusting him puts him off? What if that’s what drives him away, and Winnie’s plan ultimately fails, because of yo-

“C’mon, Y/N, I think you’re gettin’ a little too into your head here.” He swayed in his stance. Your face frowned, clearly not appreciative of how easily he read that. 

“I don’t- I just don’t want to go on a date with you.” You softly answered, watching his head drop in defeat. “At least, not alone.” He slowly peered back up in interest. 

Eddie nodded to your suggestion. Was it ideal? Definitely not, it’d be quite difficult making the moves on you with people around. But if it meant getting you out with him… “I got a friend.” His fingers snapped at the sudden revelation that hit him. 

“A friend?”

“Yup.” His lips popped with emphasis. “Pretty good looking guy, y’know, nice hair n’ all. Family’s loaded, too, he’s working at the law firm his dad owns back in my hometown.”

“You’re not from here?” You questioned.

Eddie smiled. “See, you’re totally interested in gettin’ to know me.” He teased an eye roll out of you. “But, no, to answer your question, I’m not. Hawkins, in fact. Pretty small town about forty minutes out north west from Indy. A little shitty- well, actually, a lot shitty,” Eddie chuckled, “but it’s quiet at night, which I’ve always liked. So, if it’ll make you a bit more comfortable,” he leaned over, “why don’t you and that roommate of yours come out to Hawkins to hang out with me and my buddy.”

Your eyes softened at the request, as your heartbeat slowly dissipated to the calm rhythm it once was pumping at, before Eddie ruined that for you. “You- you’d be okay with Winnie coming?”

“No.” He laughed. “In fact, I think bringing an old hookup—who just so happens to hate my guts—to a double date sounds absolutely miserable, but I’m willing to be miserable if it means getting to be with you.” No salacious smirk this time, spoken matter-a-factly even, which somehow felt more unsettling. “Hopefully Steve can entertain your friend enough for me.” Eddie shrugged. 

“Steve?”

“Harrington.” He finished off for you. “Quite the ladies man, in fact, so I’m sure he’ll have no problem agreeing to this.” Then, Eddie whispered close. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t steal you off of me.” He winked, before grabbing his drink to take a couple steps back. “You get off by, I don’t know, five?” You couldn’t even fathom words at the moment, only meeting him with a small nod that mindlessly controlled itself. “Perfect, then let’s say about eight. Real casual, nothing too crazy. The Hideout, it’s a little bar. In Hawkins. My treat.” He smiled. “Have a nice day… Y/N.”

Eddie Munson had become quite obsessed with saying your name. 

-

“Steve Harrington? Sounds like some boy-next-door sitcom name.” Winnie laughed, as her mouth crunched down on the handful of chips that stuffed themselves down her mouth. 

“Eddie said he was really good looking, though.” You sat by her propped feet on the coffee table. “And- and, he’s in the whole lawyer business thing.” You offered. 

“He’s a lawyer?” Winnie’s interest piqued at the sudden monetary value of Steve Harrington. 

“Well, Eddie said he worked at a law firm, not entirely sure what he does, but you could totally find out if you go, please, pretty please.” You begged. “Don’t let me go by myself, you know I won’t be able to handle it, I’ll probably panic and say something stupid, and this whole plan will come crashing-”

“Okay, okay.” Winnie gave in, folding over the plastic of her chip bag, as she rid herself the crumbs that stuck around her mouth. “You know what? You’re right, we have to get this date going.” She urgently stood. “We have to go all out. What are we thinking? Skirt? Maybe a dress? Ooh, I’ve been meaning to bust out my new Vivienne Westwoods-”

“Wait, no, Eddie said this was supposed to be casual.” You stopped her. “Just some bar, I think by the sounds of it, in his hometown.”

“Eddie’s bringing you to his hometown?!” Winnie halted, face contorting into the dozen creases of dumbfoundedness. “What the hell?! The first time I got with him, I asked for his last name, and he told me not to push it. Had to hear it from some other girl he was screwing. Holy shit, Eddie Munson’s whipped for you!”

“What? N-No, he’s not.” You tried appeasing her shock. “It’s just like a convenience thing, y’know? For his friend, I assume.”

Winnie laughed in disbelief, shaking her head to dispute your claims. “Oh, this plan is so going to work!” She cheered. “C’mon, we have a first date to ruin!”

By 5:45 P.M, your bathroom steamed with the hotness of condensation, as the aromas of scented body washes and lotions clung to your body. Unlike the preparations of Saturday night, ‘dressing casually’ proved difficult for Winnie, who opted to rummage through your closet. “Ugh, don’t you have anything lacey?”

“Is lacey really casual?” You wondered, as you hopped into your shorts with a shimmy to get them from around your ass.

“It is to me.” Winnie whined, flinging articles of clothing you knew she’d never clean up. 

“What about my maxi skirt right there?” You proffered.

Winnie examined the layered sheer material. It was a sage green. She quite liked green with her auburn hair. “It’s not too hot for this?” She hesitantly questioned.

“Totally not! Enough flow for some airway.” You sold. “Plus, pretty easy to slip off for Mr. Lawyer.” You teased, at least something funny enough to get her to smile.

“Oh, I shouldn’t- well…” You laughed at her contemplation, as you both fell comfortably in the pile of clothes in your disorganized bedroom. “Maybe if he’s, like, really hot. Like, River Phoenix hot. Ooh, that means I should definitely wear my push-up bra, wherever the hell it went.” You dug for a thin sweater to throw on. “No, but wait, would that make a slut?” You laughed at her question. “Like, royal slut for sleeping with two friends?

“Who cares, Win. Have your fun.” You offered in return, watching her shoulders relax. “Eddie’s doing it, anyway. Why can’t you?”

Winnie gasped. “You would sleep with Eddie Munson?!”

Your mouth fell open. “W-What? No, I didn’t say that, like, a-at all. I just- I meant dating.”

“Okay, but would you?” Winnie teased, poking at your belly to rile you up.

Your mind blanked, mouth falling dry through your stutters. “N-No, I don’t even like him like that. You- it’s you making me do this, remember?” You defended. “I wouldn’t have even talked to him if it wasn’t for this idea.” It’d be best if Winnie Ambrose never learned the identity of your mysterious coffeehouse crush that was discovered to be Eddie Munson. Even then, all those barely there, absolutely not deep, totally juvenile feelings vanished when learned that not only had he been sleeping with your best friend, but apparently all of Indianapolis. 

“Well,” Winnie sighed, trusting your word, “you’re stronger than most. Which honestly, is the only thing keeping this plan working, because let’s be honest here, Eddie is going to try to sleep with you sooner or later.” Your stomach churned. “But, remember we can’t let that happen. Best way to go about it is to be, y’know, calm and collected. Brush him off effortlessly.”

“Okay, calm and collected. Like I don’t care. Just be indifferent.” You detail your understanding. 

“Exactly, but don’t totally wave him off! The only thing reeling him in is your slight interest.” You felt like your head was about to explode. “So, just take notes and remember to be caring and passionate. He’s gotta know you’re feeling something, y’know?” No, you don’t know. “But then,” oh, Christ, “you gotta learn when to hit back, okay? Eddie’s an asshole. You know that, I know that, everyone knows that. And that filthy mouth of his is bound to say something gross to get a reaction out of you. So, stand your ground, be proud and aggressive. He’ll easily walk all over you if you’re meek.”

“Okay, well, I rejected him, now I’m going on a date with him, so he thinks I’m “interested,” I just don’t know what to do next.” You frowned in frustration. “This is all a lot, y’know?”

“C’mon, you’ve dated before-”

“Yeah. Though, it was only one, singular, y’know… Dalton.” You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms into your eye sockets to suppress the memories that were trying to hash out that anger for the closure you never got. 

“Exactly!” Winnie snapped with emphasis. “You’ve been down this road before, you know what to expect. And people like Eddie and Dalton need to pay up for what they’ve done! So, don’t strike yourself out, we are women! We are feminists! This is for feminism!”

You huffed out a sardonic chuckle. “I don’t think that’s what feminism means, Winnie.”

“Okay, well, we’re both young women, who are hot as shit, and are not going to let some gross dudes ruin us!” She declared. “So, when you go on this date, you play it aloof. Don’t give him everything, but give him enough.”

“Like what?”

“Like, if he compliments you, don’t shy away, you take it!” She explained. “Oh, and the three seconds rule! You wait three seconds to answer him when you’re talking.”

“Doesn’t that seem a little redundant?” You brows cinched in question. 

“No, it totally works for me!” She protested.

“Winnie,” you sympathetically sighed, “you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Ugh, look, if I wanted to keep them around, I would, because that three seconds rule works! Makes me look cool, Y/N.” Winnie sassed in protest. Before you could retaliate a teasing comment to her skewed views of dating, a knock at the front door had cut your conversation short. “I’ll get it.” Winnie huffed, throwing your maxi skirt in the mountaining pile of clothes, before heading out. While you could, your shirt had shimmied itself off your body to find comfort in a sweater that would suffice for the whole ‘I don’t care’ look you hoped to exude with this forced upon date. Suddenly, Winnie’s feet could be heard shuffling as quickly as possible back to your room. “Fucking flowers?!”

“What?” You questioned, as you fixed your hair from the mess that de-clothing caused. 

In the crinkle of brown tissue paper and twine, a dozen stems of pastel tulips stood lively in Winnie’s hands. “He went full Netherlands on you!”

“Eddie?!” Your brows jumped in perplexion. 

Winnie scoffed in disbelief. “Who else would be E. Munson?!” She pulled out the small envelope that propped itself within the tangle of flowers. You stood from the floor, grabbing the pretty bouquet, as Winnie shuffled to slide the card from the paper encasing. “Ugh, ugh,” she cleared her throat. “To ease your mind, something as pretty as you, Y/N. Let me do things properly, give me a call to pick you up: three, one, seven, blah, blah, blah. Gag.” Winnie rolled her eyes. “Sending you flowers, while taking you to some dingy bar, how chivalrous.” 

“W-Wait a minute,” you snatched the card from her hand, “what? Am I supposed to ride with him now?” Your finger skimmed over the felt-tip pen that bled Eddie’s number to the cardstock of the note.

“No.” Winnie snatched the card, ripping it in half.

“Uh- Winnie! This was actually a little sweet, c’mon.”

“Remember, we’re playing this cool!” She urged. “You already agreed to this date, you can’t feed him more. You’re not accepting any of this- well, keep the flowers, they’d look quite nice on our mantel. But don’t call him, okay? We can drive ourselves. And, like, what the hell? Did he just expect me to tow behind? He, like, totally didn’t think of me at all.” Your brow slowly lifted at her. “Alright, alright, I’ll shut up about myself.”

-

Through the static voices of Skid Row over the radio, you turned about the creased map every which way, trying to read the barely eligible highways with their too tiny of a font names. “Oh, okay, it’s Exit 13A.”

“How far away is it?” Winnie held the steering wheel under a tight grip.

“Um,” you peered up. “it’s right there! Winnie, right lane! Go to the-”

“I’m trying! This slow bastard isn’t moving!” She screamed.

You reached over the console. “Your blinkers!” A quick flip to the handle clicked on the indicators. “They won’t know unless your blinkers are on!”

Meanwhile, Eddie’s foot had anxiously tapped to the ticks of the clock, as his thumb nail was facing the repercussion of his nervous gnawing. 

Where the hell were you? It was nearing a quarter to eight, and your expected phone call hadn’t come by. No bounce of his knee, no hand through his hair, no pacing around could ease the nerves that pissed him off, because he so ardently waited for your call. He stood from his couch, quickly making his way to the phone, but no matter how desperate that itch was telling him to call instead, it all fell into a lost cause, as Eddie didn’t know your number. Eddie didn't know Winnie’s number. Hell, Eddie didn’t know any woman’s number. They called. Not him. Never him. Well, he could go over to your apartment- no, that was on another level of desperation that Eddie felt was too pathetic to ever let his pride commit to. 

“Augh,” he groaned in annoyance, as those anxious nerves were beginning to be taken over by anger. “What a bitc- mm.” He restrained himself with a gruff. “What am I- what am I doing waiting around? Fuck this, I’ll get someone else.” Eddie raged under his breath, as he snatched his jacket, and stomped his way out of the apartment. 

Your eyes followed along the passing trees, as the prussian blue of nighttime was beginning to feed into the amber glow of the leaving sunset. Hawkins had been nothing but a straight highway of nonbeing, as Eddie’s words came into existence: it was quiet at night. Rocks skipped under the fast turning wheels of the car, as you approached the faded sign welcoming you into the solitude of Hawkins, Indiana. When rows of woodlands finally ended, you were met with the expanse of cornfields. 

“So…” Winnie dragged out. “How exactly are we supposed to find this bar?” She questioned, as her eyes fell on the long road ahead. “Maybe we should have taken up Eddie’s offer.” You shot her a look of disbelief. “Okay, I’m kidding, I’m kidding, but seriously.”

“Eddie said it was a small town, so I’m sure it won’t take too long. Just look out for bar, preferably with any sign at says ‘The Hideout.’” 

“The Hideout… The Hideout.” She ticked, as she drove wherever the roads guided her. 

Through the unintentional exploration of the suburbs and downtown areas, your destination was found through the environs north front of abandoned diners, lonesome laundromats, and a dilapidated trailer park where rusted car parts littered the dead grass against man made driveways. 

The neon sign buzzed through its draining power. “Some first date.” Winnie groaned, taking in the foundation of stained bricks. 

You shrugged with the bit of optimism you were clawing to hold on to. “M-Maybe it’s quaint.”

“Yeah, for a bunch of hillbilly, old dudes with beer bellies.” She grouched, as her legs dragged her out of the car. You swiftly followed, choosing to subtly cower behind her, as you both loitered the makeshift parking lot of what was just tire tracks and haphazard parking. “These guys better be here already.” Winnie rolled her eyes. Nothing but the running engine of a burgundy Bimmer buzzed through the chilled atmosphere.

And it hadn’t been until the engine was keyed off, with a figure slamming the door shut, that it finally caught your attention. “Hey, hey, wait, you think that’s Steve?” Your hand repeatedly smacked against Winnie’s arms.

Winnie squinted her eyes through the dark. Well, he did have the hair. Great hair, in fact. Totally walked like he could be some wannabe lawyer, especially with the white button-up he adorned; too fancy for a place like such. Could definitely see him being casted as the boy-next-door. And woah, was he pretty. Like, ridiculously pretty. “It better be Steve, fuck me.” Her glossed lips fell open. 

“O-Okay, so, we just, like, ask him-”

“Ayo, Steve!” Winnie’s deepened voice boomed to the likeness of a man, before harshly turning around to avoid being caught. 

“Oh, my god.” You quietly sighed to yourself in embarrassment, as Winnie’s efforts clearly fell short of subtlety, and the now identified Steve Harrington was looking right over. 

Winnie stood stiff, as if to appear invisible. “Well, did he look up?” 

“Yes, he looked up.” You deadpanned. “And right at us, in fact, because that was awful.” An incredulous chuckle scoffed out of you. 

“Aw, great, he probably thinks I sound like a chain smoker now.” She groaned, as you both awkwardly shuffled to his direction. 

He proffered such a boyish smile with a small wave to greet you both, before his arms crossed over his chest, hands tucking under his armpits. “Hey, uh, sorry, this is a bit confusing, you’re here to hang out with Ed and I?” He questioned with a small smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” You softly answered. “I’m Y/N.” You introduced yourself. 

Steve flashed you a warm smile, before pointing a curious finger beside you. “Ah, so you’re mine tonight?” He asked for clarification to Winnie, who blushed under his suaveness. 

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be yours any night.” She mindlessly responded, luckily rifting that first-meet-up awkward tension that now dissipated into sincere laughter.   

“Alright then,” Steve’s cheeks plumped under his growing smile. “Wendy, right?”

Winnie rolled her eyes. “That bastard, it’s Winnie.” She beamed.

“Winnie, got it, I apologize.” Steve offered, as she shyly waved him off, truly enamored through her school girl-like crush. “Well, uh, like I was saying, I am a bit confused, ‘cause Eddie had kinda told me you guys bailed on us.”

“What?” You mused over his words in confusion. 

Steve shook his head. “Yeah, I’m not sure, something about you not calling, or just basically canceling, I guess.” You and Winnie slowly looked at one another. “I don’t know, he called me before I clocked off work, but after a shift with my dad,” an airy laugh breathed out of him, “figured I could still go for a drink. So, sorry if I’m a little overdressed.” His hands panned over his suited body. “Yeah, so, I’m assuming some lines of communication got lost. You guys definitely didn’t cancel, right?” 

“No, we were trying to be feminists.” You sarcastically lilted. 

“Right, right.” Steve laughed along. “Well, uh, since this double date is definitely not canceled, why don’t we all head inside? I’ll call up Eddie, see if he picks up, and if not… well, I surely don’t mind taking out two pretty girls, so my treat.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m definitely keeping him.” Winnie whispered into your ear.

Where mandatory I.D checks made up The Albatross, it surely lacked at The Hideout, as nothing but spotted glass door—dirtied by a litter of sticky fingerprints—had fallen easily open to welcome any patron who chose to drown their stress with a bitter bottle of beer. Whatever Top 100 Hits Winnie had been used to listening to during her bar endeavors had been switched to bare the brunt of country rock, as older men and women spaced themselves accordingly, rather than the practical dry humping The Albatross was regularly accustomed to. 

Steve Harrington, the soon to be discovered paralegal, had situated you both to a lonesome table surrounded by four stools, where you received the chance to gaze about the rustic decor of American flags and sports jerseys that complimented the dusty deer head that hung against the dark wood. “Hey, so, you guys have any drink preferences?” His head gestured to the bar. 

“Two beers will be fine.” Winnie’s chipper voice answered, as you nodded in agreement. 

“Perfect, I’ll head up to get our drinks, and see if I can give Eddie a call.” Winnie froze under his innocent hand that landed on her shoulder, before Steve sauntered off. 

“Oh, Christ, I’m gonna marry him.” Winnie groaned into her hands. 

You giggled at her unease. “It’s barely been five minutes.”

“But it’s been a good five minutes.” She protested in defense. 

“Okay, so, um, while you get to enjoy your time with Steve, I mean, what should I do about Eddie?” You talked in hushed whispers, as subtle glances to the bar showed Steve in casual conversation with the bartender. “Like, what if he does come, y’know, he’s gonna be pissed? O-Or, uh, if he doesn’t show, does that mean he’s no longer interested?”

“Okay, shh.” Winnie interrupted your panicked speech. “Look, alright, we kinda did screw over Eddie, but, I mean, who were we to know he thought that was us canceling. If anything, we deserve the right to piss him off, especially me.” She scoffed. “That ‘Wendy’ bullcrap. What, do I look like some freckled, red-head child with braids slapped on some burger wrapper?”

You peered back at the revelation. “Oh, my god, wait, with your hair, you do kinda look like-”

“Shh, lalala, I’m hearing it, that wasn’t the point!” You wiped off the spit that flung from her harsh whispers. “Circling back,” her lips emphasized, “Eddie’s going to come, okay? He’s like every other dude, alright, they can’t take rejection, always have to bother you as to why you don’t want them. So, he’s going to come, and when he does, you have to stand your ground. Alright, no apologizing, no feeling bad, no ‘oh, let me make it up to you.’” She mocked her damsel-in-distress voice. “You better give him the cold shoulder. Anger is still very much an emotion, and if he’s angry that means he cares. It means he has feelings, feelings which you hurt! Like. A. Bad. Ass.”

You chuckled incredulously. “Don’t really think being mean makes me a badass-”

“It does in the case of Eddie Munson, alright?” Winnie cemented. “Clearly, people haven’t been mean enough to him.”

Steve Harrington had given Roger, the bartender, the grace to prioritize the other patrons on their refills, after opening his tab to the orders of you, Winnie, and him—alongside an additional order of generic greasy food—as a phone call to Eddie Munson was surely to last a bit more than a quick ‘hello.’ After gaining permission to use the establishment’s phone, Steve had propped himself against the wall of the back storage room, with the ringing, red phone against his ear.

Perhaps Eddie Munson was trying to overcompensate for the bruised ego caused by your rejection, as he resulted in swallowing the mouth of Jenny Albridge in the center of his living room couch. And I mean really swallowing. Their lips smacked hungrily with too much saliva, forcing Eddie to endure it if it mean fucking his frustrations out. 

And poor Jenny, while she’s heard of the eighth wonder Eddie had added to the world from underneath his pants, she hadn’t actually been with him. It just so happened to be faith that their shoulders collided, while she left her evening pilates class. And hell, after an intense, sweaty workout, she wanted another—albeit slightly different—intense, sweaty workout, especially after the numerous five star ratings. 

Though, maybe she’d just caught him on a bad day. Like, a really, really bad day. But maybe she was supposed to like it? The whole aggressive, teeth clashing, tongue invading, spit drenching make out that would hopefully finally lead to the good part. There was going to be a good part, right?

Ring, ring, ring, ring…

Oh, thank god, Eddie thought, as he finally had an excuse to detach from her lips, giving Jenny the go ahead to catch her breath with a deep gasp of air. He shifted quickly from the couch, walking to the phone, pulling it abruptly to stop the incessant shrilling. “Hello?”

“Ed, man.” Steve stood straight. “Hope you know the girls are here.” He snickered into the phone. 

“Girls?” Eddie wiped the spit from his lips. “What gi-” The revelation backhanded him in the face, as his mouth stooped low with confusion. “What? No, they canceled!”

“I think that’s what they had you thinking, but really they just drove themselves. And now, I’ve just ordered them beers and some food, so unless you’re giving me the grace to talk up your girl and her friend, I’d suggest you come down here as quick as possible.” Steve laughed. 

While he may have lived a couple towns over from the big city, Steve Harrington was no stranger to the name Eddie had given himself in Indianapolis, as periodic visits would consist of his friend recounting the newfound experience he gained with women, to eventually being one another’s wingman. 

In fact, Steve regularly joked about Eddie ‘decrowning’ him as king, as he now flaunted the hookup culture he, so very actively, participated in, thanks to the “bell bottom hippies, who were so desperately horny, they made it a movement.” His words, definitely not any history books’ words. 

“They’re fucking there?! Are you- ugh!” His fingers shoved into his eyes in frustration. “I fucking sent her flowers with the number, and everyth-”

“Woah, you sent her flowers?” Steve interrupted with shock. “Since when do you ever send flowers?”

“I don’t know! This girl is pissing me off, I- I’ll be there, alright!” Jenny Albridge scrunched her face in heavy judgment. “J-Just make sure she doesn’t- I mean, them. Make sure they don't leave!”

Steve chuckled at the stutter of his voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep them entertained.” He laughed. 

Eddie scoffed. “I’m serious, Harrington, no funny business! She already thinks I’m some asshole, and her friend is probably feeding her some more bullshit about how terrible I am.”

Steve playfully rolled his eyes, as he recalled the panicked phone call that transpired a couple hours prior, with Eddie imploring him to agree to a blind double date. Something about fucking some girl, but now wanting said girl’s friend, but said girl’s friend doesn’t want him, because said girl told her friend about him fucking other girls. Whatever it was, it was a big, jumbled mess, and Steve wondered why Eddie ever involved himself in the first place. Though, apparently, it was important enough if Eddie had to send you flowers. “Well, you did kinda screw over Winnie-” 

“Okay, that's not the point!” Eddie spat out in a rush. Maybe it was how alike Winnie Ambrose and Eddie Munson had been that repelled them so harshly from one another. Jenny Albridge was quietly shuffling on her shoes. “Look, I-” He took a deep breath, regulating himself. “I’ll be there. While I’m not going to force you to do anything, it would be greatly appreciated if you helped a friend out, and talked me up.”

“Alright, alright.” Steve agreed. “Just hurry up, I highly doubt you cruising around is gonna better any impression this girl’s already got for you.” With that, Steve cut off any response Eddie had prepared with the buzzing of a dead line, as he hung up the phone. 

Eddie sighed, running his hand through his hair. Turning around, he flinched at the sight of an awkwardly smiling Jenny, as he’d genuinely forgotten about her presence amidst the phone call. Both blinked back-in-forth to one another; a mutual consensus silently understood.

“Yeah, you need to leave.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

-

A basket of chicken tenders and fries had interrupted your conversation short, as they were placed against the table, with Steve arriving with his hand clinging to the necks of three beer bottles, each tucked between the space of his fingers. “Sorry, I know it’s not Michelin Star-esque, but it’s the best this bar’s got, so hopefully it’s enough to satiate any hunger.” He smiled. Steve was hit with an influx of ‘thank you’s’ from the both of you, as the stationary centerpiece of condiments were beginning to fill up the tiny containers that came with the meal. “Oh, and Ed’s on his way, as well.”

“He’s coming?” You questioned.

“Yeah, yeah, told him to come as quick as possible.” Steve answered, as he took his seat next to Winnie. 

Winnie squirted an aggressive amount of ketchup onto her tray, leaving Steve to smile at her antics. “Wait, did he sound mad over the phone?”

“Uh, I mean, he was a little worked up, y’know, in his usual dramatic self.” His answer came with the hesitation of wondering how to play the best wingman to people who clearly hadn’t established the best opinion of him. “But, he’s coming, dropped everything and is on his way.”

“See, I told you.” Winnie nudged your shoulder. 

Steve popped a ranch covered fry into his mouth. “Told her what?” 

“That Eddie being angry means he’s totally into her.” Winnie proudly beamed. 

He laughed. “Oh, yeah, I heard about the whole flowers thing.”

You fervently shook your head. “I’m not exactly trusting anything Eddie does to be in good faith.” You proffered a delicate smile. “I mean, I know what he’s like, so not really trusting him to be this great person.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “So, then, can I ask why you agreed to date him? Like, especially after what he did to you.” 

Both you and Winnie took a second to stare at one another, before she leaned in close. “I know he’s your friend, but you promise not to say anything? Y’know, to him?” Now piqued with interest, Steve stood straight, nodding in agreement. “Okay…” Winnie sighed, “we’re basically trying to take him down.”

Steve laughed, quite amused, and very happy with accepting the request to go on this blind double date. “Wow, okay. A feminist thing?” He chuckled, “How’s that going?”

“Well, we’re only in the beginning stages, but it’s working great so far!” Winnie gloated. “I mean, he was literally begging her to go out on this date! I am a genius!”

“So, then what’s the follow up?”

“Well, I’m sure you know how Eddie is.” Steve confirmed it with a shake of his head. “We are just trying to make him feel how we, as women who have fallen victim to him, feel.” Winnie held her head high. “So, if all things run smoothly, then hopefully he’ll learn to not be such a douchebag.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, “I mean, he’s a good guy.” Winnie raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Well, at least, he used to be.” He clarified. “I think moving to the city was very much a way of letting go of his old life here, which, y’know, I’m proud of, though, I’m sure he’s probably not making the best decisions most of the time.”

“What was he letting go of?” You curiously asked, leaning against the table.

“Well, Eddie hasn’t always exactly been a ladies man.” He breathily chuckled. “Uh, in fact, probably not the most liked guy in town. By girls, or people in general. Just unfortunately got tied to a bad reputation, because of how close-minded Hawkins can be. Y’know, the whole metalhead gig isn’t exactly what the church goers of our town prefer.”

Concern etched across your face. “It got that bad that he wanted to leave?”

Steve nodded. “I mean, people are assholes, gave him grief just to take the piss out of him. I know he didn’t exactly want to leave- or, actually, leave the people in his life behind. He’s got an uncle over here, me and our other friends, his old band members, his little DnD club.” Eddie Munson, the cocky lead singer, played Dungeons and Dragons? You softly laughed, truly believing Eddie was an enigma; such juxtaposition within himself. “But, y’know, he had to do what he had to do. For himself.”

“And now he really does just do everything for himself.” Winnie playfully scoffed. 

“Well, I’m sure he’ll have a change of heart if he continues “seeing” you.” Steve smiled. “I mean, think the last I ever heard of Eddie giving anyone flowers was for this cheerleader he had some crush on, before her boyfriend got wind of it. It turned into this big blow out, Eddie, of course, had already gotten into his fair share of fights before, so pretty easy to say this kid got beat up, until his basketball buddies joined in. That only worsened his image, and pretty much humiliated him, so…”

“Yeah, no wonder he turned into such an asshole.” Winnie inferred, as a deep pit of sorrow buried in your belly for Eddie. Something you severely tried to ignore, given his background had garnered no justification for his current actions. 

“But maybe he’ll turn a new leaf.” His friend felt optimistic. Or, at least, hoped. “He still working down at that tattoo parlor, right?” 

Was he? Despite how much Winnie fed you, you actually knew nothing of him. “Probably.” Winnie’s face stuffed with the crunch of a juicy tender. “What about you, though? Eddie mentioned something about a lawyer?” She sweetly smiled.

Christ. Perhaps bailing on Eddie’s chauffeuring offer only forced you to become a third wheel for the time being. “Oh, definitely not a lawyer, just a paralegal for my dad who is one.”

“Still impressive, though.” She batted her lashes. “I’m sure you’re great at it.” Truthfully, Winnie Ambrose had no clue as to what a paralegal was, but if it made him flash his smile, then she’d gladly continue. 

“What about you two? You guys work?”

“Yeah, just as a barista, while I finish up college.” You concisely answered. 

“Oh, and I finished cosmetology school not too long ago, started working as a hairstylist, so I could totally do your hair, which by the way, you have great hair.” Her fingers delicately played with the few strands that framed his head. 

You hadn’t seen yourself suddenly wishing for Eddie Munson to appear sooner. It was on the sixth chicken tender that you were beginning to lose patience. While Steve Harrington had been the farthest from rude and included you in conversation, you weren’t socially inept to understand that his preferences laid in speaking with the girl he blindly agreed to date. But on the upside, you’d been surprised as to how entertaining it was to dip from between ketchup and ranch to please your taste buds. And washing it down with a cool beer? Surely, this was heaven-

“What happened to you not eating meat?” You felt his hot breath against your ear. 

Your nose nearly bumped his, as your head spun to meet his squinted eyes that scrutinized you through his glare. You had no other choice than to smile, and pop the last bit of the chicken tender into your mouth with a glorious crunch and moan that pissed him off with a smile searing onto his face. 

“Hey, man, you made it.” Steve Harrington had brandished Eddie Munson’s hand with the typical boyish handshake, before Eddie’s jacket met the table, and he took his seat next to you. 

Eddie incredulously chuckled. “Well, y’know, would’ve come sooner, but…” his glare twisted to you, “...apparently reading is a little hard to comprehend for some.”

Gobsmacked, you were ready to smack that smirk off his face, but Winnie had chimed in. “Actually, we did read it, we just didn’t care.” She placed a fry into her mouth. 

“‘We?’” Eddie laughed. “C’mon, Wendy, don’t you know by now no guy would ever give you flowers? That note was for Y/N.” Eddie hadn’t even cared to notice the look of offense that stunned her face, only focusing on whispering into your ear. “And I thought I told you by now to have a mind of your own?”

Your stomach became agitated by his words, and suddenly those six chicken tenders and fries felt like a bad idea. “God, you see how much of an asshole your friend is?” Winnie’s voice felt so distant in your hazed mind. 

“Hey, Ed, c’mon, knock it off.” Steve mediated. “Look, let’s just all start on a clean slate, alright? No more bickering.”

“Alright, then.” He sighed, switching his full attention to you with a sly grin. “It’s nice to see you again, Y/N.”

The most you could mobilize out of your mouth was a simple, “hi,” in return.

Eddie’s tongue lolled around the inside of his mouth. It was clear you were going to be short with him. “So, uh, new to Hawkins, huh? How’re ya liking it?” Winnie’s words of advice were burdening your overthinking head. Three seconds. One… two- “Uh, okay, I’m glad you could make it. Glad that you agreed most of all. Even if you got here without me.” You gulped. One… two… thr- “Can I get you another drink?” You blinked down at the half filled beer bottle you’ve been nursing. One… two… t- “Okay, don’t answer.” Eddie gave up with an exasperated sigh. 

“Hey, if you two would like another round, I can grab it for you?” Steve proffered, and you watched Winnie subtly nod her head to you in secrecy.

You stuttered back quickly. “Oh, yeah, t-that’d be great. Thank you, Steve.”

Eddie glowered in disbelief, watching as Steve whisked himself away towards the bar. “Y’know, if flowers weren’t your thing, you could’ve ringed me up to let me know?” He suddenly shoved himself in your face. 

“Oh, they are.” Winnie punctuated. “Just not from you.”

Eddie ignored her. He knew what she was doing, and he wasn’t falling under any trap that would subscribe him to that asshole attitude he surely acquired.

So, Eddie Munson’s eyes glued to yours. “Was it the type? Not your favorite? What is? Or, are you into those weird fruit bouquet things? I can get you those if you are? Hell, chocolate even-”

“No, Eddie.” You stopped his questionnaire. “I just- I just felt more comfortable riding with Winnie, s’all. Thought it’d be best. For me.”

For you. Was that enough to, at the very least, show him you did, in fact, totally, very much have a mind of your own…?

“Alright, then.” Eddie sat back, actually accepting your words. “Fair enough.”

“Plus, she just didn’t want to be stuck in a car with some pervy jackass.” Winnie smiled, mindlessly dipping her food into the condiments. 

Eddie chuckled. “Y’know what? I think we kinda got off on the wrong foot here.” He smiled, as she rolled her eyes. “So, I’m here to say I’m sorry. There it is. My formal apology. See? Growth.” Eddie winked over to you. 

“Oh, you’re sorry?” Winnie incredulously laughed. “For what is it exactly, Eddie, that you’re sorry for? For being an asshole? For lying? For leading me on? For having sex with me, then ditching me?”

Eddie pretended to ponder on that thought. “Yeah, sure.” He shrugged, as Winnie scoffed in disgust. “All of the above.” 

“Ugh, you little, piece of shi-” Steve set the bottles of beer down.

“Hey, everything alright here?” He hurriedly intervened. 

Winnie took a deep breath. “Fine, then. Apology accepted.” She ardently sat up straight. “So, how do you guys know each other?” She looked between both men. 

Eddie had been quite quick to answer. “High school.” Bluntly so, too.

“Oh, you mean back when you were a loser?” Winnie smiled.

Eddie’s face dropped. “You told them?!”

Steve exhaustedly sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. “Dude, I didn’t mean- look, it just came up in conversation, I was just trying to explain things.”

Eddie fell back with a look of unease, shaking his head in disbelief. His expression had vividly written the discontent he had with Winnie bringing up his past, it clearly being something he hadn’t wished to be disclosed to people he barely knew. “Hey, okay, look, we don't have to talk about that.” You interrupted, watching Eddie preoccupy his discomfort by mindlessly picking at a napkin. “Um, Steve said that you worked at a tattoo parlor, is that right?” You softly pried, but your endeavors fell short with his blatant choice to ignore you. “Hey, Eddie, you said you wanted us to get to know each other better, right? Well, now, we’re on a date, so we can.” Your genuine smile was enough to have him slowly eye you. Throwing his words right back into his face, he hated it. 

Eddie slowly began sitting up, even choosing to discard the napkin. “Um, yeah. Alchemy Ink.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the one down the-”

“-Street from the coffeehouse, yeah.” Eddie finished for you. “It’s, uh, why I go down there for my breaks.” He tried to shrug off.

“Oh, that notebook- the one you, uh, drew those cute, little bats in- the really good ones, is that where you draw, like, your tattoo ideas?” Damn it, you were making it really hard to stay angry with your sweet conversation. His lips twisted inward to suppress his fighting smile. 

You just had to fucking remember those damn bats, huh?

“Uh, yeah, t-the beginning sketches. Just, y’know, to get some ideas flowing, get a feel of what I can work with.” God, with you staring at him, Eddie really wished he had a beer to drown his stupid thoughts. But with how much you hated him, the rational part of his brain crossed off any idea of becoming a drunken asshole on a first date. 

“That’s really cool.” Fuck you for flashing that smile, Eddie thought. “You should tattoo some law scale on Steve.” You joked.

Eddie chuckled. “Already poked ‘KING’ into his ass.”

With Steve shaking his head in disbelief, Winnie gasped, as the act of hiding his face within his hands confirmed Eddie’s words. “You got the word ‘king’ tattooed on your ass?!” She laughed. 

Fair play to Eddie. “Hey, hey, in my defense, we were drunk high schoolers, and it was just some shitty stick-and-poke.” He laughed. “Plus, you have no room to talk, given ‘FREAK’ is permanently on your ass!”

“Freak? Why that of all things?” You questioned through your fits of giggles. 

Eddie flashed you that devilish smile that had you instantly regretting your words. “I can show you more than I can explain it to you.” And his winked was merely met with the annoyed roll of your eye. 

“No, no,” Steve laughed, “it was just some bullshit high school thing.” 

Luckily, any tension of hostility was able to dissolve through the bubbling laughter that naturally came around. Through the round of beers, the stories of which Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson held were animatedly shared in strides to get their dates to laugh. And to their credit, they surely did accomplish such task with recounting the juvenile trouble they encountered during their teenage years, while not stepping too deep into the territory at which Eddie was still visibly uncomfortable with. A part of you had been curious to understand the complexity as to why Eddie hated his past to such a degree. But your mouth stayed quiet, apart from minimal conversation, as you, too, would feel uneasy if anyone had brought up your past.

Which is why you grew stiff when the topic of conversation switched to how you befriended Winnie Ambrose. 

“Much like Harrington and I, you guys seem quite different.” Eddie interrogated. “So, how is it exactly you guys became friends?”

“Um,” Your brain went numb with the racking thoughts that were trying to spew out of your mouth to find anything, literally anything, to not mention him, Dalton…

“Same like you, y’know, high school.” Winnie briefed concisely enough to save you. “Nothing too crazy, really. Definitely not by some third-party freshman.” She joked to derail the conversation.

But ever the curious one, Eddie hadn’t stopped with the prodding, as he became quite serious with his task of getting to know you. Especially given the circumstance that he couldn’t thoroughly do so to his preferred degree, with two people hijacking this supposed date. “So, what? Through a class? A club? Were you in any clubs, Y/N?” You hated how ardent he’d become with eye contact. 

“Uh, n-no, never really was.” You stuttered out. “We just kinda met through friends, I guess. We, uh, knew the same perso- people.” 

“What person?” Eddie had clocked it, and his interest had skyrocketed. 

“Uh…” You swallowed thickly. “Just some ex-boyfriend s’all.” You adamantly tried to brush off with a giant swig of the beer in hand. 

But, of course, with the mention of an ex-partner, Eddie was never going to let it go. “‘Ex-boyfriend?’” He smiled sickly. “Someone I’m gonna need to fight to get to you, huh?” Eddie teased. “What was that relationship like?” He relished in the invasive nature that had your squirming in your seat. 

“Uh, I-I don’t, um-”

“Jeez, they broke up, and moved on. He’s irrelevant.” Winnie interrupted for your sake, as Eddie quietly scoffed to himself. “Are you currently seeing anyone else, Steve?” She turned the focus away. 

“Oh, uh, no, not seriously.” Steve answered. “Just a couple’a first dates the last few weeks, but most of which we’ve agreed to just keep it as such, no second.” 

Winnie flashed an overly bright smile. “See, it’s so attractive when guys actually communicate, and don’t blow off girls.” She couldn’t have been more obvious. “Right, Y/N?”

“Huh?” Suddenly, her elbow was connecting to your rib. “Ugh-um, right, right, so attractive.” You powered through the pain. 

“Respectable job, communicates, respectful, and has incredible hair,” Winnie gushed, “you’re really just, like, the perfect man, right?” She turned to you. 

“Mhm.” You sweetly smiled, choosing to turn your back to Eddie Munson to gaze your full attention to Steve. “Very perfect.”

Had Steve not been notified of this so-called ‘Take Eddie Munson Down’ operation, he surely would have cocked an eyebrow at the weird behavior you both were beginning to show. But the man was merely left blushing behind his hand, with a smile that held back amused laughter.

Because while Steve smiled, Eddie had scowled at your unexpected response.

It became quite evident he hadn’t been all too keen on sharing this night with others. While he understood he suggested the invitation of a stupid double date, it was only spoken as a last resort to finally get with you. And even then, it didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially, when all of sudden, any chance of a potential romance was abruptly shot down with Winnie Ambrose’s interjection to somehow turn the conversation to Steve Harrington, who you suddenly took a liking to?!

If it was the weather, suddenly you both were drooling over how Steve would “totally be, like, the hot weatherman you’d turn on the news for just to gawk over.”

If it was your studies, suddenly you’d exclaim about how Steve “looked just like that one sexy professor in the psychology department.”

If it was Eddie’s job, suddenly both of your attention was turning to Steve to detail “how hot he’d look with tattoos.”

I have tattoos, Eddie screamed in his head. His nostrils were flaring with deep breaths, as he felt his body boiling over the sight of you leaning over the table just to speak to him. By 10:02 P.M, the date had irreparably turned into some flirt fest starring Steve Harrington, and any attempts at having a one-on-one conversation with you had pissed him off to no avail, as you casually shrugged him off as some old pal. 

Eddie’s knee was bouncing by the second, eyes jumping from person to person, as the conversation carried on without him. Had any of you even noticed that he hadn’t spoken a word in five minutes?

“Well, I spent most of my time working with a close buddy of mine at a movie store, just a couple blocks…” Eddie didn’t even try to listen to Steve’s backstory, he couldn't even if he wanted to. His eyes had trained themselves to your side profile, the one that hadn’t looked at him in six minutes and twenty-three seconds in counting—crazy, he knows, but that wasn’t the topic of conversation—as you were too entranced with listening to Steve’s boring story. Eddie Munson had had enough. “...But my father was really hammerin’ on me to pursue something-” The grating noise of chair legs scraping across the floor had interrupted his speaking, as Eddie made the rash decision to pull you closer. 

With the close proximity, his hand secured itself around the back of neck to pull your head close, as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “Finish your food, I’m taking you somewhere else.”

You froze, as Eddie cleared his throat as though nothing happened. “What’s up?” Winnie worriedly questioned. 

“Nothing.” Eddie shrugged, finishing the last bit of his food. “Just taking Y/N somewhere, so we’re,” he gestured to the both of you, “wrapping this up. You lovebirds do as please.” As everyone was slowly accepting the abrupt ending of the double date, Eddie was casually reaching for his wallet to slap the table with a couple of bills. “I asked, so I’ll cover it, Harrington.”

Oh, shit. Winnie hadn’t prepared you for alone time with Eddie Munson. It’s when he strikes best!

“Yeah, thanks, man.” Steve offered in return, before turning to Winnie. “Um, would you be okay with wrapping up as well? You got quite some ride back to Indy, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Winnie solemnly agreed to, as she mentally cursed Eddie for ruining the only good date she’s been on in the last few weeks. 

You stood from your chair, finishing the last swig of your beer that you had left, before Eddie’s hand circled around your waist. “Hey,” he came in close, “It’s been a minute, so I’m just gonna say hello to Rog, and the couple’a people I haven’t seen in a while.” You nodded along, as you took into account the stories he recounted about his days of being a barback. “Here,” his keys dangled before you, “just make yourself comfortable, okay? I won't be long. It’s just the van out front.”

With two pats on the small of your back, all you could muster was a soft, “okay,” before you shuffled to Winnie.

Watching Eddie walk away, you clutched to her arm. “He told me to go to his car, I’m internally panicking right now!” You aggressively whispered.

“Okay, just calm down and go, alright? I’ll meet you out there in a second.”

With Winnie’s words, your legs worked fast to drag you out of the bar, where the gentle breeze slapped you with the needed composure to locate the large van parked a couple feet away. Unlocked, and strapped in, you took a deep breath in the passenger seat of Eddie’s car.

Though, that deep breath was unwarrantedly invaded by the pungent smell of weed and cigarettes, and while you were sure that may have come as a speedy remedy for stress, you weren’t too pleased to be suddenly struck with it at this moment. 

You jammed the key into the ignition, revving the van to life to hopefully clear the smell with the much needed air conditioning, but all you got in return was the thrashing clash of some metal band screaming into your ear from the abrasive volume Eddie chose to listen to his music. 

Jumping to turn it down, you finally settled back against the car seat with a heaving chest. But like clockwork, your nerves were shot with the adrenaline of being horrified from Winnie suddenly opening the car door.

“God, Winnie, you scared me half to death!” You screeched, as she clambered into the front seat. 

“Look, we have to make this quick, Steve’s using the bathroom, and who knows when Eddie’s coming back.” She underlined. “We gotta prepare you, okay? Being alone with Eddie is nothing like being on a double date with Eddie! This- this means he’s really into you!”

“O-Okay, so what now? I wait four seconds to respond?”

“‘Four seconds?’” Winnie looked at you as if you were crazy. “There’s no four seconds, you’re practically seeing Eddie Munson now! This is basically dating!”

“I don’t want to be dating, though!” You implored through round eyes. 

“Well, you’re just gonna have to suck it up!” Winnie set you straight. “Just remember, confidence is key, alright? Don’t let him walk all over you!” She coached. “You be straightforward with your responses, don’t let him intimidate you.”

The panic was beginning to settle too deep. “W-Well, what if he tries to make a move? Is he going to make a move?!”

“Look, just whatever he does, keep it to a minimum. Nothing more than a kiss, alright?” You nodded in agreement. “Are you a good kisser?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Well, I-I don’t know, h-how does anyone know if they’re a good kisser?”

Winnie dramatically sighed. “Well, do you guys tell you you’re a good kisser?”

The sudden revelation hit you like a truck. “Oh, my god, I’m a bad kisser!”

“Sh! Sh!” Winnie tried to calm your trepidation. “Y/N, look, it’s really simple, okay?” She mounted over the center console to set your head straight. “It’s just effortless movements. Light touches, okay? Light.” Her hand gripped to your jaw. “Just lock onto him, nothing too crazy. Grab onto that gorgeous head of hair, but no passion just yet, you have to build it up.” Her face came closer. “Be in control, hold his gaze, it just has to be the temptation,” her breath fanned across your features, as you felt weary as to where this was heading, “just a light brush to leave him wanting more.” Suddenly, Winnie’s lips were planted against yours, and you made your truest effort to follow her guidance, until-

“Holy hell, kiss her again. Do it!”

You and Winnie instantly pulled apart to witness the gross man who stood watching in amusement in front of Eddie’s parked van. “Get out of here, you perv!” You flipped on the headlights to scare the man, who quickly scurried off, when suddenly the beaming headlights showed Eddie coming over. “Oh, shit, Eddie’s coming!”

Winnie freaked, suddenly choosing to scale over the front seats to scramble her way into the messy den that was the back area of Eddie’s car. You sat abnormally stiff once Eddie stepped foot into his van. “Hey, you okay?” He asked, as he settled himself in. 

“Mhm.” You hummed out. 

He took a second. “Um, look, I know it’s probably not the most ideal situation, but I promise it won’t be anything terrible.” You slowly peered at Eddie, who sat cautiously in his seat. “I-I just,” he sighed, “I just want to, at the very least, get a chance to actually speak to you. W-Without Harrington or your friend. Just you.”

“Okay.” You softly nodded to his request, which eased a deep breath from chest. “That’s okay.”

A small smile etched upon Eddie's face, and you hadn’t decided whether to take it innocently or sinisterly. With Eddie Munson, it was almost always the latter. With your approval, Eddie pulled out of the parking lot—unbeknownst to him, with Winnie in tow—to head along the long stretch of highways that traveled along the breadth of Hawkins, Indiana. 

Though, unfortunately, forgotten within the walls of The Hideout, Steve Harrington was flinging his hands dry from water due to the lack of paper towels that were never refilled within the men’s restroom, as he sought his way outside to a dead parking lot. “Win- Winnie?” He turned about. “Eddie? Anyone?”

Eddie’s fingers slowly turned the volume up of his radio. “Did you have a good time, at least?” He asked. 

“Oh, yeah, I quite liked the bar; a lot less crowded, which made it more enjoyable than the one from Saturday night.” 

“Yeah?” He lilted. “Not really into that scene, huh?”

“No.” You chuckled. “Definitely not, but it is yours, no?” You interrogated back, almost accusatory in Eddie’s eyes. “You go there a lot, I’m assuming?” Spoken as if to find a definitive reason to not let this “date” prolong any further than tonight. 

“I, well, um, wouldn’t say a lot.” He searched his way around the words. “Just when needed. For the band.” 

“Huh, okay.” Eddie thought you relented. “Not the best reputation with that band though, right?” You smiled so sickly, Eddie was scoffing out a laugh. 

He hadn’t seen such feistiness from you yet, he was honestly relishing in it. “We just- we just like to have fun, s’all. Don’t you? Unless you’re, like, some total buzzkill.” He smirked back. 

“No, not a buzzkill.” You protested. “Just have self-discipline, you know? Or, wait, do you not know?”

Eddie kissed his teeth with a dimpling grin that was becoming permanent on his face with. “Oh, no, I know.” His finger aggressively tapped against his steering wheel. Because, truthfully, if he hadn’t known, he would have immediately pulled the car over, and shut you up the way he knew best… and, well, did best. “Just, y’know, like to live my life to the fullest with everything accomplished.”

“And everyone apparently, huh?” 

Eddie’s knuckles were fusing white with the tight grip he clutched. “You’re walking on thin fucking ice here, Y/N.” He huffed a laugh from his buzzing body. 

“Why?” You feigned. “I thought you liked having fun?”

Oh, Eddie Munson was so fucked. 

Winnie Ambrose couldn’t have been more proud with the dedication shown by you, as she pushed through the pain of holding back her laughter that threatened to spill with every bump Eddie carelessly passed. She wrestled around the displayed blankets that she felt icky even touching, wondering what unfortunate crusted stains she may have been laying upon. Winnie shifted uncomfortably, as she reached beneath her to wedge out a bra that slung from under. Winnie silently gasped. “That dog.” She mouthed, until her nimble fingers suddenly felt the cushion of thick padding that invaded the bra.

Oh, great… it was her’s, she shamefully tucked the bra under her arm. 

Lover’s Lake had been nothing but a ten minute drive for you and Eddie Munson, but somehow, the tension you both left untouched with silence seemed to make it last an eternity, as you both suffocated in the teasing friction that consumed the air between you two. 

You peered out the window, watching worriedly as Eddie took a turn into a wooded path that left you viewing nothing but dark trees. “It won’t be anything terrible, huh?” You hid your anxiety through forced giggles. 

“Yup.” Eddie did little to denote any further. “There’ll be a time when you’ll finally trust me.” 

You head slumped against the cold glass. “Yeah, doubt it.” You whispered to yourself, unaware of the smile that ate at his face, as he quietly heard your words. 

Much to your dismay, Eddie Munson proved you wrong—though proving your right could have left your name attached to some true crime murder case—as his van parked along the clearing that showcased such a scenic view of a sparkling lake that reflected the crystal tranquility of the moon and stars. Too enthralled, you hadn’t taken notice of Eddie leaving the car, until he approached your side to guide you out. “Is this too terrible for you?” You shook your head. “Perfect, then. One of my favorite places, in fact, so it would have pissed me off if it was.” With the slam of the car door, Winnie peeked up from her hiding place, watching as you and Eddie began walking down west. 

“Do you come here often?” You pondered, taking in the scenery, as your shoes sunk into the mush of muddy grass and moss.

“When I lived here, yeah.” Eddie hopped over strewn branches. “For being so shitty, I gotta admit, this place sure does have some nice hiding spots. 

“You gonna take me to see all your secret hideouts?” You peered up at him. 

Eddie smiled. “When we get there, absolutely.”

“If.” You insisted. 

“When.” He retaliated. 

You rolled your eyes at the tongue-in-cheek attitude he liked to flaunt around, where he found nothing but mirth with every irk he managed to tick out of you. Silence settled through your stroll, until Eddie decided to break it with his unheard of vacillated voice. “So, uh, hey, you said you enjoyed tonight.” You nodded along. “Was that because of Harrington? Did you, like, I don’t know, like Steve?” 

His hands balled behind his back, as his peripheral glued to your face intently. “Oh, yeah, I liked Steve, he was really nice!” You sincerely spoke, as his teeth began sinking into the cracked despair of his bottom lip. 

“Oh,” was all he could proffer in return.

“I feel like it’s my duty to now push Winnie to continue seeing him.” You had no clue how much your giggles eased his mind. “He seems like he could be really nice to her, very sweet he is.”

Eddie huffed out a heavy sigh. “Y-Yeah, it’s nice those guys could hit it off… like us.” He smiled up close to your face, which had you stopping in your tracks.

“Are we hitting it off, Eddie?”

Standing before you, Eddie kissed his teeth with a grin. “I’d say we are, no? Got you out on a date, actually speaking to me, conversing well.”

“Okay.” You simply noted, continuing your walk, as he scurried to follow.

“‘Okay?’” Eddie repeated with the need of elaboration. “I don’t like that I don’t know what you’re thinking, Y/N.”

“Oh, maybe we are hitting it off, I feel the exact same way about you.” You joked through your soft laughter. 

“No, no, I say what I’m thinking.” Eddie maintained his stance. 

You incredulously laughed in return. “But Eddie, everything you say has quite the history of being a lie.” Your reprisal disseminated over any argument he was willing to divulge to support himself. Eddie Munson could only laugh at himself. How stupid of him to believe he could weasel some smooth talking to a girl, who quite literally witnessed him being kicked out of her apartment for being an asshole. “Kinda got my proof with Winnie-”

“Y’know,” he immediately interjected, “I think… you rely too much on her opinion.”

“And I think you’re a jackass.” You defensively snapped back. You hadn’t even expected it to come out so rash. 

Eddie mockingly laughed in your face. “Oh, yeah? You think I’m a jackass? Alright, I’ll be a jackass. What’s up with that ex-boyfriend of yours you got so weird about? He a jackass, too? Hurt you real bad? Did something to make you lose some bullshit trust, so now you rely on your friend to help you through everything? 

You loathed Eddie Munson. “Screw this.” You scoffed back, choosing to turn away from him, and make your steady way back to the van. 

But he had taken a hold of your hand, forcing you back to his vicinity. “Hey! We’re not done here.”

“Okay, fine! What’s up with your past here? You got really worked up over Winnie bringing that up. And I tried to be nice, and not talk about it, but since you’re such an asshole, I truly don’t care anymore.” You retorted. “Steve mentioned how much people hated you here, and honestly I can see why! You are so conceited, and full of yourself. You’re not considerate of anyone’s feelings, and god, you just say the meanest things. I’m pretty sure most people are happy you left this town, since it meant never having to be near you again.”

No longer was this the banter of any light teasing. Eddie had flung your hand from his, as he stared you down. “You don’t have a single fucking clue as to what you’re talking about.” His heavy breathing had to be manually controlled by his self-control, as his aggressive breath blew into your face.

“Oh, what, but you do?!” You derided so scornfully right back at him. 

Nothing but both of your heavy breathing could be heard against the empty lake front. With such intense eye contact that neither of you ever planned on breaking, Eddie was suddenly drawn in with temptation, and inched his head close against yours, as you lured yourself in…

Until your hands slapped against his chest. “What the hell are you doing?” You shoved him away. 

Your push had snapped some sense into Eddie, and his mouth had fallen open with the words that couldn’t be found, as he held his chest with a sincere hand. And it only worsened his case for a cocky grin to creep upon his face towards you. “You so wanted to kiss me.” 

Your mouth dropped at the absurdity of his ridiculing laughter. “Are you insane?! No, I didn’t!” You’d rather drown in Lover’s Lake than ever let him think so. “Christ, would you just get off your high horse for two seconds, and learn that not everyone wants you?”

You stomped on your heel, walking away from him once more. “I don’t have a fucking horse!” God, you could slap the stupidity out of him. “Hey, alright, c’mon, I shouldn’t have done that! Y/N!” His hand latched back onto yours. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Eddie turned you around. “My dad was some absent crook, who ruined my life with his schemes, and everyone in this shit town fucking took it out on me, alright? So, sorry, but it pissed me when you fucking said that shit.” Your brows furrowed at the sudden dump of information he expelled onto you. All while Eddie simply waited. “Well, go on.”

“What?” You questioned. 

“Your turn.” He made it seem so obvious. “You go, say something about that little boyfriend of yours.”

“W-Wha- no, I’m not gonna-”

Eddie dragged his hands over his face. “Oh, my god, just do it!”

“Fine!” You exasperated. “Yes, Eddie, he was a jackass. After two years, he just laid it all out that he never loved me like I love-” Your mouth clamped shut, as your face hid away with humiliation. “Look, I really don’t want to get into this.” You tried to get away, but Eddie had held back your movements. 

“Alright, so we won’t get into this.” He proclaimed. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“What? What are you doing?” You tried to walk around him.

But Eddie was there to keep his pace with you, only to fervently reiterate, “Just like you said, not getting into this. What’s your favorite color?”

You abruptly stopped with a defeated sigh. “Green.”

“Cool, mine’s black. Surprising, huh?” He sardonically smiled. You shook your head, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a tiny chuckle. “Alright, let’s see what else… oh! What’s your favorite food? And I already know you eat meat, so don’t fuck with me with that.” 

That, unfortunately, had you quietly giggling, but only at your own humor. “Um, I don’t know, uh, pesto pasta.”

“Ooh.” Eddie snapped his fingers. “I love buttered noodles, close enough, huh?” Christ, that got a laugh from you. “Hell, I’ll even make us some for our second date.”

“We are not going on a second date.” You chuckled, as you began walking away. 

Eddie was quick to follow along your steps. “Sure we are. How else am I gonna find out your favorite hobby?” You had to give him credit, it was quite the perfect invitation for a conversation. 

“I like puzzles.”

Eddie snorted. “Okay, grandma, I can get down with that.” He smiled. 

“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “I know your favorite hobby.” You spoke matter-of-factly. 

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie grinned. “And what’s that, Y/N?”

“Dungeons and Dragons, you nerd.” You laughed, as Eddie shook his head in disbelief. It wasn’t exactly the number one thing he wanted women of his interest to know; not exactly the greatest chick magnet out there. 

Eddie feigned anger. “Fucking Harrington. The mouth on that one.” 

Though, with complete transparency, if airing out his so-called embarrassing secrets was needed in order to keep you happy, he was ready to dish out the time his uncle found a number of women’s underwear when visiting his apartment in Indianapolis. Even sat him down with a heart-to-heart to remind Eddie that he’d love him no matter who he was. 

It was cripplingly mortifying to notify his uncle that he, Eddie Munson, was, in fact, just a whore. 

-

Winnie Ambrose had mindlessly pulled apart all the split ends she managed to find in her head of hair, before she exasperatedly sighed with a heavy fall against the van floor. 

It felt like an eternity waiting for you to return. She’d only hoped you’d come with your dignity, and not as another notch on Eddie’s belt. It was only when her entertainment was finally being satisfied through her nosy curiosity of ruffling through Eddie’s belongings did the passenger door finally open.

Winnie laid so stiffly, as she heard you mutter a “thank you” to Eddie’s chivalry. Your eyes briefly connected for the couple seconds it took for Eddie to reach the driver side, with you nodding to the consensus of the thrown up thumbs up Winnie proffered. 

“Ready to head home?” Eddie asked. 

“Mhm, yeah.” You politely answered. 

The forty minute drive to Indianapolis was thus embarked upon, with Winnie having to endure the detailed lore behind Eddie the Head, when one- one, singular Iron Maiden song played. Where Winnie rolled her eyes, you were quite taken aback with how much information he was ready to elaborate upon, just because it was “totally sick that we share the same name!” In the wise words of Eddie Munson. 

Apparently his only motivation to learn anything. 

Rolling into the parking lot of your apartment complex, the sky thundered with the trudging storm the spring season had welcomed. 

Eddie had turned off the rumbling ignition of his car. “Um, w-would you mind just, like, walking with me?” 

Desperately wanting to jump over to your good side, Eddie had no issue with quickly agreeing to your request. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” 

Winnie slowly moved to the back double doors that would become her escape route. With Eddie whisking you away, you subtly peered back to catch glimpses of Winnie inching her legs out of the car, holding her breath, as every movement caused the old thing to creak from the rust. 

“Okay, um, I know things weren’t necessarily ideal, but I still really enjoyed being with you, and um, I’m just really glad you endured staying with me for this long.” He sniffed out a laugh that you followed along with. 

“Y-Yeah, um, I think everything managed to work out okay in the end.” You softly smiled.

Eddie’s hand found its way to the back of his neck, a classic move that not only let him appear nervous for your sympathy, but tactfully allowed his muscle to bulge for your pleasure. “I’ve gotten quite the understanding that you’re not exactly the type of girl to kiss on the first date… much to my dismay.” He dramatically sighed to make you laugh. “So, Y/N,” your name rolled off his tongue so languidly, “actually give me a call, because I’m not above tracking you down for a second date. But I mean it, have a great night, darling.” 

Slamming the door behind her, Winnie’s breath hitched at sudden cause that halted her escape plan. The heavy door closed on the damn maxi skirt you suggested she wear! “Oh, no. No, no, no, no!” She pulled against the threads that refused to stretch any longer. 

Watching her struggle, you panicked with how quickly Eddie was about to turn away, and your mind unanticipatedly resulted to your hand turning his face towards your own.

Nose bumping, breath fanning, you stared into his eyes. “Um,” your throat went dry. Eddie took your unwarranted invitation with his lips coming down slowly to ever so gently graze against yours. 

“C’mon,” yank! “Let,” yank! “Go,” rip! 

Winnie’s skirt clung from Eddie’s back doors, as she quickly scrambled to cover her exposed self. Seeing her scurry into the gated pool area of the complex, you suddenly diverged from the kiss, planting the tiniest peck to the corner of his mouth so quickly. “Okay, um, thanks for tonight, Eddie!” You hurriedly began walking away. “Have a good rest of your night!” You waved, while Eddie stood stunned. 

Utterly frozen. 

“Wasn’t even my date, and he still managed to get me out of my skirt.” Winnie cursed herself. 

A fluttering smile flushed on his face with heat, as his fingers graced on the phantom touch of your lips still lingering on your face. 

His confidence strides led him back to his van, as he felt on top of the world. There wasn’t any girl Eddie Munson couldn’t get, and his ego was relishing in the extra boost from your kiss. But with it came the frightening reality that he wanted more than what you were giving. 

He wanted you.

Revving up his engine, there wasn’t anything stopping in the way of Eddie Munson. Not even Winnie Ambrose’s skirt that slapped along the asphalt of the road with each foot Eddie drove up.

Your mind refused to focus on anything, but your apartment door, as one thought about Eddie was going to make your head spiral out of control. You wielded yourself to swallow away those nauseating butterflies that were exploding in your tummy. 

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. You hated Eddie Munson. 

“And my car is still stuck at some dingy bar. Ugh, I hate Eddie Munson!” Winnie exclaimed. 

There was only one thing for certain: Eddie Munson must die!

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | If I forgot anyone who asked to be tagged, please let me know, so I can include you in future chapters. This goes for anyone who wishes to not be tagged, just inform me! And, of course, everyone 18+ is welcome to be included <3

It would also help greatly if anyone who asked to be tagged would reblog my work :) @darknesseddiem @tlclick73 @ezzynf @hereforshmut @babez-a-licious @madelynraemunson @nope-thanks @catherinnn @sunshineandwitchery @meowforluv @bellalillyrose @eddieslooneymoonie @honey-flustered @therealgothamguardianfr @fishwithtitz @corrodedcoffincumslut @ohmeg @superas1an @maraudersforlife2005

I sincerely apologize for any user that wouldn't tag, I'm not sure how to fix that :(

[tanadrin]

"if she [supports indigenous self-determination], yell at her for that! christ almighty. this is peak twitter brain. "i will yell at someone for reasons that are obviously stupid and wildly exaggerated, but when this is pointed out to me, i will use their bad opinion on a totally different issue to justify it." just criticize them for the original bad opinion instead of acting like a complete dipshit." the bad opinion about how people ought to have self-determination, but maybe just specifically the jewish ones? how about you keep your mouth shut about jewish self-determination, please and thankyou.

ooh, spicy

but you must be new here. i reject nationalism ab initio as an unchallengeable rationale for any political project. i believe i am on record saying nationalism is akin to a toxic but contagious mental disorder. i am doubly unsympathetic to nationalism as a justification for dispossession of anybody. so i reject your framing of the issue. i could also add that indigeneity is a politically constructed category; that it's not carte blanche to commit genocide; that one people's theoretical historical relationship to a bit of geography by virtue of indigenity does not give them property rights that extinguish the rights of the people presently living there; and that even if it did, it seems likely to me that modern israelis are not more indigenous to palestine than palestinians (e.g., the spread of islam and the arabic language in the early middle ages mostly involved the conversion of preexisting populations, not the expulsion and replacement of those populations; the palestinians of 2024 are, afaict, by and large descendants of the same population that has been living there for two thousand years; jews and palestinians are, by and large, lineal descendants of the same population!).

so this effort to use leftier-than-thou language to try to "gotcha" me is silly. i don't think you're using this language sincerely; even if you were, i don't accept that this language is actually analytically useful; and even if it did have some utility, i don't think there's a framing of blood-and-soil nationalism (even through the lens of "indigeneity") that excuses the conduct of the israeli state, both for the reason that there is no ethical justification that could excuse the conduct of the israeli state and because i do not accept that states are in fact authentic vehicles for true national will, because, well, i'm not a 19th century Romantic nationalist, or someone who adheres to one of 19th century Romanticism's offshoot ideologies like fascism. good troll, though!

[brunelsblog]

Besides making Nepal a captive market for its industrial goods, the other specificity of Indian expansionist exploitation and oppression is its control over Nepal's natural resources, mainly the latter's rich water resources. Most of the rivers which irrigate the most populated northern Gangetic plains flow through Nepal and the cheapest and the easiest resource of energy required by India for future industrialisation and general consumption can be the huge water resources of Nepal, which has the second largest water resource potential in the world (out of estimated potential of 83000 Megawatt of hydro-power only 0.5 percent has been tapped so far). That is why the Indian expansionists have been in the past usurping Nepal's water resources mainly for irrigation purposes through the Sharada Darn Agreement in 1920, the Kosi Agreement in 1954 and the Gandaki Agreement in 1959. However, in 1996 through the so-called "Integrated Mahakali Development Project Agreement" they have taken full control of whole of the Mahakali river for the irrigation and power purposes. The earlier concluded Kosi and Gandaki Agreements were nakedly semi-colonial treaties as they had deprived irrigation to the Terai, the grain bowl of Nepal, by diverting all the irrigation water to India through the dams constructed just at the Nepalese side of the border (allowing only the negligible amount of water to Nepal and prohibiting to build other dams upstreams for a considerable distance). The present Mahakali Treaty, however, has adopted a more fatal form of neo-colonial exploitation and oppression by talking equality in theory but in practice ensuring monoply in the use of water and electricity to the Indian expansionists and instead imposing trillions of rupees of foreign debt upon Nepal. Besides this, through the "Joint Communique" of June 10, 1990, the Indian expansionists have opened the door for exercising monopoly over Nepal's most important water resources in future by declaring all the rivers of Nepal as "common rivers" for India as well.

- Baburam Bhattarai, Politico-Economic Rationale of People's War in Nepal (1998)

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson was featured in Adidas’s documentary dubbed ‘Under The Tongue’ to celebrate the impact of the Predator sneakers on football on its 30th anniversary. The shoe brand teased snippets of the documentary on their Instagram on December 5, 2024.

Football and music fans were quick to spot the former One Direction star seated comfortably as he joined football stars and aficionados like David Beckham, Zinedine Zidane, Eniola Aluko and Jude Bellingham, amongst others, to pay homage to the legendary footwear.

Louis Tomlinson has been a lifelong fan of football and has never shied away from expressing his love for the game. Per the Yahoo! News report of July 1, 2024, the singer joined his favorite club, Doncaster Rovers, as a reserve player in 2013.

The Back To You hitmaker also launched his solo career with a video filmed around Doncaster which featured Louis Tomlinson on the pitch at the Keepmoat Stadium.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Louis Tomlinson Chile 🇨🇱 (@louischilensist91)

As one with a passion for football, like the others featured in the documentary, Louis Tomlinson explores the cultural significance of the Predator shoes and how they changed the trajectory of football.

The video sees Craig Johnston, the brain behind the iconic silhouette, recounting his journey from coaching children’s football in Australia to designing the soccer boots that graced the feet of football icons.

Pete Martin of SoccerBible, who is collaborating with Adidas on the documentary project also spoke about the legacy of the Predator and stated that it was an honor to make Under The Tongue alongside Keane Pearce Shaw.

He added:

"A boot with such personality too, not only does it mean so much to the culture of the game but it has been an unrivaled yet consistent giver of glory."

Nick Craggs, who is the Global Football General Manager of Adidas, explained the rationale behind the documentary and its impressive lineup of athletes and superstars:

“Predator changed the game. We know what it means to us all at Adidas but as we come to the end of its 30thanniversary we felt it was fitting to hear from those who played such a crucial role in cementing its place in football culture."

You can watch the 60-second trailer on Instagram at Adidas football to catch a glimpse of Louis Tomlinson and watch the full documentary on December 11, 2024, on the Adidas Football YouTube channel.

- Soapcentral, 5.12.2024

[oddaesthetin]

3:56 am — gojo satoru

————

“you know, i find that you’re actually quite easy to understand,” you muttered out of the blue, enigmatically, not even bothering to spare him a glance, and continued in whatever you were doing.

you saw him straighten up in your periphery.

“and by easy to understand, what do you mean exactly?”

“in a way where i know you prefer ice cream sandwiches more than ice cream cakes. or how your favorite song is shame on me by avicii because you think it reflects your life,” you stood up straight and looked at him for a second, completely ignoring what you were doing as you delved into thinking deeper. “i also know, and you’ll probably deny this, that your favourite flower is red and purple chrysanthemum because you find them vibrant and fluffy.”

the last statement reminding you of that one instance when you saw him get absolutely enticed upon seeing the flower. how he tried to fight off the intrusivity of squeezing them just to see whether they’d remain fluffy or not but failing miserably, and how his eyes got a tint of sadness when he saw the flowers crushed down to pieces. that one instance you see happen time and time again whenever he gets ahold of them.

hearing the last statement made satoru pout. not that you’ve noticed, as you went back to being engrossed in your project.

“i mean, i completely get the rationale behind that. maybe since people think you’re the strongest, or maybe since you grew up silver-spooned, it’s quite unlikely for people to assume that you’re no different at all from the rest. perhaps that thought is what makes it easy for them to separate you so they could look up to you.”

when silence engulfed the place, your eyes immediately went to the white-haired brute at the corner. although there was a distance between where you were both standing, it wasn’t as hard to notice the soft smile playing on his lips.

at the back of his mind, satoru is praying you wouldn’t see how much he cares about this conversation so much. it’s not so often you get to have these kinds of conversations, but when you do, he adores it dearly. somehow, you always find a new way to tug his heart and mind.

he deliberately tried to fix his shades in an attempt to also hide the soft glaze his eyes bore.

“just because you know my favourite things does not make me easy to understand.” he disagreed, amidst the reddening of both his ears.

like how you get ignorantly confident from time to time, you shook your head as you answered, “but for me, you are. it’s exactly because i know you. and i’ve known you for years now. i’ve noticed your habits…how you think…they’re engraved in my mind.”

how sometimes he says something that’s exactly the opposite of what he’s thinking.

“besides, just because i think you’re easy to understand does not mean you’re not a complex person.”

how he so desperately wants to be normal and yet never wants to give up his ideals that are always adding to his hurt and burden. you saw him move from where he initially was.

“i think that all these is what makes you comforting.”

“i’m comforting?”

you raised your head and finally looked him in the eyes. “yes. to put it in easier words, you’re kinda like a close friend at a bad dinner party.”

satoru laughed. “a close friend at the dinner party, huh? what got me demoted?”

of course, satoru knows what you mean. he’s known you just as much as you’ve known him. and it makes his heart swell hearing you talk about his habits he never thought you’d take time to memorize and analyze because truthfully, no one has made an effort as deep as you did for him. when he’s with you, he feels like a common person. never having to be the strongest. never having to be gojo satoru. when he’s with you, he feels just like…toru. your man, toru.

his life with you is both seeing and being seen. he remembers his younger self— how he was so confident that he had learned everything in this world and there was nothing left for him to learn. just that thought alone made him snicker because oh boy was he so wrong, for being with you helped him discover new things, and grow as a person in many ways than one. he feels like a kid who’s only experienced the world for the first time. a world where being flawed is not a flaw, but a reason to keep loving, without hesitation and reservations. where waking up is not a task, but a choice, because he gets so excited to see your face first things first, converse with you, and do life with you. you’re like the orange to his blue. you may both be at the opposite ends of the spectrum, but you do well at complementing each other.

what you both have is bigger than the world. too complicated to explain but very easy to embrace. it’s a new feeling he’s willing to explore even more.

when he shares a space with you, it’s like the roles have been reversed. instead of him protecting you, it’s you that’s giving him safety. like tonight. he doesn’t know how to explain all this to you without his heart exploding and his words turning gibberish, but he hoped you know. his words may not be as impactful, but he tries his best to show it.

you rolled your eyes at the statement, “it’s just a figure of speech, hun.”

your boyfriend giggled and walked even closer to you. you were about to welcome his stance when he stopped you and turned you around as he wrapped his arms around your body. “yeah, well, even if it’s theoretical, i still would like to be your boyfriend. or husband, even.”

“that’s…not how what i said works, toru.” you replied at his idiocy, stifling a laugh. as he buried his face in your neck, you softly ruffled his hair. when you felt his lips smack a kiss to your neck, a whisper of “i love you” entered your ears.

———-

hUEY LISTWN! this is a comfort piece i wrote for myself after the latest manga update so this might be a little cringe to som of you. this has been rotting in my notes 4 quite some time already but iv’e only gotten the confidence to share it now. if u liked it, tysm! we’ll survive the manga 2gether! 🥹🫵👯‍♀️

[vague-humanoid]

For people who fight for radical change in society, the very conceivable prospect that a second Trump administration will come to power should not be ignored or minimized. To prepare for this scenario, it is crucial that we study any available evidence that will allow us to anticipate the shape of the struggle to come. There is perhaps no better place to look than the extensive program prepared by the public policy elite of the far right themselves — an initiative called Project 2025.

The centerpiece of Project 2025 is a nearly thousand-page long document that lays out in detail the sweeping reactionary measures to be implemented during a second Trump administration. It is a plan to shred fundamental civil and social rights won over generations of struggle. At the same time, it is being held up by the failing Biden campaign as one of the few rationales remaining to vote for their candidate. Lacking any kind of positive program or compelling argument to motivate their base, and having failed to address the dire crises facing working people while sponsoring the Gaza genocide, the Democratic leaders are pointing to Project 2025 and saying, “Look how bad the alternative is.”

Project 2025 has rivals on the right wing. Other ruling class power centers and cliques are putting forward alternative programs, like the ultra hardline official Republican Party platform or the “Agenda 47” initiative. Perhaps sensing how deeply unpopular the proposed policies are, Trump has recently sought to distance himself from Project 2025. But campaign trail calculations aside, Project 2025 represents the true agenda of some of the most powerful forces backing Trump that would be in a prime position to shape the actions of his second administration should it come about. Some pieces of this agenda are already being implemented by the Supreme Court, which has issued a string of recent rulings to shred corporate regulations.     

This article is the first in a series from Liberation News analyzing the different facets of the Project 2025 agenda. This article is written with the perspective of mobilizing the broadest possible struggle of the working class to defeat the right wing’s attack, and of advancing towards the end of the capitalist system that makes these types of attacks inevitable. Doing that means exercising total political independence from the Democratic Party and the liberal wing of the ruling class.