#she also lives like two states away and is always at concerts in MY state like 12 hrs early

[prehistorictriforce]

btw my friend got barricade for mcr the same night i went to see them and she got a setlist and ive never been more jealous of another person in my life. she peaked where i never could. 

[skzdarlings]

vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 1/2

masterlist.

PART 1/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. handcuffs. cat-and-mouse. eventual smut will be kinky dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. (chapter word count: 7400 words.)

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Seungmin is one of your best friends and also a conniving master of manipulation.  Being a malevolent source of wicked verbal wizardry, he convinced you and Minho that it would be totally super easy to sneak into the Hwang Hyunjin concert.  It’s only the final night of the pop-star’s sold-out world tour and the most anticipated concert of the year.  What could go wrong?  

It sounded like a good idea when Seungmin said it.  Now the three of you are standing in a pushy crowd of overeager fans with some very intimidating looking security guards at the end of the queue. 

“Reconvene,” you say.  You grab the boys by their scruff and drag them out of the line. 

“Ah, hey!” Minho snaps at you like piranha.

You release him to grab Seungmin by his collar.  “You better have an idea for getting us past security,” you say, “because I do not like the look of the Incredible Hulk up there.”

The three of you look at the shortstack beefcake who looks like he could bench all three of you at the same time. 

“Yeaaaah,” Seungmin says.  He flashes you a not-so-innocent smile as his strawberry-pink bangs flop into his eyes.  “I didn’t really think this far ahead.  I thought you’d have a plan.”

“Why would I have a plan?” you ask.  “This whole thing was your idea.  Seungmin.”  You drag him close so your noses touch, going cross-eyed at the proximity.  It does not lessen the severity of your frustration when you state, “I waxed for this.  And you know how I feel about waxing.” 

“You waxed?” Minho asks loudly.  It draws a few glances your way which might be because Minho is so loud, or might be because he’s so good looking, or a combination of the two.  His dark eyes narrow at you like you’re a completely alien creature.   “Why would you wax for a concert?” he asks. 

“Wax,” Seungmin parrots.  Your hands are on his collar like you intend to shake him up but it doesn’t deter him asking, “Like… like wax-wax?  Like your human body waxed?”

“Like your human pussy?” Minho asks.  “For a concert?  What did you think was gonna happen?”  He is on the very visible verge of hysterical laughter when a thought lights his eyes.  “Wait,” he says.  “I know how we can get in—”

“Oh my god,” you say.  You shove Seungmin and grab Minho by the collar instead.  “I’m not fucking our way in.  And I waxed,” you drop your voice, “just in case.”

“Just in case…?” Minho tips his head.  “Just in case you had to fuck your way in…?”

“Oh my god,” you say.  You push him away too.  “Never mind.”

“Did you think Hyunjin was going to summon you out of the crowd for a green room quickie?”  Seungmin asks with a shit-eating grin. 

Minho cackles.  “No way she’d even go,” he says.  “She doesn’t get summoned.  She likes to be chased.” 

“She is walking away now,” you say.    

“Bet she’ll walk away quickly,” Seungmin says.  “She waxed so she’ll be aerodynamic.”

You stomp away from the stadium but only make it a few steps before Seungmin runs in front of you. 

“We can’t just give up here,” Seungmin says.  “We made it this far already.”

“One bus stop?” you ask dryly.  “We literally live like five minutes away—”

“Exactly!” Seungmin says.  “That’s called destiny.”

“We might as well try,” Minho says.  He cups a hand over his eyes to look at the stadium in the fading light of the sun.  “We all got dressed up.  Seungmin skipped a class.  You waxed.” 

“There’s no way we’re getting through those doors,” you say. 

“We’ve done it before,” Seungmin says.  He turns you to face the stadium and massages your shoulders like a boxing coach, all the while regaling you with tales of your past victories.  “Remember all the other concerts we snuck into?  The sports games?  That celebrity wedding—”   

“Well,” Minho interrupts, “we did get arrested at that one.” 

“Yeah and we got arrested together,” Seungmin says, “because that’s what friends do.” 

“I don’t know why,” you say, “but for some reason this is working.”  Maybe it’s Seungmin’s words, or Minho’s cologne, or maybe it’s the soft glow of a perfect summer sunset as it pours over the stadium like a pink-orange waterfall.  Or maybe it’s because this really is the concert of the year, and you love a challenge, and you fucking waxed. 

You throw your head back and sigh, soulfully resigning yourself to your imminent fate.

“Fine,” you say.  “So how are we doing this?”   

“Don’t worry,” Seungmin says thoughtfully.  “I think I have a plan.”

Seungmin proceeds to explain the plan.  It is hardly the pinnacle of heist endeavours but is more feasible than rappelling down the stadium walls into the concert arena.

Basically, the plan is to find a group of people with a solitary ticket holder and leech onto their tail with the hopes security will miscount the party and let you sneak past.  It means you will have to split up because security will definitely notice three extra people.  You will then hopefully reunite inside the arena.

You scamper around the periphery of the stadium, perusing lines for oblivious groups of excited fans with an e-ticket-wielding ringleader.  You also double-check which security guards seem the most lax or checked out. 

“I get that one,” Minho says. 

He points to a trim, athletic guard with floppy brown hair and a giggly smile.  You and Seungmin protest because that guard is an easy mark so you all want him, but Minho takes off running for the queue. 

The thing about Lee Minho is that he never hauls ass.  He coasts through life with a casual slouch, but he is completely capable of annihilating everyone if he deigns to do so. 

He does.  So he did.

You and Seungmin look around.  Your grin widens when you spy the next easiest target.

“Aha!” you say.  “I call dibs on that one!  Good luck, Seungmin!”

“Hey!” Seungmin bellows.

He is far too late.  You are already booking it towards the line with a pretty, chipper, skinny security guard.  He is in jeans and a loose windbreaker that says SECURITY across the back, about the only indication he is a man of any authority.  His hair is a vibrant, neon blue and is delicately styled, long enough to pull back in a pretty half-ponytail.  His features are sharp, cheekbones sloping, but there is a natural tenderness to his whole countenance.  He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. 

Also, he really is lean.  Worst case scenario, you can probably push your way past him and disappear into the crowd before he can do anything about it.  

You find a group of girls to sidle alongside anyway.  You are satisfied you will easily slip into the stadium. 

The group reaches the front of the line, a couple of them giggling at the security guard’s friendly attention.  His name tag reads Felix, a cute name for a cute guy.  Up close, you can see a smattering of dark freckles across his face, as well as a few playful glitter stars for the concert.  He is admittedly pretty but as a professional gate crasher, you refrain from distraction.  You successfully avoid his gaze and stick close to the girl in front of you. 

Felix gives them each a friendly nod, smiling brightly.  He laughs at one of their comments and it’s a charming, low sound. 

“Enjoy the show, ladies,” he says, his voice about a hundred decibels deeper than you expected.  

Maybe that’s what trips you up.  It has to be something, because you were doing everything right.  But just as you go to follow the girls into the arena, a skinny arm shoots out and you smack right into it.   

“Sorry,” Felix says.  He drops his arm and smiles.  “I just need to see your ticket.” 

“My…?”  You look ahead at the group of girls, but they are already gone.  Oops.  “Ha, ha,” you say, looking at Felix. 

He is staring back at you, still smiling a close-lipped smile.  He blinks a couple times then lifts an eyebrow.

“Uh, ticket?” he says.  He holds out his hand.  

“Right,” you say.  You smile at him with all the saccharine sweetness you can.  “I have funny story about that, Felix,” you say. 

“Hm.”  His smile turns into a line, eyes narrowing as he looks at you.  “And what’s that?” 

“Well, you see…”

It’s all you say before you bolt, fast on your feet.  You sprint for the entryway behind the guarded queue.  There’s a crowd inside and you’re an expert at disappearing into a crowd.  You just need to get in there and find your boys then you are home free.  Hwang Hyunjin, here you come. 

There’s just one problem.  

Felix is fast.  

Like, track star fast.  Like, road runner fast.  Like, you’re that dumb coyote getting an anvil dropped on your head, except this anvil is a skinny blue-haired Australian with a voice like a god and the apparent hidden strength of one too. 

You make it a few desperate steps before Felix literally sweeps you off your feet.  You shriek when he hauls you under his arm, dragging you away from the stadium door.  He deposits you a few feet from the queue then swiftly resumes his position. 

“Hello,” he says to the next person in line.  “Sorry about that.  Ticket?”   

Your mouth is agape.  

No one has ever got the jump on you like that.

“Hey!” you say, but Felix has moved on.  He is smiling at the next guest as he checks their ticket, not paying you any mind.  “Excuse me,” you say, despite the people between you and him.  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.  I do have a ticket.”

“Uh-huh,” Felix says.  He doesn’t look at you, scanning someone’s e-ticket with a little device.  It lights up green and he smiles at them.  “Enjoy the show,” he says. 

You jump into the queue, cutting off the next person.  Felix’s smile vanishes and is replaced with an astoundingly sassy expression.

“Uh, this line is for ticket-holders,” he says. 

“I have a ticket,” you say.  You unzip your purse and spend a minute rifling around, ignoring him when he sighs.  He apologizes to the people behind you.  You turn and offer a tight-lipped apology of your own.  “I was in line,” you say, as if they didn’t just witness this ten-pound bully haul you around like a sack of potatoes.  “There was just a misunderstanding.”

Felix rolls his eyes. 

You pull out your cell phone and flip through a folder of fake screenshotted tickets, hoping at least one of them marginally resembles the tickets for tonight.  You pick one and flash it at Felix. 

“Happy?” you say with a lot of false indignation.  You turn off the screen when Felix goes to grab your phone.  You give him a snooty, squinty-eyed look, then saunter right past him. 

This time when he comes after you, you are better prepared for his speed.   You zig-zag and he stumbles, cussing very unprofessionally.  You make it all the way to the door before he grabs you.  You have no idea where he is getting all that muscle because he feels like a sturdy stick when you grab at him, but he puts you over his shoulder like it’s easy. 

“Um, excuse me!” you shout.  “Hello!  Someone film this!  I’m being assailed!”

Felix intentionally jostles you on his shoulder.  He is even less gentle when he drops you this time, though you do manage to keep your footing. 

“Try that again,” Felix says, “and it will be trouble.  Got it?” 

Felix is very good looking.  He’s an incredible combination of pretty and handsome, not to mention that voice, guh.  But what gets you going is how much you are clearly pissing him off.  It’s hot.  Out of nowhere, the freckled sunshine sweetheart is just oozing confidence, standing square and pointing at you with a very stern expression.  And if you get a little hiccup in your blood, a little skip in your heartbeat, a little stampede southward that makes your pussy hum like the interested kitten it is, well.  That’s not your fault.  It’s his.  Asshole.

You flip him off.  He ignores you, shaking his head as he returns to his position.

“Sorry,” he says to the queue.  “Some people are so inconsiderate, aren’t they?”

Ugh. What a sexy bitch. 

You text to check in with the boys.  Minho made it inside, no surprise, but apparently Seungmin is also struggling for an in. 

what is with these security guards, Seungmin writes, are they military trained? fuck 

maybe you’re both just losing your touch, Minho replies.

never, you say.  we still have lots of time.  we'll get in there.  seungmin, meet me by the benches.  we need another plan.  

Usually, the best way to crash an event is with minimal attention and no theatrics.  It’s all about pretending you are exactly where you are supposed to be.  If you act like you belong, then you will.  

A spectacle is a desperate measure, but you are desperate people.  After a few hushed whispers on a bench, you and Seungmin spring into action. 

“Help!”  Seungmin shouts.  “My wife needs help!  Please!” 

“Your wife?” you whisper through gritted teeth, opening one eye to look at him.  You are currently laying on the pavement in a dramatic swoon, Seungmin hunched over you. 

“My companion of ambiguous relationship is hurt!” he says.  “Ouch,” he adds, because you swat his arm.

Fortunately, he does draw attention.  A few people run over, the beefy security guard one of them.  His nametag reads Changbin and he is in a black t-shirt at least two sizes too small.  You do not begrudge him this, as you would do the same if you had biceps like that.  

“What happened?” he asks, crouching down beside Seungmin. 

“My friend just passed out,” Seungmin says.  He hoists you into his arms as your tongue lolls out of your mouth.  “Is there somewhere inside I can take her to sit down?  I think all the chaos out here overstimulated her.” 

“One second,” Changbin says.  He pulls a walkie-talkie out of a holster.  It buzzes with static as he turns it on.  “Hey, we have a collapsed woman in front of Entry Door B.  Can I have back-up clear a path, and someone with First Aid training?”  The walkie-talkie buzzes again and Changbin puts it away.  He stands up, waving away the small crowd that has gathered.   “Yah, everyone back up!  This is an emergency!” 

“It’s really not,” Seungmin says.  He scoops you into a bridal hold then struggles to lift you off the ground. “I just need – whew – somewhere I can – agh – put her down.  I can just – AH! – carry her myself.”

Naturally, it is at that moment a familiar voice descends from above. 

A familiar, deep, Australian-accented voice.

“Move aside, please.”  

“Oh no,” you say, eyes closed.   You open them just in time for a glitter-faced, freckled, blue-haired pretty boy in a SECURITY windbreaker to cut through the crowd.   

Unfortunately, Felix is just as good looking at this angle.  He waves away the gathered onlookers as he approaches, but looks at Changbin first. 

“I have First Aid,” he says.  “What happened?”

“I just found her collapsed,” Changbin says.  “Her friend thinks it’s the crowd.  Should we bring her inside?” 

Felix looks at you.  The concerned furrow in his brow immediately gives way. 

You smile innocently. 

“No,” Felix says, frowning.  “We shouldn’t.” 

“Oh come on,” you say.  You smack the ground.  “I collapsed!  I need help!”

“No, you need a ticket,” Felix says.  He crosses his arms and stomps a foot.  “Seriously, what is wrong with you?  Some of us have a job to do, you know?”

“Naaaur ya need a ticket, mate,” you say in a mockingly deep chest voice. “Some of us have jobs ya knaaaaur!”

“Do you guys know each other?” Changbin asks, looking between you and Felix – who is growing increasingly red in the face and breathing much harder. 

“I have no idea who this guy is,” Seungmin says. 

“Ah!”  Felix yells, spinning to Changbin.  “She doesn’t have a ticket!  She’s just trying to sneak in!”

“She doesn’t have a ticket?”  Seungmin asks, gasping.  He drops you onto the concrete, ignoring your yelp of pain.   “But I thought she – she told me we – I – I –“

You watch in betrayed horror as Seungmin pretends to faint, flopping down beside you on the concrete.  You sit up, very tempted to slap him across the face but not wanting to give Felix more reasons to accost you. 

“Seungmin,” you say.  You grab him by the shirt and rattle him around like a ragdoll.  “Seungmin, you bastard, don’t even think about it!”

“You.”  Felix stomps up behind you.  “Get off the ground and come with me.” 

“No,” you say.  “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.” 

You shriek – again – when Felix grabs you under the arms and hoists you to your feet.  He manhandles you with only a modicum of effort, dragging you away from your stupid traitorous best friend. 

You step on Felix’s foot deliberately and he swears.  For such a pretty thing, he sure has a filthy mouth.  You grab a fistful of his hair and tug, to which he cusses up a storm and pries your hand off his head.   

You hear the distinct buzz of Changbin’s walkie-talkie.    

“We have a collapsed man in front of Entry Door B.  Can someone who isn’t going to start fighting the patrons come help me move him?”

“He’s faking it!” you cry in protest, watching Changbin scoop Seungmin off the ground. 

Changbin disregards your outburst.  Seungmin gives you a thumbs up behind his back.  Felix, of course, doesn’t see it because he’s too busy dragging you away.  You are left to sputter in bewildered protest at the injustice of it all. 

Felix marches you to the sidewalk, far away from the stadium queues.  You are both out of breath by the time you get there.  Even so, you attempt to manoeuvre under his arm to run away.   In a few quick moves, he knocks you onto your ass. 

 “Holy fuck!”  You are panting now.  A line of sweat dots your hairline.  You wipe at it and stare morosely at this stupidly competent minimum wage security guard.  “What are you, like some kind of karate master or something?”

“Taekwondo, actually,” he says, brushing off his jacket.  Then he tips his head and stares down at you.

You would be lying if you said the intensity of his stare didn’t have your heart racing for an entirely new reason.  Danger and desire have always danced a close dance for your tastes.  Felix is not helping matters, tucking back loose strands of vibrant hair as he looms over you, wetting his bottom lip and staring. 

You cross your arms and feign nonchalance, but you can’t look away from him.  When he crouches down slowly to meet you at eye level, everything below the belt goes pitter-patter. 

“No ticket,” Felix says slowly.  “No concert.  Do you understand me?” 

You stick out your tongue.

“Wow, mature,” he says.  His departing farewell is another snarky eyeroll.  He shakes his head as he stands, muttering to himself in obvious frustration. 

So much for not a mean bone in his body.  That bully is all business.   

So hot. 

You huff and puff for a bit.  Your phone is going berserk in your purse, probably the boys trying to reach you.  Eventually you succumb to the necessary confession of your twice thwarted efforts.  Minho teases that you are losing your touch for real.  It makes angry little fireworks pop out of your ears.  

Plenty of occasions you have assessed a situation and deemed it unreasonably complicated, but quitting while you’re ahead is not the same thing as admitting defeat.  You do not lose.  This isn’t even about the concert anymore.  Fuck Hwang Hyunjin, he was never worth the pain of a wax in the first place.  No.  This is about your pride.   This is about your dignity.  This is about your honour. 

You are getting into that concert, one way or another.   

First, you gather intel.  This comes in the form of snooping, running between queues to figure out the easiest mark.  You don’t judge the guards by their appearances this time, because apparently this security team has secret taekwondo masters hidden in their midst. 

You watch their every move, calculating and determining your odds therein.  Based on visual research and Minho’s confirmation, it seems your best bet is the smiling guard who let Minho through.  His nametag reads Jisung and he is a veritable flirt. 

Flash him your tits, Minho texts.

Uh, no, I’m not that desperate yet.       

Second, with your intel now acquired, you get into the dwindling line.  The sun is almost set and a breezy summer chill dances across your cheeks.  The concert will be starting soon.  You shuffle behind the other stragglers, adjusting your outfit.  The jean shorts hug your hips and flash a nice chunk of thigh, and your shirt is already low cut but you figure another tug won’t hurt.  You also pull your flannel down your arms to look as flirtatious as possible. 

Jisung is barely looking at the tickets as he scans them, chatting merrily to the guests as he lets them through.  You pull up a random ticket on your phone, something to hold out while you distract him. 

“Hi,” you say. 

His eyes flick down to your chest, then back up.  He smiles brightly.

“Hi!” he says.  “You look nice.  Excited for the concert?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say.  “You have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for this.  It wasn’t easy to get in.”

“I know what you mean,” he says.  “Tickets are hard to come by, and so expensive!”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” you say, leaning in while he scans your phone.   This was a bad idea because he looks down at your chest again, just in time for his little device to flash red.

“Oh, oops!” he says.  He smiles at you as he shakes his device.  “Sorry!” he says.  “I think you showed me the wrong ticket.  Could you pull up the right one?”

“Ohhh!” you say, looking down at your phone with fake surprise.  Life is so unfair.  “I’m so sorry… Jisung.  Hehe, that’s such a nice name.”

“Haha, thanks,” Jisung says.  “My parents picked it, but, yeah, it’s cool.  Anyway.”  He wiggles his device.  “Ticket please!” 

You keep smiling and giggling, even as you turn around under the guise of searching through your phone.  You glare down at the stupid device, keeping your back to Jisung while you do so.  How the fuck are you getting out of this?  You flip through screenshots then open your text messenger.  Minho’s last words of wisdom blink up at you. 

Apparently, you are that desperate. 

With a sigh, you put your phone in your purse and zip it shut.  You shrug your shoulders and plaster that fake smile on your face again.  With a swift of flick of your thumbs, you lift your shirt and bra up over your tits and spin around to look at Jisung. 

“How’s this for a ticket—”

Jisung looks surprised and delighted.  Jisung, however, is standing a few feet back.  Probably because he was told to step back.  Probably by Felix who is standing in front of you with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face.  

“Wow,” Felix says.  “Just committing crimes now, are we?”  

You shove your tits back into your bra indignity, not even embarrassed, just annoyed. 

“Tits aren’t a crime,” you say. 

“Public indecency is,” he replies.  

“You’re… publicly indecent…”  Not your best comeback.  You glare at him while fixing your shirt.  “There’s no way they pay you enough to be riding my ass this hard.” 

“They don’t,” Felix says, grabbing your arm.  “Believe me when I say riding your ass has been my pleasure.”

“Twisted fuck,” you reply. 

You wave at Jisung as Felix tugs you away.  He waves back but does nothing to rescue you, because all men are traitors. 

You groan loudly as Felix leads you away from the stadium yet again.  “Just let me innnnn,” you whine.  “Why do you hate meee.”

“I don’t even know you!” Felix says.  He deposits you on a bench and takes out his phone.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eying the device.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks.  “You tried to break into a ticketed event three times.  You faked an injury.  You flashed yourself in a public place—”

“I wouldn’t have done any of that if you just let me through in the first place!”

“You cannot be serious.”  Felix looks ready to rip his hair out.  “You don’t have a ticket!  Why would I let you in, why would I – AH!  Why am I arguing with you!  Be quiet, I’m phoning the police.”

“The po— the police?!  How dare you!” You try to stand but he pushes you onto the bench one-handed.  He holds you there, palm on your shoulder, still way stronger than someone this scrawny should be. 

“Fine!” you exclaim.  “Fine!  You win!  I’m sorry, Felix, I was wrong.  I was wrong and you were right.”

Felix pauses.  “Really,” he says, sounding unconvinced. 

“Yes!”  You look up at him with the saddest, most watery eyes you can muster.  “I just wanted to see the concert but it was stupid to think I could break in.” 

He turns off his screen.  Success.   You watch him slip his phone in his pocket. 

“It’s not about being smart or stupid,” he says, the ire gone from his voice.  It takes a lot of willpower not to bite his fingers when he pats your shoulder.  “It’s about the fact we can’t always get what we want,” he says kindly as he crouches in front of you.  His hand goes from your shoulder to your knee, still patting it in a friendly manner. 

You bite your tongue because you want to tell him you liked him better when he was being a mean bitch, but that would be counterproductive to your escape attempt. 

It turns out, you don’t need to say anything, because he decides to be a bitch again anyway.  Felix looks at you with a too-sweet smile and says, “It’s about time someone taught you that lesson.”

“Um, excuse me?” you say, aghast.  You clasp your hand over your heart.  “Just who do you think you are?  First of all, you taught me nothing, I’m still a horrible bitch and I lied when I said you were right.  Second, you absolutely can get everything you want, you just have to want it enough to get it.  But you wouldn’t know anything about that.  You know why, Felix?” 

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head like he expected this, which he probably did, but you’re too far gone to retreat. 

You reach out and cup his face in both hands, turning it to you.  Those sharp eyes are unflinching, even with your fingers on his face.  You try really hard not to gulp. 

“It’s because you are a good boy,” you say.  “You always do what you’re told.  You always follow the rules.  I bet everyone thinks you’re the nicest guy on the team, don’t they?  I bet they call you cute little nicknames and all the nice little girls think you’re a sweet, innocent baby.  And you are, aren’t you, Felix?  You’re just such a good, good boy.  But me?  I’m not good.  I’m not bad.  I just like to win.  When I want something, I get it, because I chase it, and I don’t stop until I get it.  Until it’s all mine.”  You lean in close.  “Get it?” 

His gaze darkens, brows pinching.  You take his fleeting moment of vulnerability to shove him onto his back.  He sprawls on the ground with a surprised yelp.  You sprint away at top speed and flip him off over your shoulder. 

It’s a haphazard ploy at best but you are fresh out of plans.  What you need is distance between you and Security Guard of the Year, a breather long enough to come up with a final plan.  Maybe you can physically break in somewhere: an office window, a janitorial stairwell, something.  

You keep an eye out for potential openings as you run. 

And run.

And run. 

Hmm.  You’ve been running a long time.   Even with the head-start, Felix should have caught you by now.  You doubt he would have truly given up.  Felix had a deranged look in his eye, similar to the one you get when someone is trying to beat you at your own game.  He doesn’t want you to win anymore than you want to lose.  You suspect it isn’t about the concert for him either; this is a personal battle. 

You come to a gradual stop, hands on your hips as you catch your breath.  It’s quiet on this side of the stadium as the queues were on the opposite end. 

Quiet, yes.  Too quiet.   

There’s a stairwell that leads to second level just above your head.  Felix is good.  You have to give credit where credit is due.  If you weren’t a scheming nightmare with a penchant for con-artistry, he probably would have caught you.  But without turning around, you know he booked it up the stairs and is two seconds from springing an attack. 

You take off running, just in time for him to thump into the grass beside you.  You laugh at his strangled cry of frustration as he scrambles to his feet. 

Around the next corner is the parking lot.  You stop a split second to look over your shoulder and see him hot on your heels.   He discarded his jacket and is in a loose sleeveless shirt, revealing he does have some light toning to his lean body.  But you don’t stop to measure how proportionate it is to his strength, because he is focussed on you like a laser. 

Then he smiles.  A slow, slinky smile like a cocky predator about to swipe at its prey.  That cat has claws, nasty ones, and you almost want to get tangled in them.  Almost.  You want to win even more.   

And he just set you up for success.  There’s a SECURITY jacket on the ground somewhere nearby.  That’s your ticket in.  You just have to lose Felix in the parking lot and loop back around to find where he tossed it. 

You spare no time setting that plan into action, giving Felix a smile of your own before you run.  He thunders after you.

The pair of you weave in and out of parked cars.  He disappears for a second behind a row of trucks.  You whip your head around to figure out where he went, only for him to summersault around the corner and cut you off.  You yell instinctively but narrowly dodge his reaching hand.   He curses, running after you with his arm outstretched.   You duck behind a trailer and lose him, scurrying between some SUVs.  You peek at him through the windows, watching him turn in a circle to find where you went.  Smiling to yourself, you quietly but quickly back away.  

You leave the lot and run back the way you first came.  You find Felix’s jacket draped on a random bush. 

Your heart is practically singing with adrenaline.  Victory is in sight.  You push yourself to run faster and reach out with both hands –

— only to find yourself rolling in the grass, Felix’s arms tight around your middle as he tackles you to the ground. 

You push and pull at each other, cursing and scrambling very ungracefully.  You get out of his arms but he climbs on top of you, then you knee him in the gut so he rolls over, but when you start crawling he grabs your ankles and drags you back. 

Ultimately, he Taekwondo Masters you onto your front, hands clasped behind your back.  You kick your feet and wail despondently into the grass as he kneels over you, breathing raggedly and swearing again. 

“You’re a monster!” you shout.  “You’re a tyrant and a bully and you have no right to – HEY!”

He handcuffs you.

“Ha.”  He leans in close, speaking right into your ear.  “I win.” 

“That’s not fair,” you say.  “You can’t just—ahh!”  You wail in petulance as he lifts you onto your feet.  His grip on your bicep is unyielding so you are forced to stomp alongside him as he escorts you…

…back to the sidewalk.

“You’re not busting me?” you ask in confusion.  You thought for sure he was going to drag you into some shady office and plop you in a chair until the police arrived.   He would probably be super boring and professional about it, staring at you with his dumb horny eyes but not doing anything about it.  Nothing sucks more than being all trussed up by a pretty boy with manners. 

“I just want you to go and never come back,” Felix says. 

“Fine.”  You turn around and hold your arms straight behind you.  “But I’m like a wolf, Felix.  I have your scent for life.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says.  “Not how wolves work by the way.  But fine.”

“Oh wow, sorry.  Didn’t realize you majored in Wolfology.  You got any other fun facts?”  

“You are so—”

You smirk at his grumbling.  You are just biding your time until he uncuffs one wrist, then you whip around faster than he can compute the action.  With one cuff still attached, you grab the second and clamp it down on his wrist.  He sputters in bewilderment, at which point you snatch the keys.

“What are you doing—”  He tries to grab them but your joined hands make the angle too awkward.  You spin around together in a few circles, bonk heads twice, until finally you reel back and chuck the keys as far into the distance as possible. 

He stands there, mouth agape.  You tap your foot impatiently. 

When he realizes what has happened – that you have handcuffed yourself to him and thrown away the keys – he looks at you with fiery eyes, fierce enough you stumble.  He yanks your joined hands, the chain ungiving.  You watch as he goes through several stages of grief in a matter of moments.  Then he closes his eyes and breathes in and out.    

“Why,” he says slowly, “did you just do that?” 

“I dunno, Felix,” you say.  You plop down on the ground and sit cross-legged.  It forces him to bend over, your cuffed wrist dragging him down.  “Guess we’ll have to go inside and get some back-up keys.  And when I’m in the stadium and you uncuff yourself from me, I promise not to run away.”   

“That’s your plan?” he snaps.  “That’s your plan?” 

“What, is there an echo out here?”

“That’s your plan?” he asks again, his deep voice pitching up an octave.  He crouches down and shoves his free hand into his hair, shaking his head.  “This can’t be happening,” Felix says, more out loud to himself than you.  “Why is this happening.  Oh my god.” 

You squeak when he tugs on the chain, yanking you close, nose to nose.

“What if I just called for back-up?” he asks. “Or skipped that and went right to the police?  How would you get out of that?”

“Wait,” you say.  “Why aren’t you doing that?” 

“Because.”

He leans back as far as he can, sitting on his heels.  You duck your head, trying to meet his eye to no avail.  He clenches his jaw.

“Felix,” you say.  “Why aren’t you just calling for back-up?”

“Because,” he says through gritted teeth.  “The handcuffs.  Are.  Not.  Regulation.” 

You look at each other.  There is a long moment of silence. 

Then, “What!”  You cackle with complete and utter abandon. 

A very unamused Felix glares at you while you throw your head back and laugh. 

“You?” you cry, poking your finger against his chest.  “You?  You?  You are just walking around with a pair of handcuffs that you aren’t supposed to have?  What the fuuuuuck—”  You think you might die laughing. 

“Jisung gave them to me before our shift!” he exclaims.  “It was a joke because— Never mind! I don’t have to explain myself to you!  Hello.  Hello.”  He grabs your chin with his free hand and turns your face roughly to his.   He jingles your joined hands.  “Not regulation,” he says.  “There are no other keys in this building.” 

Silence falls again. 

Then, “Oh.”  You stare at him.  “Shit.” 

A minute later, you and Felix are scuttling around trying to find the key.  You must have a very good arm because it landed near the stadium and disappeared in some bushes.   

You and Felix keep forgetting your wrists are connected, reaching in opposite directions only to snap back together.  You are certain you are going to end the night with a few bumps and bruises. 

The entire time you are searching for the key, Felix is grumbling irritably.  He tears his way through a bush, his deep voice pitching up with a miserable whine when he can’t find it. 

“This is so stupid,” he says.  He throws a stick at the wall.  “I am a good worker.  I never break the rules.  I am not getting in trouble for this. You did this.  You did this to me.” 

On he goes, grumble, grumble, grumble, bitch, bitch, bitch. 

“It’s not like the key disappeared,” you say, pushing some pebbles around.  “It has to be here somewhere.” 

It is starting to get dark, the sky a deep purple.  The stadium lights blare down on you.  Felix uses his phone flashlight to beam extra light at the ground.  The only time he stops grumbling is when the noise in the stadium changes, the concert clearly beginning.  He takes time out of his busy searching schedule to give you a mean smile. 

“When we find those keys,” you say, “I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and leaving you to freeze to death in your stupid tank top.”

“It’s not a tank top,” he says.  “It’s a t-shirt.  I cut the sleeves off.  And when we find those keys, I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and phoning the police.”

“Well then,” you say, “may the best key finder in a slutty tank top win.” 

“It’s not a tank top.”   

You continue to search.  It is utterly illogical that the keys would just vanish but the longer it takes, the more concerned you get.   It just doesn’t make sense!  Things don’t just disappear!  The keys landed somewhere over here, so they have to be…

You see it first.  You sit there in a stunned stupor.  You swat at Felix with your cuffed hand.

“What?” he says without looking at you.  You continue to slap him until he forces your hand down, tangling your fingers with his.  “What!” 

You point.  He crowds in behind you to look over your shoulder.  You feel him exhale. 

“Please don’t tell me…”   

You both lean to look down the sewer drain.  He flashes his phone light over it.  Something silver glints back in the darkness. 

“Fuck!” Felix says.  He doesn’t stop there.  What follows is a string of cusses so unbelievably foul and complex that you honestly believe it should quality him for Pulitzer in poetry.  When he has exhausted every expletive in several different languages, he plops down on his ass and stares up at the sky with mute despondency.   

“So what happens now?” you ask.  “Do we fuck?”

“What?”  He looks at you with utter bewilderment.  “What the fuck?  Why would you suggest that?  What would that solve?”

“Nothing,” you say.  “But it would kill the time and couldn’t make things worse.” 

“You are insane,” he says.  “I am handcuffed to an insane person.” 

“Hey, ‘mate’, you were the one with the non-regulation handcuffs in the first place.  I could solve this problem real quick by phoning the authorities myself and saying some crazy guy put me in cuffs.” 

“I dare you,” he says.  “Try.”

“No,” you say.  And not just because you have a record with the police and they would never take your side.  But Felix doesn’t need to know that.  Well, you suspect Felix is smart enough to guess it, but he doesn’t need the confirmation.  “I’d rather make you suffer,” you say instead.  You sit back in an insouciant slouch like the whole circumstance is beneath your attention.  “Figure it out, pretty boy.” 

“Well,” he says, “apparently if you break your wrists then you can force them through the cuffs.”

“Ew!” You push him in the middle of his chest.  He doesn’t fall, but he does glare at you.  “We’re not doing that!  What a stupid plan!  You’ve been guzzling the hair dye fumes, buddy.  Think of a plan that doesn’t involve injury, thank you.” 

“I didn’t want to do this,” Felix says with another put-upon sigh, “but fine.  I have another pair at home so the keys—”

“Wait,” you interrupt.  “I thought someone gave you the cuffs today?  Why do you have another key at home?”

“I have another pair,” he repeats, “of the same handcuffs.”

“You—”

“Already own a pair, yes, move on.”  He aggressively pushes hair out of his eyes.  “He clearly bought it from the same place so my key should work for this one too.”

“So despite your uppity school boy routine, you do own non-regulation handcuffs and not just as a joke.  Wow, Felix.”  You giggle helplessly.  “Be careful or I might start to like you.” 

He is glaring at you, no surprise, but the tips of his ears blush pink. 

“Let’s just go,” Felix says.  “The sooner I get you off, the sooner I can forget about your existence.”

“You can get me off as fast or slow as you like—ahh!” 

Once more, the secret superman is manhandling you onto your feet.  Without pausing for breath, he turns and marches away.  You are forced to stumble behind his swift strides, your hands swinging close enough that your fingertips brush every so often.   

“How do I know you’re not gonna murder me?” you ask.

“You don’t,” he replies.

“How do you know I’m not gonna murder you?” 

“I don’t.”  He sounds more annoyed than afraid.  “But it sounds better than being cuffed to you forever.  I’ll take my chances.  Come on.” 

“Not like I have a choice,” you grumble. 

He comes to an abrupt halt and you crash into him with a sharp exhale.  He grabs your hand and tugs you close. You blink at him with surprise while he tips his head in that studious way.

“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t.  In fact, it’s almost nice, you forced to finally do what I’m asking.  If you’re not careful, it might even make me like you.” 

It is so cold and sarcastic. 

It gets you so hot. 

Seriously, what is with your stupid brain?  How does it cross the wires of fear and desire like that?  Felix is speaking at you with that deep, dark, nasty voice of his and your heart should be skipping beats in concern, not because you think he’s sexy when he’s being a bitch.  

You hide it from him well enough, glaring at him like he glared at you.  He just snorts and shakes his head. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Interesting,” he replies.  “Very interesting.”   

“What?”

“Nothing.”  He smiles politely, for a moment looking like the unassuming pretty boy you thought he was.  He bats his long eyelashes at you, smiles a coy smile, and squeezes your hand.   “Come on,” he says.  “We tried this your way and it got us in trouble.  Time to be a good girl and do it my way.  No, stop, don’t say anything.  Be quiet.  Just walk.  Let’s go.” 

You stumble when he tugs you after him.  Your mouth is hanging open yet again.   

You are proud to say that in your many years of bad girl shenanigans, you have never truly met your match.  You’ve played pretend a few times, let a couple losers think they won, if only because you liked the game of it.  But no one has ever really taken control.  No one has ever really beat you.  No one has ever come close. 

No one.  Until today. 

You glare at the back of Felix’s head, brain stampeding as fast as your heart.   Because finally, you’ve found him, your perfect match.  Lashed to you through the metal manifestation of fate’s red string. 

You didn’t know what game you were playing before, but now you do.

And you’re going to win.  

[metalhoops]

// Read Part 1 Here // Read Part 2 Here //

“Can you believe that bullshit, Stevie?” Eddie questioned, from his spot in Steve’s lap. 

The two were together on the Munsons’ beaten-up couch. Steve’s day had dragged on like bare feet in river mud. As far as he could gather, Eddie’s had been the same. The room was hot with the ghost of summer, despite it being mid-March. Eddie’s hair between Steve’s fingers was soft and fizzed. 

“Can I believe that Lucas refused to ditch the championship game for your fantasy club, that could be rescheduled? Yeah,” Steve paraphrased, feeling Eddie sit slightly as he craned his head to get a better look at Steve.

“You’re on his side, aren’t you?” Eddie mumbled, discontent clear in his voice. Steve didn’t like it. He hummed and leaned down to place a chased kiss on Eddie’s lips. 

“You’re not meant to be on his side,” Eddie grumbled, laying back down. 

It was rare that the two disagreed. The disagreement had to be big enough to get a rise out of Steve, but if the situation called for it, he’d put his foot down. 

“It’s a big deal for him,” Steve reasoned, watching Eddie’s jaw clench. 

He’d gotten to know the boy well enough over the past few months. He knew what would come next. If he didn’t act soon, he’d have to sit through a monologue on the sanctity of the game and Lucas’ betrayal at having chosen sports over his friends. Steve didn’t mind the rants. He liked that Eddie was passionate. He did, but Eddie was right. Steve was on Lucas’ side. 

“I know this is a big deal for you, too. Getting to the end of the game or whatever, but can’t you just do it another day? It’d mean the world to the kid,” Steve reasoned. 

He knew by the rounding of Eddie’s shoulders and the elongated groan that escaped his lips that he’d won. 

“Fine, I’ll postpone a week, but you owe me big time. Next date you’re paying.” 

Steve didn’t argue. Hell, he liked paying for Eddie. The guy normally wouldn’t have a bar of it. 

“Wipe that smug smile off your face, Harrington. I get to pick what we do. I’m going to drag you to the loudest concert this side of the Mississippi the first chance I get.” 

Steve nodded, twisting Eddie’s fraying curl between his fingertips.

“In the meantime, I was thinking of heading to the game,” Steve proposed. 

Eddie groaned. He knew Steve too well. He knew what was coming next. 

“You’re going to drag my ass to the basketball game, aren’t you?” 

Eddie sat, switching to the far side of the couch to show his displeasure at the idea. However, he threw his feet in Steve’s lap, so he knew they were okay. 

He thought they were okay. 

“Lucas will want you to be there.”

“You know we can’t actually go together without people talking,” Eddie noted as Steve drove his thumb into the heel of the boy’s foot absentmindedly. 

“I don’t care,” Steve stated. 

He meant it. He’d given up on trying to be Hawkins’ golden boy years before. He just wanted to be the type of person he could live with. 

“Maybe I do,” Eddie spoke, stopping Steve cold. 

Steve worried. He always goddamn worried. Yes, he was waiting for the day he lost someone he cared about to the hell dimension, but it was more than that. He also worried about mundane stuff, like Eddie waking up and deciding they were bullshit. He’d been so sure he and Nancy were in love up until the second she told him they weren’t. That was a blow he wasn’t sure he’d ever heal from. 

He must have gone too quiet, sat stock, still in the growing silence. Eddie sat up and tugged at the hem of Steve’s shirt until he lay down beside him. The two were crushed uncomfortably close, side by side. Eddie’s knee was tucked between Steve’s legs. Eddie touched Steve’s face. It was something only he could get away with. If it were anyone else, he would hate it. 

“Not what I meant,” Eddie spoke, implicitly knowing where Steve’s train of thought had headed. 

“I just meant, I care because I know if any dick head in town had enough brain cells to put two and two together, we’d be screwed,” Eddie began, taking a deep breath. Steve settled back, bracing himself for the monologue. 

“Your parents would kick you out. Then the town would try to run me out with pitchforks. I’m not saying we’ll never... you know. I’m just saying we’ve gotta be smart about it. When I’m done with high school and we save up enough money to have an escape plan for when things go to shit, then we can toss around the idea of going to stupid basketball games together.” Steve sighed but nodded, understanding Eddie’s point of view.

Sometimes Steve got sick of being cautious. He got sick of waiting for other people to change their minds about something that didn’t have anything to do with them. He’d had some good goddamn sense knocked into him. He wished someone would do the same for everyone else. 

“We can hang out after the game. I’ve got something to do first, but I’ll swing around your place after ten.” Eddie proposed. 

Steve didn’t ask what Eddie was doing. If Eddie wanted him to know, he would’ve told him, and despite Steve’s many hang-ups, he trusted Eddie as much as he could trust anyone. 

“Ten works,” Steve agreed. 

The afternoon faded. Steve left Eddie to go to the game. He watched with his gaggle of kids by his side, glancing down at Robin in the marching band when her high school crush took to the stage with a shit-eating grin. He wanted to be there with Eddie, but this was a good consolation. He was sure he’d have bruises on his side by morning from Dustin constantly elbowing him in the side every time Lucas got the ball.

He was so damn proud of Lucas for scoring the winning point. Though Steve would admit, he’d have been proud of the kid if they’d lost by a mile. He was learning what love was about, love without contingencies. Eddie, Robin and the kids were teaching him the lessons he’d never picked up from his parents. 

He got back to his place around nine, took a shower and switched on a mindless T.V. re-run to fill the silence while he waited for Eddie. He was two episodes deep when he felt the familiar sensation of dread begin to well in the pit of his stomach. 

Eddie was two hours late when Steve’s worry shifted to full-blown panic. He tried to tell himself everything was fine, that Eddie got caught up and he’d walk through the door any minute. He picked up his bat from beneath his bed and paced the halls like an animal in an enclosure. 

It was three in the morning when Steve resigned himself to the fact that Eddie wasn’t coming. He called the Munsons at the god-awful hour of the night, hoping beyond hope that Eddie would pick up. He’d be pissed off at Steve for waking him up, but then he’d let him know what was going on. 

He didn’t answer. 

Maybe Steve had read things wrong. Maybe he and Eddie had a fight. They were fighting. That’s why Eddie hadn’t shown up.

He lay in bed until the light of morning thawed his bones and set him free from his wide-eyed, paralytic state of unrest. Instead of heading to work, he drove to the trailer park, swerving the Beamer off the dirt track as the blue lights painted the horizon. There was a swarm of cop cars parked outside Eddie’s trailer. Steve’s body moved of its own accord, rushing through the swarm of cops to find Wayne Munson smoking at the picnic benches, a nearly imperceptible tremor to his fingers. 

Steve didn’t ask what happened. Not right away. His mind was full of worst-case scenarios, none of which could be true until they were spoken into existence. For now, everything was unknown. For now, there was a chance Eddie was safe. He let his legs buckle beneath him as he sat beside Wayne, wondering when he’d made a habit of having panic attacks with Munson men near picnic benches. 

“Was Eddie with you last night?” Wayne asked between drags of the cigarette. 

Steve shook his head. 

Eddie had told Wayne about them. Steve had sat across the breakfast table from the man half a dozen times, but they’d never really talked without Eddie in the room. 

“Was he meant to be?” With a defeated sigh, Steve nodded. 

“What happened?” He asked, at last, tired of drawing out the inevitable. 

“I came home from my shift and there was a body.” All the colour fell from Steve’s face. 

“Not Eddie’s. Some girl. Cops are sayin’ they think he killed her. I reckon we both know that ain’t true.” Steve didn’t know what to do with that information. Eddie was alive. 

He listened to Wayne describe the scene with a growing feeling of dread. He’d seen enough of the Upside Down to understand that an eyeless girl, broken and bent like a marionette puppet and a missing boy seemed like part of its M.O. He was late for work. 

He needed to let Robin and the kids know what was going on. He skirted past the police and drove to the video store. His body was working on autopilot. To his surprise, Dustin and Max were already there. 

He watched as a disgruntled Robin tried to shoo them from behind the register. Steve cleared his throat, hoping beyond hope that the kids didn’t notice the red rim of his eyes as he placed his hands on his hips. 

“What the hell are you two doing? Shouldn’t you be at school?” He tried to play it off like it was any other day, as though he was fine. Robin’s watchful eyes let him know she saw right through him. 

“We’re looking for places Eddie could hide.” Dustin breathed, stopping Steve in his tracks. He shut up and let them explain. 

“We were thinking he could be at Reefer Rick’s place,” Max supplied after Dustin finished his tangent. Steve remained uncharacteristically quiet. 

“Alright, well, quick. Get your shit, if we’re doing this.” Steve grumbled, sliding off his video store vest and leaving it on the counter. Eddie wasn’t dead. That was something.

“That’s great and all, Steve, but we still don’t know where the hell we’re going,” Dustin argued at Steve’s heels as the four rushed out into the parking lot. 

“I know where he lives,” Steve supplied, catching the disbelieving look shared between Max and Dustin. He hadn’t told the kids about him and Eddie. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It was complicated. Everything about him and Eddie felt complicated. He didn’t want them to be a secret, but it was a necessity to keep them both safe, to keep Eddie safe. He’d told Robin because he knew she was safe. She was an extension of himself. He couldn’t not tell Robin, but the rest of the party was still in the dark. 

“I didn’t think you did drugs, Steve,” Dustin spoke sceptically as they piled into the car. 

“I don’t do drugs... Put on your seatbelt, Henderson.” 

“Then why do you know where a notorious drug dealer lives?” Dustin pushed. 

“Seriously, kid. I’m not backing out until you’re buckled in,” Steve warned. Now was not the time to get a D.A.R.E. presentation. 

“Steve, should I be worried?” Dustin asked as Max spoke up,

“Of course he does drugs. He’s at Eddie’s place all the time.” 

Both Steve and Robin turned back to look at the girl with wide eyes. Of course, Steve should’ve realised Max saw his BMW parked outside the Munsons’ trailer. He hadn’t been thinking. 

“What? I wasn’t going to say anything because we’re all going through shit,” Max elaborated as Dustin shot her a look of utter betrayal. 

“I didn’t think you guys were... friendly. I didn’t think you liked him,” Dustin gaped, finally buckling up. 

Steve tried to drive carefully, keeping his eyes on the road and the car under the speed limit, only sometimes succeeding. 

“What makes you think I don’t like Eddie?” Steve asked, trying to keep his mind off the very real potential that Eddie had just been dragged into the world he’d never wanted him to be a part of. 

Eddie kept trying to push for answers about what happened to Steve. He kept promising he’d give them to him when the time was right, but he could never bring himself to do it. Sometimes the best thing was to remain ignorant. All the same, Steve couldn’t lie to him either, so they’d remained in limbo. 

“You always drop me off at Hellfire, but you never say ‘hi’ to the guy." 

“I wave at him,” Steve reasoned. 

“From the car, Steve. It’s antisocial.” 

It wasn’t long before the group pulled up outside of Rick’s. Steve knew where Eddie would hide if he were there. He led the group to the boathouse, searching the place for any sign of the boy. That led to Steve blindly poking around in the dark with an ore and an odd sense of hope. All of which was thrown out the window the second a body sprung up from the darkness to shove him against a wall. 

It happened too quickly for Steve to process. There was a weight holding him in place and a sharp pressure at his throat. It wasn’t until Dustin’s calls that Steve made out Eddie’s body in the dim light. 

“Woah, Eddie. It’s me. It’s Dustin,” the kid called from behind them. 

The rest of the world fell away as he met Eddie’s wide, panicked eyes. He was safe. Scared as hell, but safe. The broken bottle Eddie held at his throat dropped from his hand in an instant, as did the ore from Steve’s grasp. 

“It’s Steve, Eddie.” 

Recognition flashed across Eddie’s face and suddenly Steve was being crushed again, this time under the weight of Eddie’s arms. The boy clung onto Steve as a drowning man would cling to driftwood. He buried his face into the nape of Steve’s neck and inhaled deeply. Steve could feel Eddie’s heart pounding against his chest. He snaked a hand around to hold the back of Eddie’s neck, forcing the boy to look at him. 

“Hey. You’re okay. Just breathe with me for a second, alright?” Steve spoke, echoing Eddie’s words from the first night the two had gotten together. He watched as the rapid rise and fall of Eddie’s chest slowed. 

“That’s it,” Steve soothed. 

“Stevie,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“M’sorry I didn’t... I couldn’t go to your place, Steve. I wanted to,” Eddie continued, his hand having moved to grasp the fabric of Steve’s shirt. 

“I didn’t... I didn’t know if it’d follow me. I don’t know what the hell happened, I... you won’t believe me,” He finished at last, resting his forehead against Steve’s. 

It was slick with sweat but Steve didn’t care. The others in the room had fallen away entirely. There was only Eddie. 

“I think I should probably talk to you about that thing we keep meaning to talk about,” Steve breathed, drawing circles in Eddie’s skin. 

“Why now?” The boy asked, disbelievingly, a hysterical laugh slipping from his lips.

“Because no matter how crazy what you’re going to tell me sounds, I believe you.” 

“Alright, anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on? I thought you two hated each other,” Dustin called, shattering the moment between them. 

They pulled apart, though Eddie still kept his hand laced in Steve’s shirt while his hand migrated to the middle of Eddie’s back. 

“Why would I hate my boyfriend?” Eddie breathed, clearly not thinking, hopped up on adrenaline. 

“You’re what?” Dustin spoke, gawking open-mouthed at the boys. 

Steve inhaled deeply, squeezed Eddie’s hip and levelled Dustin with his best, unimpressed glare, practically daring him to push on. 

“That makes more sense,” Max muttered to herself as Dustin’s eyes continued to flicker between the two. 

“Shut your mouth, Henderson. You’ll catch flies. We’ve got more pressing issues here,” Steve muttered, trying to work out how exactly he could explain everything to Eddie. 

“I thought you were secretly dating Robin, not Eddie. What the hell, man? Neither of you told me,” Dustin pushed forward while Robin snorted, her nose scrunching at the idea. 

“Really not the time, Henderson,” Eddie confirmed, his fingers worrying away at Steve’s shirt. 

“That’s not fair. You’re not meant to be on his side, dude,” Dustin remarked. 

“Can we all just focus for two seconds? Eddie, what happened last night at your trailer?” Steve questioned, somehow managing to wrangle the group back to the task at hand. 

Steve knew by Eddie’s deep breath and trembling fingers what he was about to say. The world Steve had tried to protect the boy from had come to find him anyway. Now all Steve would do was be there to hold his hand as they walked through whatever hell the Upside Down had to offer.

Steve would keep him safe. Steve would always keep Eddie safe, no matter what.  

[harmonictechnicality]

*no rest for the wicked*

my teensy contribution to @thefreakandthehair's spicy six summer collection 💖 | word count: 3k | rating: T | ao3 link | also, this wouldn't exist if @chocoarts didn't send me a sketch that immediately set off sparklers in my brain so bless youuu ✨

Twenty-six hours. That’s how long Eddie has been up. Twenty-six hours and twelve minutes. The heaviness hanging in his eyes is medieval-level torturous, and the cramp in his left calf is probably permanent by now. 

A sane person who enjoys sleeping might be asking, ‘Why? Why put yourself through this when there’s a perfectly decent bed down the hall?’ And Eddie would be forced to reply back with two, simple words:

Concert. Tickets.

That’s right, Eddie is actively murdering his own brain cells to win two vip tickets on the radio. Twenty-seven hours ago, it seemed like a grand idea. Genius, even. It’s free and minimal effort - he just has to call the station every hour on the dot. No biggie, right?

Ha, sure. Tell that to the muscles in his eyelids.

“How much longer do you have?” Chrissy asks, snagging a magazine from the stack on the couch.

Eddie checks his watch. Huffs out a laugh. “Let’s just say, I could watch the entire Star Wars trilogy including the credits for each one.”

“Translating to...?”

“Seven-ish hours.” Robin quickly chimes. She pops out of her bedroom and joins Chrissy’s side, instantly threading their hands together. They share a look, one that makes Eddie believe in nice things, even in his state of misery. It’s their superpower, injecting their optimistic outlook into the atmosphere. Infectious in the best way. 

“I always forget that you speak fluent nerd.” Chrissy snorts.

“Ouch.” Robin gasps and pulls away, stomping off to their room. Too dramatic to be believable. “Get back to bed before I actually feel offended by that.”

Normally, Eddie is charmed by how hopelessly in love his roommates are with each other. But right now, they are his mortal enemies (well, tied with The Clock), because they get to sleep and he gets to stare at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan. Every now and then, it flickers, which never fails to startle him. 

Good. He desperately needs the extra alertness. 

Another forty-five minutes go by before anything noteworthy happens. Eddie’s other roommate gets off his night shift around one in the morning. The front door squeals as it opens, crackling all the adrenaline leftover in Eddie’s body. 

“Scared the shit out of me, man.” Which could’ve been a literal statement if Eddie hadn’t just taken a bathroom break.

“Gotta get this door fixed.” Steve says. That’s what he always says when it creaks. The reaction never changes, always skating his fingers over the door hinges, mouth twisting to the side. Hands on his hips in disapproval. Eddie has to look away before Steve breaks out his insufferably cute ‘foot tap’ routine. “Hey - why are you still up?”

Ah, yes. Just what Eddie needed. A reminder that it’s fucking late. He finds the energy (or common decency, who knows) to point at the phone. Then to the radio.

“You’re still doing that, huh?”

Eddie nods twice.

“Damn, I’ve never heard you this quiet.” Steve sounds genuinely surprised. A little too smug for Eddie’s liking. “Didn’t know your mouth could stay in a straight line for this long.”

There it is. The rich boy smartassery that will never die. Always lurking in the depths of his genetic makeup.

Eddie claps, total deadpan.

The conversation lulls while Steve messes around in the kitchen for a bit. He’s noisily opening cabinets and clanking dishes around in the sink. Eventually, he walks back into the living room with two beers. 

Both for him apparently. “Well, listen,” he starts out. Kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m pretty wired after work, so if you need some company-”

“Six… hours… left.” Eddie musters out.

“Okay well, I doubt I’ll last that long. But I can give it a shot.”

Eddie smirks, raises both eyebrows. “There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there. Too tired to find it though.”

“Good to know the horny part of your mind is still awake.” Steve gives Eddie a small pat on the head. 

“Oh? That’s a good thing?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” It’s too direct, Eddie hears it. And now it’s just Out There - his inability to flirt in a subtle way. And yeah, he could blame it on sleep deprivation, but he’s never been known for his mastery of ambiguity so…

The pause goes on long enough for the light to flicker again, the room growing darker with it. Steve takes a swig of his drink and smiles. “It’s good to know, Ed.”

The light flickers even darker.

Eddie is fully awake after that. Which could’ve been part of Steve’s plan - stimulate his brain with flirty comments and keep him up with those melty smiles. It’s no secret that Eddie turns into a hair-twirling loser around this guy. 

Even after living together for a year and seeing one another’s most disgusting habits, he still feels this way. Tight throat, stomach flips. Purely smitten in a way that would nauseate deadbeat poets.

In this moment, however, it’s a wonderful remedy to staying awake throughout the rest of the night. Much more effective than energy drinks and Tootsie Rolls.

Steve ends up on the floor, leaning against the edge of the couch. He sips another beer, recounting some bullshit that happened during his shift at the hotel. Eddie does his best impression of Listening to Steve’s stories, but the words are just buzzing around the glow of Steve’s hair and the shine on his lips. Nodding at seemingly appropriate times is all Eddie currently can offer.

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Munson?”

Eddie blinks hard. “Huh?”

“Creepy, but impressive.” Steve laughs, tapping his hand against Eddie’s leg. “You should add that to the Special Skills column on your resumé.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a resumé.”

They spend the next hour doing just that - adding useless skills to Eddie’s nonexistent resumé. It keeps them busy. Content. Steve smacks Eddie’s knee anytime he laughs, leaves his hand longer every time. Maybe that’s all in Eddie’s semi-dormant mind, especially since Steve shows casual affection to all of his friends. But the warmth of his palm is real enough to have Eddie fully committed to making Steve laugh as much as possible.

“What about… Expert Paper Clip Chain-Maker?” Steve suggests. 

Eddie stares at the chain in his hand, the one he was oblivious to creating. He whips it around like a lasso and then shrugs. “A bit wordy.”

“So you’re saying length matters?”

“Christ on toast, Harrington. You’re awfully quick to jump to that conclusion, aren’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just starts laughing again. Eddie didn’t even need to tell a shitty joke this time. 

And when Steve’s hand hits his knee, sliding slightly up his thigh, Eddie laughs along with him. It’s the only way to cover up the heat rushing to his face.

Eddie enters the realm of delirium with three hours left in his challenge. He slumps onto the floor next to Steve, nudging his shoulder, staring into his sleep-heavy eyes. It’s four in the morning, inhibitions be damned.

“Do you think if you ever visit Europe, they’d call you Harring-metric-ton?” Eddie picks a piece of lint off Steve’s sleeve. Perfect excuse to reach out, move in closer.

Steve groans. “Yikes. But yes, that question keeps me up at night.”

“So that’s why you’re still awake. See, I knew it wasn’t because of my silly little concert tickets.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, Eddie convinces himself that it’s the truth. Which is so dumb, so stupid. But this seed of insecurity keeps him going, fully projecting his assumptions onto Steve’s harmless comment. Somewhere deep down, buried underneath his exhaustion, Eddie knows it was a joke. But he can’t seem to shut up anymore.

“The riddle has been solved, folks! We finally know why Stevie here is still awake.” Eddie exclaims, flinging his arms out to the side. “Alert Scooby and the gang at once! Mystery Incorporated can finally pack up their magnifying glasses and pursue careers with better health insurance. Ones that covers vision costs this time. It’s what dear, ol' Velma deser-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a hand on Eddie’s arm, holding him still. Was he moving? Oh god, was he shaking? 

Fucking mortifying.

Steve’s thumb swipes across Eddie’s skin, tracing diagonal lines back and forth. “You’re rambling.”

“And you’re…” Eddie loses focus. He looks down at the hypnotic patterns that Steve is making. “There. Doing that.”

Steve stops briefly to flip Eddie’s hand over, starts tracing the lines in his palm instead. The pressure makes Eddie’s heart lurch up into his throat. He can feel it thumping in his neck, faster with every stroke of Steve’s fingers. All he wants to do is close his hand around them, keep Steve there for the rest of the night. Longer if he’d let him.

“I can stop if it’s weird.” Steve’s voice is so much quieter than it was earlier. 

Don’t stop. Eddie thinks. Can’t say it like that because gross. Humiliating and gross. “It’s not weird.”

Steve keeps his focus on the motion, Eddie does the same. They stay like this for a while, just watching. Intently staring over the invisible lines like pages in a novel. Eddie is pretty sure he’s breathing too loud, can hear it above the whistle in the air conditioner. Wonders if Steve can hear it too. 

Probably.

“That’s not why I’m staying awake.” Steve says, never breaking the pattern.

“No?”

“It’s who I’m staying awake for.”

Steve finally stops, right in the center of Eddie’s hand. The air in the room goes dense, weighted with acknowledgment. Something has changed and Eddie can feel it everywhere. 

He tilts forward, pulling his gaze away from his hand and up at Steve’s lips. If he weren’t stuck between half-awake and total-delirium, Eddie would just do it. Kiss Steve the way he’s always wanted to. Syrupy slow and deep. Savoring every second.

He could do it right now, right this second. But his focus starts drifting as he closes his eyes. “Did Chrissy tell you?” Eddie grumbles, almost unintelligible. 

“Tell me what?”

Eddie’s head falls, landing somewhere on Steve’s chest. He inhales the scent of laundry detergent (because Steve and Chrissy are the only avid laundry-doers in the apartment). It’s so soothing, drawing him further into a dreamlike place.

“Tell me what, Ed?”

“That I…” Eddie is nearly asleep before he can finish the thought. The confession:

‘That I’m crazy about you.’

Sunlight hits Eddie first, startles him so much that he jolts upward. Fully awake. It takes a few seconds of furiously rubbing his eyes before the dread kicks in. 

Morning.

It’s morning.

“Shit.”

Eddie fell asleep.

Steve fell asleep.

“Shitshitshit. So many shits!” He fumbles through the labyrinth of blankets and pillows around him, snatching his watch from the coffee table:

10:24 a.m.

“Goddamnit!”

Eddie sinks back down to the floor, clutching the phone that serves him no purpose anymore. All of those hours of waiting and calling for nothing. Even if general admission wasn’t already sold out, it’s not like Eddie could afford tickets on his own. He can barely keep up with his share of the rent. Chrissy had to cover for his grocery run last week and he still hasn’t paid her back.

It’s just so expected too - for him to fuck up like this. Always letting opportunities slip through the cracks, making careless mistakes. No one will be surprised that he failed at such a simple task like calling a fucking radio station.

Eddie sets the phone back on the table and cleans up the living room in a daze. Every now and then, he mutters under his breath about being a total moron. He stays relatively quiet for the most part though. No use in throwing a bitchfest while Steve is blissfully conked out three feet away.

Of course he looks good sleeping too, even in the midst of Eddie’s breakdown. Unfair.

Just before heading back to his room, Eddie hears that familiar door creak. Same one that always sets off Steve’s inner handyman tendencies. 

He looks back to see Chrissy padding towards him with a blanket wrapped around her. For someone who hasn’t had their mood-altering cup of coffee yet, she looks extremely pleased to see him. Maybe she knows about the fate of the concert tickets. Maybe this is an early-risers pity party.

Fucking yay.

“Chris, please don’t try to-”

His words are muffled by Chrissy throwing her arms (and blanket cape) around him. She’s so bouncy, the way she always gets with Robin whenever their favorite song comes on at the karaoke bar. He pats her on the back and clears his throat, still trying to piece together what this exchange could be about. However, Eddie is functioning on a few hours of sleep, so his cognitive skills are groggy at best.

She gives him one more squeeze and then looks up, positively gleaming. “I knew it! I knew it would finally happen!”

“That I’d screw up for the umpteenth time in my life? Gee thanks, Chris.” Eddie says.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Steve!” She whisper-yells back.

Was she snooping on them last night? He wouldn’t put it past her, snoopiness is the foundation of their friendship. Well, whatever Chrissy thought she saw, she’s wrong. Sure, Steve and Eddie flirted, both letting some potentially mutual feelings slip out.

But it was all cut short by Eddie passing out mid-flirt. God knows how Steve took that reaction. Probably assumed Eddie was so bored that he would rather sleep than makeout with him. Or worse, that Eddie was pretending to sleep to let him down easy.

Christ, he doesn’t wanna think about that right now. Not while he’s still mourning the loss of his precious tickets.

“Hate to break it to you, honeyjam, but nothing happened.” Eddie shakes his head, gesturing to Steve who hasn’t budged from the recliner. “It’s just me over here and Steve over there. No conjunction connecting us together in that way.”

He can already tell Chrissy isn’t buying it. She’s getting that little forehead wrinkle right above her eyebrows, just like an angry cartoon character. Her best attempt at intimidation. “You didn’t see what I saw.” 

“Gay desperation?”

“No, you jackass. Come here!”

Chrissy yanks Eddie into his bedroom, demanding for him to lock the door. He listens, mainly because the intimidation is starting to work a little. They sit at the edge of the bed and she begins to explain everything she saw:

Steve constructing a wall of blankets and pillows around Eddie to ensure he slept comfortably. Steve waiting by the phone, tapping his foot in that insufferably cute way that Eddie loves so much. Steve scoring the tickets, celebrating quietly to himself.

“How long were you standing at the door, weirdo?” Eddie teases her to avoid the way his stomach is twisting around her words. 

Chrissy shushes him and squeals. “And he kissed your cheek!”

“Liar.”

“He did, I swear! He kissed you on the cheek or the chin or the nose. I don't know which one for sure because my view was obstructed by all of your hair.”

Eddie instinctively combs his fingers through a few strands, undoing the knotted pieces. Not all of them, but enough to keep his hands busy while he thinks through this. Processing. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

“Positive.”

“What about a hallucination? Didn’t Byers make a batch of those infamous brownies again?”

Chrissy gives a deep sigh. “Whatever. You’re hopeless.” She shrugs the blanket back over her arms and heads toward the door. More than a fair assessment, Eddie can’t argue even if he wanted to (he always does). 

He stares at the line of posters along his wall, letting Chrissy’s words replay over and over. Imagining what it might have felt like. If Steve’s breath was warm or if his lips were soft. Eddie wonders how it looked to have Steve dipping down to his level. Staying so quiet, so careful not to disturb him. The visuals swarm his head until there’s nothing left but Steve. 

Him and Steve. Connecting them together in that way after all.

So, Eddie gets up and walks back into the living room. He takes in the view of Steve curled up in the recliner, mouth slightly parted open. Chest falling with every sniffle, not quite a snore.

There’s so many emotions while looking at him. Eddie can’t just pin one down to fully comprehend what's going on. All he can do is repeat the scene that’s occupying his mind, settling in his bones.

“Here,” he whispers, placing another blanket across Steve’s lap. It’s feathery gentle, more than he intends for it to be. So gentle that Steve doesn’t shift or stir. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and bends down, close enough to notice all the little details. The ones he’s been too sheepish to indulge in before last night. 

The tiny hairs on Steve’s forearm. The creases in his t-shirt. The bit of dried toothpaste on his chin. None of it should make his cheeks feel this flushed, but they do.

He lets the rush of bravery wash through him as he kisses Steve on the tip of his nose. Just the way Steve must’ve done to him. It’s swift, lighter than he means for it to be. Barely touching. But it’s enough to switch his heart rate up a few notches, pulsing jumping in his wrist.

Eddie steps away, waiting to see if Steve wakes up. Not entirely sure if he wants that or if he’d rather keep this memory to himself. 

“Thanks… by the way.” Eddie adds, brushing the tips of his fingers over Steve’s hand. Wishing he could trace the lines in his palm. Rewind back to last night and pause it there indefinitely. “I’ll tell you again when you’re up, but yeah.”

“Thank you, Steve Harrington.”

[whenemmafallsinlove]

hey taylor!! now that we are all in our 1989 Taylor’s Version era i thought what better way to be in my 1989 era than to write a letter to you on tumblr like i used to do nine years ago when i was just 15 years old. 🫶🏻 if you’re here, and you want the story behind these pics, click away. 🫶🏻🥰🫶🏻

so much has changed since those days. in the original 1989 era, i was a high school sophomore just as obsessed with you then as i am today. i remember being so in awe of the secret sessioners and thinking what a dream! too bad that will never be me.

today, in YOUR version of the 1989 era, aka the only version in my book, im living my best life. i’ve long since grown up, graduated nursing school, came out as a lesbian, WENT TO A SECRET SESSION AT YOUR INVITATION?!??, and am now engaged to the love of my life, Briley, who is also a swiftie. we have one dog and four cats - as last august, the cat distribution system worked when two kittens covered in fleas walked up to us on the street. we named them august and betty. i made them cardigans. i also made your cats cardigans but don’t know how to get them to you. 🤣

anyways, let’s get to the engagement part of things bc when i tell you this is the weirdest, most full circle fairy tale.

let’s start by saying the speak now era has always been extremely special to me because on august 13, 2011 my amazing mom took me and my sister to our first ever concert - the speak now world tour. that show was so magical and perfect for a little twelve and ten year old who thought you were a literal princess. i literally joined your online fan forum the next day!!

the first place i ever listened to lover was your house in nashville. okay, moving on. nothing crazy about that sentence at all.

flash forward, i moved from st. louis to kansas city to live with my amazing girlfriend. we went to the opening weekend of the tour in glendale, where i got a mirrorball tattoo bc of you playing it (and a tweet i made about it…) then we went to nashville night one.

i was already like deeply in my feels about going to your concert in nashville bc that would be the second time i would listen to the lover songs in nashville. i didn’t know how i could ever top the first time!! briley had me covered - she proposed during lover!!!!

then later that night you announced speak now tv. and it was going to be released on the day of the kansas city n1 show - where we live, where we were going. this special era i had been so looking forward to.

then the vault gets announced and there’s a song called when emma falls in love????? what?!?

so at kc n1, i was with my mom and sister and my fiancée was across the stadium with her best friend. i was already dead deceased because you played long live, but then you played NEVER GROW UP. WITH MY MOM AND SIS THERE. we swayed and cried.

THEN YOU PLAYED WHEN EMMA FALLS IN LOVE. TAYLOR I LITERALLY DIED. we as fans always joke that the stars align so mysteriously for you and that night i really felt like they did for me too.

anyways, you probably won’t ever see this (that’s how you have to sign ever letter to taylor on tumblr off!!) but just in case you do, a reminder that i love you so endlessly. my fiancée and i are getting married just outside of kc on 5/25/25 and we would love to see you there.

a thousand hugs to my fav blondie, emma (friendlyneighborhoodpegacorn) (positive hour girl who now runs swifferwins on twitter, an account dedicated to celebrating swiftie joy!!)

ps peep the mirrorball tattoo, the state of grace tattoo, and the long live tattoo (not pictured: the folklore tattoo on my ankle) the only thing missing is a handwritten “all we are is skin and bone, trained to get along” tattoo from you!!!

[aces-and-angels]

Title: Intervention

A/N: This deviates a bit from what has happened if you fight w/ Lincoln and have played up to chapter 16, but I still thought it'd be nice to share- lovers of angst with a happy ending, enjoy❤️

Pairing: Lincoln x MC (M!Rowan)

Summary: Set sometime after chapter 15 of ILW by @itlivesproject. Two weeks after the fallout, Lincoln gets an unexpected visitor.

Dedicating this to mother @linkysmommy 

nsfw below, minors dni

A knock at the front door drew Lincoln’s attention away from his sketchpad. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries, didn’t order any takeout, and made a concerted effort to not know any of his neighbors. Figuring that whoever was there would eventually give up, he continued with sketching a tattoo design for his latest client.

“Lincoln?” A familiar voice called out, her knocks becoming more insistent. The hell? He stood up from the couch to answer the door, eyes widening at the sight of the person on the other side. “Good, you’re home.”

“Amalia? What are you doing here? How’d you figure out where I live?” 

“That’s not important,” she stated simply, “I’m here to talk.”

“About what?” 

“You and Rowan.”

Rowan. Hearing his name made his chest tighten uncomfortably. He couldn’t forget how his eyes, usually so warm, kind, turned hostile. Hurt. All because of him. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he bit out, “now, if you don’t mind-” she slammed her hand against the door, stopping him from closing it completely. 

“I spent the last half hour driving all over town trying to find your building. I’m not leaving until we talk.” Her stare was unwavering, as was the hold she had on his door. She quirked her eyebrow at him as he struggled to push against her weight. 

“Fine,” he scoffed, begrudgingly stepping aside to let her pass. She was quick to make herself comfortable on his couch while he opted to stand by the door, arms crossed over his chest.

“Something happened between you two,” Amalia jumped right in. 

"Nothing happened," his jaw clenched, eyes pointedly looking anywhere but in her direction.

"Save it, McQuoid. You’ve clearly been avoiding us, and Ro's been off since the séance."

"How'd that go?" He tried to convince himself that he was only trying to deflect her attention away from him. It's not like he needed to know if he was okay or anything.

"You've always been nothing but a self-absorbed, scared, selfish little kid!"

Yeah, he didn't care. At all.

"Well, Ro got possessed by Harper," she started to answer, "but he's fine now! Ava got rid of her," she quickly added, seeing the worry flash across his face. She also didn't miss how his muscles visibly relaxed at the rest of her explanation. 

"That's good," he muttered, now focusing on the steady drip of his kitchen sink.

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

"Lincoln, look at me," her voice was cautious, as if she was speaking to a spooked animal. "What happened that day?"

"He didn't tell you?" he mumbled faintly, his eyes flickered up to her. She shook her head, concern etched on her face. Sighing, he made his way to sit beside her. His head hung low, loose strands of hair falling over his face. He busied his fingers by toying with the hair tie around his wrist. With a shaky breath, he began to speak. “He came by to ask me to join you all that day.” She leaned forward, silently encouraging him to continue. “I told him no.” 

“That’s it?” she asked incredulously. He bit the inside of his cheek, his mouth tightening into a thin line. 

“You’re not the only one who’s lost people! I lost my whole goddamn family and you don’t see me moping!” 

He gazed up at the wall where his mother’s painting used to be. “No, it’s not,” his voice dwindled to a hoarse whisper before falling silent once more. The hum of his refrigerator was the only sound that cut through the quiet. Several minutes pass as Amalia sat by him, unmoving, patiently waiting for him to elaborate. 

“You both are so stubborn,” she huffed, realizing that he won’t budge. 

“I’m no-”

“Hush,” she interrupted, her tone firm, “you had your chance. It’s my turn now.” She shifted her body to face him directly. “I don’t know what Ro said to you, but I do know that your name has come up in conversation every single day for the past month.” 

“It has?” Despite all the hurt and anger, Lincoln’s heart still picked up at that. 

She smirked at him knowingly. “It has. He wouldn’t shut up about the tattoo you gave him for days.” Flustered, he turned away from her, awkwardly clearing his throat as he tried to ignore how warm his cheeks were getting. “I’ve never seen him look that happy in years,” she whispered softly, “I think he makes you happy too.” His body stiffened. He didn’t dare look at her, afraid that his face would reveal what he desperately tried to hide. His mind betrayed him yet again as it drifted to that night at his dad’s mansion. 

“You deserve to be happy, Lincoln. And if kissing me makes you happy, then I’m more than willing to help you out.” 

“It’s been two weeks,” Amalia’s voice snapped him out of his trance, “and I can tell he regrets whatever he said, even if he’s too stubborn to say it out loud.” She stood up, ready to leave him with his thoughts. Her hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment. “If you reach out now, I bet he’d listen,” she encouraged, glancing at him one last time before closing the door behind her.  

Her words echoed in his head, but so did Rowan’s. The memories warred with each other, opening up wounds he’d much rather keep closed. Yet, he found himself staring down at Rowan’s contact photo on his cell phone. He posed with a teasing wink and shit-eating grin. Handsome bastard. During one of their training sessions, Rowan had stolen his phone to take a bunch of selfies. So many that he had to delete most of them to clear up his storage. He’d spent an embarrassing amount of time scrolling through them all before he did, secretly saving one out of the hundreds. 

His heart raced, its pulse thumping loudly in his ears, as his thumb hovered over the call button. Doubt crept up, even with Amalia’s reassurance. What if she was wrong? He wouldn’t forgive himself, he still hasn’t. He’d spent his days alone and angry- angry at Adrian Kim, angry at his dad, angry at himself. It consumed him entirely, leaving him tired. More importantly, he was tired of being angry at him. Deciding to take a leap of faith, he took a deep breath, and pressed dial. 

---

Ten minutes later, Lincoln heard a knock at the door. This time, he was ready to answer it. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” Rowan greeted quietly. He tugged nervously at his sleeve, unsure what to do next. 

“Right, uh, come in,” he gestured him inside. They both stood awkwardly in the middle of his living room, neither of them willing to start talking. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Lincoln looked up, his breath hitched when he saw that Rowan was already looking right at him.

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

He’s not sure who moved first, but suddenly they were much closer. Close enough for him to see the light freckles that scattered his face. Close enough that there was no way he could miss how his eyes drifted down to his lips. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

They were only a breath apart now. His hands found their way to his waist. “I’m sorry, Lincoln,” Rowan whispered, each word making his lips brush against his. All he would need to do is tilt his head slightly for them to touch completely. 

“So am I.” 

“Can I kiss you now?” Rowan’s voice broke as he gazed at him with a hopeful look in in his eyes. 

“God, yes.” He leaned in, moaning softly as his body practically slumped in relief at the feel of his lips on his. Rowan pulled him in closer, backing them further into his living room. A small yelp escaped from Lincoln’s lips as they fell onto the couch.

“I missed you so much,” he said in between each kiss.

“So did I,” he gasped, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth, which earned him a deep groan from the man on top of him. His head tilted back as he felt his lips trail kisses down his neck, savoring the delicious weight of his body on his. Everything was hazy, the only thing his brain could register was the warmth emanating from his skin, the way his mouth sucked right below his ear. His body moved on its own, grinding against his thighs to release the tension building between his legs. Even with them still being fully clothed, he could feel how hard they both were. “Rowan,” he moaned breathily, tangling his fingers through his hair. Soft kisses were placed along his collarbone, each sending a shiver through his body. Before he could go any lower, he placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Rowan, wait.” 

“What is it?” He lifted his head, his eyes slightly unfocused.

“Are you sure?” Instead of answering with words, Rowan gave him one long, deep kiss that left him breathless.

“Does that answer your question?” He moved his hand up to caress his face, looking down at him with pure adoration. Normally, he wouldn’t be able to handle such an intense gaze. But when it came to Rowan, he could never seem to pull himself away, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Mostly,” he chuckled faintly, leaning into his touch, “I still want to hear you say it, though.” A pleasant warmth settled in his chest at the sight of his smile.

“I want you, Lincoln.” With that, their lips joined together once more. Bit by bit, their clothes turned into a scattered pile on the floor. Rowan's tongue glided over his abs, making his muscles tense whenever he drifted just below his navel. “Someone’s excited,” he smirked up at him.

“Rowan, please,” he whined in frustration as his mouth moved to kiss his mound. His hips bucked up, but were pushed back down as he continued to kiss him everywhere but where he needed him most. 

“What is it, baby? I want to hear you say it,” he purred, throwing his words back at him. The rasp in his voice only turned him on even more. 

 “I-I need you,” he stammered out. 

“You need me to what, exactly?” he feigned ignorance, taking pleasure at watching him squirm.

“I need you to touch me,” he pleaded, his hands trying to push his head down. 

“I am touching you,” his hands squeezed his thighs to prove his point. “You’ll need to be more specific.” His mouth hovered right above him, the warmth of his breath making his cock twitch. 

Swallowing his pride, he gave in. “I need your mouth on my dick. Now.” 

“Was that so hard?” he cooed, batting his eyes mockingly at him. 

“Shut up and blow me already,” he groaned, choking on the sound as he felt soft lips wrap around his head. It took everything in him not to thrust up. His tongue swirled around his head before flattening out to take more of him in his mouth. “Oh-” he threw his forearm over his eyes, muffling his moans into the couch cushions under his cheek. 

"Don’t hold back,” he gently pried his arm off his face, “I want to hear you.” A strangled moan escaped his lips as he hollowed out his cheeks, sucking him harder. His head bobbed up and down, his hand stroking whatever his mouth couldn’t reach. 

“Oh fuck,” he cried out, writhing under his touch. He was reduced to a panting mess, overwhelmed by sensation. His muscles tightened, toes curling as he felt himself beginning to come undone. “Wait,” with great effort, he pulled him off before he could finish. “I want you inside me,” he rasped out, chest heaving. A dark look flashed on Rowan’s face, sending a thrill down his spine. 

“Where do you keep your lube?” he asked, his voice much rougher than before. 

“Behind you,” he pointed his chin towards the drawer, “condoms are there too.” Rowan quickly got up to get what they needed, placing the bottle of lube on the coffee table beside them. He ripped the foil wrapper with his teeth, giving him a sultry gaze through hooded eyes as he rolled the condom onto his cock. 

“On your knees, handsome.” His cheeks flushed at the nickname, but he obeyed, turning over to expose his ass to him. He heard him pump lube onto his fingers, shivering in anticipation when he felt him settle behind him. He let out a shaky moan as a finger pressed into his hole.

“Ah-” 

“Feel good?” 

“Very. Keep going,” he groaned as Rowan inserted a second finger. He moaned loudly when he felt them crook up inside of him. “Oh god, there!” His fingers continued to pump in and out until his breath became fast and heavy. “I think I’m ready,” he panted.

“So am I,” Rowan groaned, stroking his cock lightly with more lube before lining himself up to his entrance. He slowly pushed in, both of them moaning in relief. Lincoln can’t help but clench around him. Then, he threw his head back as he thrusted into him all at once. His pace was unrelenting, each thrust nudging the couch against the side table. He faintly heard something shatter on the floor, but he was too lost in his pleasure to care. “God, you feel amazing.”

“Rowan, I- oh fuck,” his knees buckled, unable to support himself back up. Rowan growled, wrapping his arm around him to pull him flush against his chest. 

“Let it out, baby,” he moaned hotly in his ear, sending another wave of tremors down his body. Trembling under his touch, Lincoln reached down to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts, frantically chasing his release. He came with a shattered gasp, whimpering from overstimulation as Rowan continues to thrust into him. It didn’t take long for him to come undone as well. Both sated, they collapse onto the couch.  

"I think -hah- we broke something,” Lincoln huffed, his words muffled into the couch cushion. 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Rowan answered, equally breathless. 

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” he laughed softly. 

“I’m sure I can afford it,” he lazily pressed a kiss to his shoulder as his hand stroked at his back. He pulled out once he was able to catch his breath, maneuvering their bodies so that they could spoon each other. 

“We should probably get cleaned up,” Lincoln mumbled, contradicting himself as he nuzzled into his chest.  

“In a minute,” Rowan sighed happily, pulling him in closer, “I’m not done holding you yet.”  

---

~end of side story~

[joy2paris]

My second mother Cleo Sol dropped her third album. Guys, I am in no way exaggerating when I say that this woman has saved my life. Her music is the most beautiful, calming, affirming, reassuring, uplifting, vulnerable, healing spiritual thing my ears have been honoured to have heard. I just used a million synonyms but I do not care. This is so deep but she is the reason I am still here. In the rare moments where I have been uncontrollably anxious (feel glad to say it is not been that often), or even when I have smaller moments of that feeling - that tension completely eradicates when I put this woman's songs on and just take it all in. And it is her melodies (shout out her husband Inflo for producing all her stuff) and lyrics that have given me the courage to persist, it's mad. I think it is also important to note that although she mainly restores one's equilibrium and ensures you are always accepting love and light above anything else, she does not shy away from singing about the pains of life too.

I have been blessed to have been to both of her only two concerts she has ever put on (literally such a flex, the tickets sold in seconds). I also went with a dear friend of mine, who also makes music and her boyfriend also came, and he produces my friend's stuff. These two love Cleo as much as me, which made the live performances even more special. In her very first one we were in front row and in direct view of her. The way I sobbed that evening???? It was CATHARTIC! Ugh! Brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. Her vocal ability is also unmatched. She sounded even better than her studio recordings which I thought was impossible. One of the best days of my life, no question. I ordered a poster of her second album all the way from the US specifically to bring with me to Paris. If I could bring nothing else but that poster I would have done it. I needed to have a visual reminder of her everyday lol. Her debut album is what first introduced me to her (shout out my other dear friend who put me onto her). You know those artists where you instantly fall in love with their stuff. She actually dropped that album on my 18th birthday, which was only exactly a week into lockdown. Everything she sung spoke to me in ways I did not even realise was possible.

I listened to this new album as an extremely exhausted individual on the first metro back LOL. I was way too tired to take it all in, but I instantly fell in love with the last track. I had very high expectations as you can tell from my opinion of her other two albums (her group SAULT she is part of is also magical; pure magic). I have listened in a more awake state and she did not disappoint. As of now, my heart still lies with the other two albums but I can assure these ones will grow on me even more. I really like 'Heaven' and 'Miss Romantic' - the latter has an upbeat, sassy feel which is fun to listen to.

I just remembered that she also links to this whole year abroad thing too. As stated many times, I was up in arms about deciding. I chose to do the age old trick where you flip a coin and whatever the thing lands on you do. “I am Free - SAULT” which Cleo does the vocals for was playing in the background (I filmed myself doing it - I would post here but I am loving this anonymous life on here so far). Hearing that alongside receiving the side of the coin that said to do it, it made me emotional but I just really chose to listen to the lyrics and just go against the grain of myself. Bro I sound so moist😂😂😂😂But this is all true

I really want to meet her one day and tell her how she literally saved me haha

[desertdollranch]

Last night, the Dusty Mountain Dollies had the privilege of donating their time and talents to a fundraising music festival. It featured local musicians, including the best all-girl bluegrass band in town! They were joined by two friends of theirs, Fernanda and Ellen, whose hearts were moved to participate in the concert alongside their pals.

The concert was to benefit the evacuees of the wildfire in northern New Mexico. The fire is currently the largest one burning in all of the United States. Luckily, no human lives have been lost, but several thousand people have been forced to leave their homes behind as they seek refuge in nearby towns and cities. It’s very tragic. But I’ll talk more about that at the end of this post.

The Dusty Mountain Dollies are always happy to share their music with their local fans. They’ve been publicly performing together for about eighteen months. They’ve grown a lot as a band and in their relationship as sisters. 

Nine-year-old Leanne nearly sets her fiddle on fire with how fast she busts out those tunes. 

Her 11-year-old sister Jillian “J.J.” keeps everyone grounded and steady with her guitar and her deep, soulful voice. 

And ten-year-old Sierra sings lead vocals while she tears it up on the banjo. Do you see Sierra’s shirt? The girls finally came up with a band logo, and so they made themselves some matching shirts featuring three mountains, representing the three sisters. It says “Summer Tour 2022, Taos New Mexico”. They’re not really going on tour, but it makes a nice shirt slogan.  

The sisters were so pleased and excited to welcome two guests to share the stage: 13-year-old Fernanda on mandolin, and 10-year-old Ellen on the dobro! The mandolin is a high-pitched string instrument that provides nice contrast to the low tones of the guitar. The dobro, also known as a resonator guitar, gives the band’s sound a rich twangy undertone. 

The girls always like to finish their concerts with a song performed a capella. For this, they chose the traditional American song “Unclouded Day”, dedicated to the survivors of all wildfires and the heroes who fight them. 

This latest, devastating wildfire is consuming one of the largest untouched wilderness areas of the American Southwest. Several thousand residents near the fires, as well as their animals, have had to evacuate to places farther west and south, including Santa Fe and Albuquerque. Hot, dry, and extremely windy conditions have only worsened the spread of the fire, with no rain in sight. I can see the enormous smoke plume from my kitchen windows, and it’s awful to witness firsthand. Here are some resources if you’d like to join me in donating whatever money you can to help (this is not an affiliate link and I earn nothing from it). My dolls and I are a safe distance away from the worst of it, so there’s no need to worry about us. 

[jimblejamblewritings]

not a soldat | part 10.

Summary: Y/N L/N is not a superhero. No serums, no agencies. Just a civilian from a long line of family that’s served in the military. Y/N’s a history buff and bit of a spy in her own special way. This somehow lands her in trouble she never saw coming and straight into the hands of Falcon, Captain America, and Black Widow… if she doesn’t get caught in the unbreakable grasp of the Winter Soldier first.

Warning for the Series: violence, angst, slow burn

Pairing: Bucky x black!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

Just like Romania, you and Bucky lived near each other. Unlike Romania it wasn’t two separate apartments but a simple two bedroom.

“You used my room as a storage closet?”

Bucky watched as you moved the boxes from his room. You had lots of paperwork and journals that putting them in Bucky’s room was easier than properly organizing. He picked up the boxes as best as he could with one hand and moved them into your room.

“What’s yours is mine,” you said with a shrug.

“What’s yours is also yours.”

“How’d you know?”

“I call you printesa for a reason… oh, there’s clothes in here.” Bucky looked at his closet.

“Yeah, I bought you some stuff for when you got out,” you called from your room.

“I hope they fit, I had to go with measurements from your Winter Soldier uniform.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said as he stepped into the living room where you now were.

You had ditched the heels and kimoyo beads, now that you were out of the office, but were still in the dress and matching headscarf. Now that you two were in the same space, Bucky wondered if he would ever see you in a state of dress down.

“We should get ready now before the evening gets too late.”

One thing Bucky didn’t know about you was the tendency to turn showers into a concert. He could hear you over the water of both his and your showers. Bucky rifled through the clothes, his eyes landing on a sharp suit. Clearly, you had this dancing idea in your head for some time now.

“(Y/N)!”

You stepped into Bucky’s room. He gave you an up-down when you entered. Your dress, paired with kitten heels, was a little longer than normal and in a more 40s silhouette. You had your makeup done, full face he wasn’t used to seeing and dark lipstick, your hair setting in big hot curlers. The tags were abandoned on the dresser in your room— leaving just exposed collarbones.

“I can’t exactly tie a tie with one hand.”

You stepped up to Bucky and took the tie in your hand. He could smell your perfume with you right under his nose. You dragged your bottom lip between your teeth as you tied it. You pulled at the knot and stepped back, the tie wasn’t good. You tried again before sighing and throwing the tie on Bucky’s bed.

“It’s cooler without a tie anyway,” you said as you undid the top button of his shirt and fixed the collar.

T’Challa was nice enough to provide you guys a driver for the evening. You and Bucky exited the car and stepped into the club. The music was nice and the atmosphere was crowded but not too much. You and Bucky sat at the bar to start.

“So how are you, really?” you asked him after receiving your drinks.

“Relieved. I can’t really remember anything about the Winter Soldier right now, it’s like I’m going slowly through each year gathering memories. Just like before stepping into cryo, when I started the journals.”

“What year are you on right now?”

“Finally remembered the mission with the Howling Commandos right before the one where I fell off the train. I know the HYDRA years are coming soon, I just hope it’s not too bad.”

“Well, I’m always a door away if you need me.”

“Știu, printesa.”

“What’s that mean?” you asked, taking a final sip of your drink.

“What do you think it means?”

“Thank you?”

“Not even close.”

“Alright?”

Bucky shook his head. “One more try and I tell you.”

“I know?”

Bucky held up his glass and smiled. “Right on the money. Second lesson. I know is stiu.”

“Second lesson? What was the first?”

“Printesa… I like this song.”

“You know this?”

“Used to sneak on down to Harlem to go dancing sometimes.”

“And how did they take it?”

“Thought I was causing trouble the first time. Then one Dorothy Brown interrogated the hell out of me, bought me a whiskey and taught me all the dances she knew… ‘lindy hop like your little white friends one more time and I won’t let you back in the club’, tough dame that one.”

You laughed before hopping off of the barstool. Bucky asked what you were doing when you pulled at his arm.

“You promised me dancing.”

He let you pull him towards the floor when a slower song came on. Bucky stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do. Taking a girl dancing was nothing new for him but he had both his arms when he did. Bucky didn’t know about the new arm you had in commission for him.

You hummed in thought for a minute before wrapping both arms around Bucky’s neck. He placed his hand around your waist and you two swayed to the music. After two songs, the music picked up again slightly. Bucky wasn’t willing to let you step off the floor. He promised you dancing, he was going to figure out dancing. He grabbed your one hand like normal.

“Wrap your hand around my shoulder.”

You did as he said, wrapping your hand around him like a hug instead of just placing it on the front of his shoulder. It was a little hard but Bucky could still lead in a dance. You smiled as Bucky spun you around.

“I would dip you but I don’t think that’ll work out.”

“What if I dip you?”

“You know how heavy a super soldier is darlin’?”

“Mmm, okay maybe no dipping.”

He chuckled and spun you around once more. When the song ended, you and Bucky decided to go home. You had tried to phone Steve but whatever mission they were on, he couldn’t be reached. Bucky said it was fine and he would phone his friend again every few days until he picked up.

Bucky thought he would finally see you dressed down and was surprised when he was wrong. He had heard the kitchen sink run and decided to pretend to get a late night snack but you were still in the dress when you got your glass of water. After that, he didn’t hear your door open for the rest of the night.

~~

“How was work?” Bucky asked when you came back.

You still chose to spend half of your working hours at the mini office in the lab. Part of it was because you enjoyed the distraction the scientists brought. The other part was to give Bucky his space with the therapist who came to your home. So, you ate breakfast in the morning with him and then headed to the office where you stayed until after lunch. Today, the therapist was still there— their session running long.

“It was fine, I’ll be in my room so you can continue. Don’t forget T’Challa’s official coronation is in three days when he comes back from his mission. I think Ramonda wanted us to stand with them.”

“Înțeles, mulțumesc printesa.”

“Understood, thanks?”

“She’s learning.”

“She’s trying, I’ll stop interrupting your session now.”

You closed your room door and put on your headphones before going back to your work. The headphones weren’t necessary according to Bucky but you insisted. You wanted him to feel that he had complete confidentiality with his therapist. What you didn’t know was that Bucky didn’t care, he already trusted you with so much. You being in the room wouldn’t stop him from being able to tell his therapist everything. The phone rang and you picked it up seeing it was Nick.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any information on a project called Weapon X? We think something might have pulled up on our radar.”

“Nick, I’m going to need a little more than that for an idea of where to start. Can you find me a year or maybe a name attached?”

“I’ll try but can you start looking?”

“Of course I can. Is this a mission report or file for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Understood, Director.”

When the therapy session ended, Bucky knocked on your door to let you know it was over. You opened it and went back to your bed. He would usually leave you alone for one more hour to finish your work. Bucky flopped onto your bed, flesh hand hitting the back of your calf. He was very touch starved and at some point when you had opened up more to him, he took the opportunity to have a hand on you whenever he could— usually tapping the familiar door knocking pattern.

You closed the notebook and sat up on your bed, the warmth of Bucky’s hand leaving you. Now that it was you two alone in the house, you finally removed the thigh strap and knife, setting it on the bedside table.

“Where are you now?”

You would always ask Bucky where he was in the memories. It was going slow but the scientists were worried that there would be a trigger and they’d rush in all at once, more than Bucky would be prepared for. So you asked him and kept track of the dates as best as you could. Bucky wrote down everything in his journal as well, but that because he wanted to be able to give S.H.I.E.L.D. an extensive firsthand account of what happened.

“Training, alone right now. I think my first small mission is coming soon.”

Bucky looked away.

“Hey, whatever it was, no matter how bad. It isn’t you. That wasn’t a life you chose, Buck.”

“I know, but it doesn’t change that it happened.”

“I’m not a therapist but I do know what always makes me feel better.”

“Yeah?”

You extended a hand which he gladly took as you led him to the kitchen. The sink was already clear since you and Bucky didn’t like the dishes to stay in the sink too long. He confusedly put his head into the sink like you said while you ran to his bathroom to get his shampoo and conditioner.

“My momma used to do this for all of us. There’s something really nice about having someone else wash your hair.”

Bucky hummed as your fingers worked through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. He listened to talk, trying to switch between English and Romanian the way he did, while you went through the whole routine.

~~

Children laughed and greeted Bucky as he walked to the lab. He had gotten used to the familiar shouts in Xhosa calling him ‘White Wolf’. Why a wolf, he wasn’t sure but it had become his new name. He was carrying a bag that held his and your clothes for the coronation. Ramonda insisted on you two not only being there but being dressed for it like the rest of them. You had been sent to a tailor a week ago and he had gotten a call that the garments were done.

“Printesa!” Bucky called as he walked into the lab.

You looked up from your work, instinctively smiling when you saw him as if you didn’t come from the same house. Bucky gave Shuri a hug when he passed her station and then dropped the bag onto your desk. He leaned over you on the other side of your desk, watching as you finished a paragraph switching constantly between the Xhosa dictionary and the notebook. You were writing up a report for T’Challa about that particular notebook since it belonged to a general.

“Give me a word,” you said without looking up from your work.

“Hmm, iubire.”

“You taught me love already.”

Words like that from you and Bucky made the scientists at their work stations shake their head in disbelief as they watched him pull at his tags until you looked up from your work— he had yet to take them back. Even Shuri couldn’t check herself anymore. Someone wanted to set you two up on a date but no one would invade the friendship you two had.

“When?”

“Thursday.”

“Atunci ce vrei să înveți, printesa?”

“Give me a hard word.”

“Încoronare.”

“And that means?”

“Astăzi, este încoronarea lui T’Challa.”

“Today is T’Challa’s coronation?”

“Pretty soon you won’t need me to teach you.”

“I’ll always need you, Buck.”

He sat down and waited for you to email your report. You got up with him to head into the main part of the palace to change.

You and Bucky stood a bit behind the guards on the boat that held the royal family as it moved down the river. Your head was bobbing to the drumming. Shuri pulled you in and forced you to dance with her and Ramonda, showing you the simple foot movements. You and Bucky looked in awe as the water was sucked up and revealed a magnificent cliffside— Wakanda never ceased to amaze you. You followed to where Okoye led you behind Shuri and Ramonda.

“I, Zuri, son of Badu present to you T’Challa, the Black Panther.”

You cheered along with the others. Watching T’Challa lose his powers for the ceremony seemed painful. You and Bucky were a beat behind everyone, not knowing the customs like they did, but picked up every movement and when to cheer pretty quickly. You watched as each tribe declared they wouldn’t challenge. You didn’t think they would, T’Challa was the best they could ask for. That’s when you heard grunting and chanting from a place you couldn’t identify. You watched as big men in white body paint came from one of the caves.

“Are they Jabari?” Shuri asked her mother.

“Yes.”

So these were the famous Jabari who you had read about but, aside from the few Dora Milaje that came from there, had never seen. The largest of them stepped up to T’Challa and Zuri before turning to face the people of the cliffs.

“We have watched and listened from the mountains! We have watched with disgust as your technological advancements have been overseen by a child who scoffs at tradition!”

M’Baku got closer and you instinctively grabbed Shuri as the Dora Milaje blocked her with their spears. You moving to hold her, moved M’Baku’s attention to you and Bucky briefly.

“And have brought outsiders to our precious kingdom. Now you want to hand over it all to a prince who could not keep his own father safe. We will not have it!”

You watched Zuri place T’Challa’s panther helmet on him. The Dora Milaje left their position to join him. You had read about the challenge but honestly didn’t think you would see it. You watched with bated breath as the two men fought, especially after M’Baku knocked off T’Challa’s helmet. It was brutal. Their raw power was incredible. You cheered with everyone as T’Challa held M’Baku in a thigh grip until the bigger man tapped out.

(Part 11)...

[keikigoodbetter]

....howdy, everyone! Looooong time no see 😅😅

I’m sitting in my room right now, waiting as a friend drives over to spend the last few hours of 2022 with me, and I thought I’d try to put down a few of my thoughts as I reflect on the year. It’s been a while since I checked in for real with y’all and for that I am very sorry. (fwiw I dropped contact with quite a few folks irl too, so it wasn’t just you lol)

2022 repeatedly hit my blindside and hit it HARD. I spent a lot of the year in reaction-mode as surprises both good and bad kept coming at me fast; this year had some of the worst lows of my life, but also some of the best highs. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

At the risk of being too personal, here’s an overview of some of My Notable 2022 Moments:

Start the year about 8 months into a really good headspace, to the point where my psychiatrist agrees that if I’m still A-ok by springtime then I can likely step off my antidepressants!!

Help move my Grandma out of her home and into a memory care facility

Have surgery

May 7: Go dancing with friends I haven’t seen in years, to celebrate being alive and together and that I’ve finally finished my degree

May 10: Find out my parents have filed for divorce and will be selling my childhood home, that our family build by hand, by the end of the summer

May 14: GRADUATE COLLEGE!

May 15: One of my best friends goes in for surgery because her pain-management implant is no longer functional. There are complications and she needs 3 more surgeries before the month is over

Return to martial arts after years away

Help babysit the very sweet toddler-age child of someone I went to gradeschool with. (Have an existential breakdown about how old I suddenly am and how unlikely it is at this point that I’ll get to be a mom)

All summer: help clear out my Grandma’s things from her house, move my dad’s things to his new house, move the rest of our family’s things to my mom’s new house, and do repairs and cleaning at our old house

Have to start reminding myself again to get out of bed and eat and not walk into traffic

A best friend flies in from out-of-state to go with me to a disco night

See the Colorado Avalanche Stanley Cup Championship Parade!

Make a great costume and go to the Renaissance Festival in drag

Officially move out of our house; August and September are time soup

A friend from college that I’ve dearly missed moves back to Colorado

SEE MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE LIVE

My brother gets injured

Our house sells

TWO of my job applications that I was really excited for pan out and I’m asked to interview for both of them. The one I like better calls and offers me the position within 3 days! I’m going to start part-time at the local library in January!!! 😭😆

I spend an amazing afternoon with a friend on a maybe-a-date... 👀

I see many friends and family and have a wonderful holiday season

  ....Realize I might feel ok again soon

 (and, as usual, I also saw a lot of great concerts this year!)

....WHEW. Like I said, it was A Lot All The Time. Sorry to overshare 😅  but I just - idk - I feel like I need to write it down somewhere so there’s a record of all the shit that I experienced in the last 12 months. And I feel like some of you are my legit friends and might care about some of these developments? lol idk 😅 sorry if that’s presumptuous.

Anyways, all this to say that I know I’m not particularly an outlier and that most people have crazy things happen all the time. That’s life! But I hope that if you had a rough year (like me), that things turn around for you soon (also like me?). There is always the promise of something wonderful happening just as much as there is the risk of something terrible; and I think growing up is learning to balance the threat of those two extremes without falling down for too long when a new circumstance hits you.

I grew so much in the last year and for the first time in a long time I’m actually excited about what the future might look like for me! 2023 will be hard and full of new challenges, but I think I’ll be ok. And I think you all will be, too.

💖💖💖

All of my love, forever and ever,

C.

[corijamison]

“I KNOW WE’RE ALL FUCKING EXHAUSTED; AM I IN MY HEAD OR HAVE WE ALL LOST IT?”

INTRODUCING…

NAME: Coraline ‘Cori’ Loretta Jamison

GENDER & PREFERRED PRONOUNS: Cis woman {She/Her}

AGE: 26

BIRTHDAY: January 10

ZODIAC: Capricorn Sun, Leo Moon, Scorpio Rising

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

FACE CLAIM: Maggie Lindemann

HOMETOWN: Brooklyn, NY

OCCUPATION: Actress (Francesca Gillian on Unashamed) & Musician (Quickswitch)

CHARACTER PLAYLIST: HERE.

UP NEXT: “DEBBIE DOWNER” BY LØLØ

BIOGRAPHY: tw drugs, overdose, death, mental illnesses, runaway, homelessness, hospitalization, suicide attempt, homophobia / biphobia

Coraline Loretta Jamison was born at 1:10 AM on 1/10/1998 in Brooklyn, NY (she’ll pull her birth certificate out to prove it). Her mother was a teenager and couldn’t take care of her, so she was given up. Her adoptive parents being a young couple who couldn’t have a child, so it wound up working out perfectly. Cori grew up in a loving household. Her father being a homicide detective whilst her mother a preschool teacher. Though her father was rarely home, she adopted a lot of his traits.

Her curiosity for the world and everything around her was one of those traits. Her mother, though sweet, restricted most if not all of Cori’s freedom. But that’s expected when you live in an area that contains 90% of crime for the whole state. With her father having such a dangerous job, it only made sense for her mother to be overbearing on her. But overbearing parents made rebellious kids. Cori would always sneak off to Manhattan for as long as she could remember.

Cori was always intelligent, but she’d swear up and down that she hated school. The truth of the matter is that everything was too easy for her, so she would just skip classes or not show up, altogether. It did get progressively worse as she got older, especially in high school; If it weren’t for her grades and her family’s name, she would’ve been dropped. It just..... didn’t hold her attention, and she would rather be in a record store in the East Village than have to sit in a room with people who took an hour to comprehend two lines in a book.

Cori had a lot of mental obstacles she didn’t quite understand. Most of it was rooted in her identity - feeling like a stranger in her own skin, constant disassociating. People would say her name and she wouldn’t feel as though it was her. She was suppressing her bisexuality for the longest time, mostly due to her mother thinking it was a ‘made up’ sexuality. In Cori’s mind, she was a girl who went to school - but what else?

She never really voiced these feelings, fearing she would seem crazy to others. Instead, she found music. Now, Cori already had fond moments with music; Most being the jam sessions with her father in the car. Her taste of old-school punk actually came from her father, his favorite band being The Sex Pistols. She also had her city friends, when she would sneak out at night and crash concerts of more underground bands all throughout the AMs. But, on her 15th birthday her father took her to see Green Day on their 99 Revolutions Tour. Billie Joe Armstrong actually pulled her up to play guitar, and it was that moment that she knew she wanted to pursue music.

Her father gave her his old guitar from back in his high school days, and she would go to school (or skip) and just practice for hours. This created a distance between her and her parents, which made her mother even more controlling. The pressures from her mother to focus more in school and pushing this pre-established path her mother created for her, made Cori push back. Feeling as though she couldn’t breathe nor have the freedom to grow and develop into who she was meant to be, she ran away at age 16.

Cori couch surfed between her friends in the city, also being sucked even further into the night life. She dabbled within her sexuality as well as drugs. Though, being so young, she didn’t understand the extremities of her actions. She was brought home after being hospitalized due to an overdose and she wound up moving back in with her parents.

Her parents wound up telling her about her adoption when she hit 17, which pushed her over the edge and mentally destroyed her. This strained her relationship with her parents, marking no trust and a blame she put on them for her identity crisis. She always felt there was something wrong and that she didn’t fit, and unloaded that blame on her parents (mostly her mother). It was around this age that she became very ‘fuck you, and YOU, AND YOU’ towards everyone. It was also around this time that because she couldn’t be a voice for herself, she became a voice for her friends and those who were dealt the short end of the stick in life.

She was hospitalized again at age 18, but due to depression. To this day, she’ll swear she didn’t know you weren’t supposed to take that many sleeping pills. Through the program in rehabilitation, she gained a support system from those going through the same shit she has. She had a newfound confidence that was built so high that once she was out, she announced that she wanted to be a musician. Her father was disappointed in her choice and well as her mother. They still pushed her to go to a community college to gain a degree as a backup, where she dropped out within the first semester. Her parents wound up kicking her out because they weren’t going to house someone who was ‘going nowhere’ in their life.

Being kicked out had her back on her friend’s couches, and back in the nightlife scene more than usual. She was a merch girl for one of her friend’s bands, and that introduced her to harder drugs. She lost one of her friends to an overdose and swore she’d stay away from any of it, ever since. Seeing that NYC held more negative memories than positive, Cori packed her bags and wound up wandering around the country with only $60 to her name. This is the point in her life where she claims she found her home; her people with whom she banded together with in order to conjure up a crazy band - banking everything on her dreams and the kooky family she found for herself: Quickswitch.

Quickswitch was created as a way to bring feminine power to the punk-pop/alt scene. It was not by their own doing that they blew up on TikTok; fans posting videos, which landed Cori and the band to migrate to California. With the lack of a record label, Quickswitch was on the rise but was on the lookout for that vital piece in order to reap any benefit financially. Cori wound up being ‘discovered’ by a casting director who popped into the record shop where she worked double-time to make her part of the rent. Basically being handed the part of Francesa Gillian due to the interaction they had, Cori knew it was a dream but not her dream. She took it for the sake of the money. With the success of Unashamed, Cori and her band were able to attract enough attention from record labels. Ultimately, they utilized a majority of Cori’s income to create their own label for themselves; Not wanting to fall into a binding contract and fucking themselves over by the blood-sucking management of a big label. In honesty, they didn’t need much of PR with the success of Cori’s show. Now, if only she could quit the acting gig. Unfortunately, there’s no way she can without black-balling herself. So, she kinda is just waiting for the network to stop renewing her show so she can give all her time and energy to her genuine passion in life.

EXTRA-EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT HER!

Cori is heavily extroverted. You can’t tell, based on how closed-off she appears. But, she would go crazy if she had to go the day without conversing with people. She loves late night adventures, horror films, and last minute plans. She’s impulsive and reckless when bored, and takes a liking to thrill-seeking activities mostly because she’s numb on the inside and wants to feel something, ya know? Cori is very just. This comes from being raised by someone in the law enforcement field, but also from the music she was raised on. She’s very quick to defend and root for the little man. She’s also very passionate about people being themselves and throwing social norms out the window. Cori is sarcastic; She’s a Capricorn, okay? She calls other people out for their shit (but god forbid you call her out), and keeps her circle very small (fear of rejection if she shows people the real her). If she does see you as a friend, she will 10/10 be loyal: call her up at 2 AM if you need her for anything, she’ll be there. She’s always down for debates and will play devil’s advocate for the fun of it. She loves conspiracy theories (totally thinks Courtney Love killed Kurt; loves joking about simulations). She has a problem sleeping, and her sleep is just all around fucked? She can sleep for 3 hours and be good for 72. She loves food (Taco Bell for the win). Uh, idk what else to say - oh, she doesn’t trust people. She’s also very secretive about her past and no one knows about it besides the fact she’s from NYC. She also hates the fame and wishes she could give it up - but it’s far too late for that; Definitely thinks she shouldn’t be someone who has fans.  

HEADCANONS

Cori has a padlock necklace she wear religiously from her father. It’s a replica of Sid Vicious’ who is both of their favorite band member from The Sex Pistols. She wears it as a salute to her father, because even though he kicked her out, he was the one who was always there for her and who she viewed as her best friend. He’s part of the reason she got so into music (introducing her to bands via jam sessions, the Green Day concert). To this day, she never talked to her parents.

Cori goes by ‘Cori’ because she watched Coraline as a kid, and it scared her shitless. Now the movie is one of her favorites, but still goes by Cori for signature sake.

Cori is vastly educated in music due to her extensive obsession and research growing up. Her knowledge on vinyls comes from her dealing with vinyl specialists in the city when she was younger and hungry for inspiration. Due to this, she was hired as a vinyl specialist for a short period when Quickswitch was gaining their footing in LA. 

Cori isn’t medicated. This is mostly because she’s too stubborn to see a therapist, but she also uses her humor? Basically, she is like every other comedian you see on Netflix who make other people laugh and happy because they can’t make themselves happy. She’s also really good at hiding her unhappiness, because of her comical trait.

Her favorite pun of all time is the scene from ‘Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2′ when the boat goes off the cliff and the guy goes ‘AH! THERE’S A LEAK IN THE BOAT!’ and then it pans to a LEEK AND THE LEEK SCREAMS. She laughs for a good 5 minutes at that.

She is the lead singer, rhythm guitarist, and main songwriter for her band; Though, she can play upwards of five instruments, total.

PERSONALITY:

+ Comical, Open-Minded, and Adroit

- Self-Destructive, Enigmatic, and Outspoken

[babbbles]

A letter to my inner child:

Hey. It’s been a while… my life has changed and I think it’s for the better, mostly. I finally left home and moved to an entirely different country and it’s been good. I love my roommates, I found a job, I’m starting to look forward to things again. I finally stood up to her and told her how much she hurt us, and while, sadly, she still refuses to acknowledge everything and still victimizes herself, we’re doing better. We don’t call as much, J and I have a somewhat of a closer relationship. I miss home and it’s not even home, it’s the people that made it feel like home. My seasonal depression is kicking in and I’ve been thinking about how life is pulling all of us in different directions and I sometimes wonder if I’ll actually ever go back home again or if I’ll see most of my inner circle again. We’ve made new friends, too! It’s scary but we’re better, I can promise you that. We’ve had to let people go and while some of them hurt most than others, we’ve been better off without them. You’re still dealing with a lot of internalized homophobia, but I think one day we’ll get rid of it. Um, we have a cat and he’s the chonkiest. You also have a niece and you’ll literally put your loathing of children aside whenever you’re around her, she’s honestly amazing and we both love Harry Styles, too.

I’m scared of this new chapter of our life if I’m being completely honest. Being away from 90% of your triggers is weird, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, to see if she’s back and angry. But most of all, I miss my grandparents. They’re my world and leaving feels like I’m going to wake up one day in a different country to the news that they’ve died and I don’t want them to, I want them to live forever because they raised me- they’re my real parents and most days I sit down and think of I actually made the wise decision to leave because while I am happy, I am shattered that they’re not here with me.

In less depressing news, you had your first tinder hookup, started university, bought your clothes for fall and winter, and let me tell you, we are very excited to see snow for the first time and probably end up hating it by February. Your roommate took you to a corgi parade and it was AMAZING! You’re making friends at uni and it’s fun seeing so many international people in one place. We have plans to find a therapist here to try and figure out if there’s underlying issues to our diagnosis and maybe even get a different one.

You also had the happiest summer of your life. We actually lived long enough to see our best friend graduate college and she now has the job she dreamed of. We went to two concerts and you had the time of your life. Harry released his latest album just in time for the summer and Matilda hits too close to home but our favorite song from the album is probably satellite. You went out to hang out with friends and got home extremely late on multiple occasions and only got caught drunk one time, but it’s all good- you were starting to be yourself. You taught abuela how to make cakes and decorate them and you also gave her a lot of recipes before you left. You stood up to mom, establish some boundaries, and you made sure that your brother was going to be alright. Last but not least, you managed to say goodbye to everyone you wanted to and you even called the friends that had moved to the states because even though they were far away, you always carry them with you everywhere you go.

Even though the worst season for us has started, I see a light at the end of it and it’s really refreshing to have some hope and aspirations after a decade of just wanting to be six feet under. We’ll be alright, I promise, it’s my turn to take care of you now.

With love,

You.

[a-sentient-horax]

November 27, 2023 - Part 1

Okay, well, we made it through Thanksgiving. My mom came down with my three siblings: my sister (17), my brother (15) and my youngest brother (9). I actually hosted Thanksgiving last year as well, but it was my dad, his girlfriend, and his parents (my grandparents) that came down. It's the fun of having divorced parents I guess. Now, my boyfriend and I live in an apartment. It's not small, but it's not huge. Or at least it's not really the size to host a 6 person Thanksgiving, BUT I've made it work twice. The way that we do it is we cook all the food in our apartment, load it all up into this wagon that my bf and I have had for years, and then take it all to the conference room in our apartment. The conference room has a huge, 10-person conference table, so it's the perfect place for a dinner. It also has a TV so that we can watch the Cowboys lose while we eat. I think probably definitely we aren't "supposed" to do that, since we didn't reserve the conference room and it's not meant for like, a ton of food to be in there. But I've gotten away with it twice.

My mom and I have a historically rocky relationship. When I was 12 I moved in with my dad full-time, and then when I left my home state I didn't talk to my mom at all for about two years. We have started to reconcile over the last few years and it has been mostly linear and successful. The older I get the more insight I have into my mom and her behvaiour, I mean that's sort of like, what happens when you grow up right? You can't understand your parents as adults when you are a child because you are still a child. You can't even understand yourself as an adult yet.

My mother has some kind of personality disorder, or something. I'm not a psychologist, I'm not going to pretend I can diagnose her. I see content about "cluster B" personality disorders and those seem to fit. In the past I called her a narcissist and bipolar. Again, I don't know, but she exhibits behaviors similar to the ones I hear about from those personality disorders. I have tried to make a concerted effort to destigmatize personality and mental disorders, and I would stake my life on the fact that whatever quirks my mom has are directly related to abuse (from her parents, from bullies, from her ex-husbands and ex-boyfriends, etc.); but it is very, very difficult hard to have a mother with a personality disorder. It was harder as a child, because I couldn't really understand why I was always wary of my mom, or why I could recognize she was different from others but now how she was different or why it made me feel weird. But as an adult it's like, a whole new understanding.

When I was a kid my mom was abusive to me. That's not what this journal entry is about. She yelled at me often, was rude, picked on me, punished me often, was extremely controlling and her moods were erratic and impulsive. She robbed me of a childhood and I was forced to raise my siblings and myself while constantly being berated for not doing exactly what she wanted every time and reading her mind and emotions to understand what she wanted from me. I think these things are independent of her mental illness, or at least that they weren't caused solely by it. We were poor, her second husband was incredibly physically abusive and a drugs addict. Getting out of that situation yeah probably requires that you parentify your eldest daughter and you are under constant stress. And of course her parents yelled and screamed as their only way of communication so that's what she did to us. It's not all from mental illness, it's a compounding of factors. Again, I can really only recognize that because I'm an adult now.

So, my mom comes down for Thanksgiving, and it's a weird sort of view I have of her. It's clear that I'm not "part of the family." And while that hurts, I understand. I left them all behind, the four of them live together all the time now without me, I'm not a key member of their family anymore. Man that hurts, but ok I understand. It also produces this weird thing where I am watching my mom perform for me as if I was an outsider. And I started to notice weird things. One event that I keep thinking about is when we were walking my littlest brother around a local town center area. It had been decorated with Christmas things for kids to play with, like there was a big toy wooden plane they could get in and pretend they were flying, there was a huge 6 foot tall Rubiks cube, etc. etc. Also in the area was a huge life-sized unicorn. There was a group of about 7-8 people, all childless adults who were clearly pretty drunk, and they were taking turns on the unicorn. After one lady gets off the unicorn, the group kind of huddles around and starts talking. They are still staying near the unicorn, like they want more pictures, but they are talking with each other and no one is on the unicorn. Now, my family was standing to the side, waiting our turn, definitely out of sight of the group, it's not like they saw us waiting. But we were waiting for our turn, letting my littlest brother go nuts on the toy train. My mom keeps looking over there, and it's clear she's getting impatient or upset, or at least that she's about to do something. And suddenly she takes off. She stomps right up to the unicorn and starts struggling to get on. So that's the situation. 7-8 strangers are giving my mom the evil eye, while she struggles to get on this unicorn and is like, waving at us to take her picture. And it was profoundly embarrassing. My boyfriend, the kindest loving soul I have ever met, has never in his life acted embarrassed by my or any of my family's actions, but when this happened I heard him mutter "I can't... I can't..." and he walked away to monitor my youngest brother. He does not like kids, and he decided he would rather hang out with the 9 year old.

And maybe that's what I am struggling with as an adult. It is humiliating and embarrassing to have a parent that has a disorder. And it sucks. It's mean to say, I don't want to be embarrassed by my mom, I don't want her to humiliate me and my siblings, because my siblings were humiliated and immediately wanted to leave after my mom did this. And I can't confront her about it and even if I could is it even fair? Is it even fair to force my mother to conform to a version of herself that is not embarrassing to me or to our family in public just because I don't like to feel embarrassed? And is it even her fault? Could she actually change even if I confronted her and she wanted to? She is already so stressed and so lonely and is struggling through her life, what am I supposed to say to her, "You clearly have a disorder of some kind and this immutable part of you that you cannot change is what is driving people from having an authentic connection with you so you need to change your authentic self to be more palatable for me?" I mean I just...I don't know what to do and it makes me feel sick inside thinking about it.

[adiarosefandoms]

Aunty ‘Chelle

About two weeks ago, my aunt passed away of metastatic breast cancer. As far as families go, mine isn’t the grandest. Besides an immediate group of four, the ones we keep most in contact with are my Nana and my aunty Chelle. She raised my dad as well as two boys, fought through and prevailed against her first battle with breast cancer, and cared for others in a way that guaranteed empathy to them as well as pain on those who hurt them. She was a tiny, kick-ass, feisty, compassionate, genuinely loving person who wasn’t always dealt the greatest hand, but continued to play the game with an unmatched stubbornness. I had one larger cry session about six days after she passed, and from day one to now have experienced the oddest little drops in my mood. Like I suddenly missed a step going down and in the moment didn’t know if I can catch myself. Like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room for a minute. I figured I’d post my feelings on here since no one in my family would see it, and if there was ever an app to prattle on like an intense therapy session, Tumblr would be that app. Below is the art that keeps reminding me of her. Some make me feel fond, some make me feel sad, some make me want to thank her a thousand times over for my dad, some make me want to just lie down and weep.

Metallica Above all else the thing that reminds me of her is the heavy metal band Metallica, which has been her favorite since longer than I knew her. I listened to it and little else the week she passed resulting in two things. One: Enter Sandman left me in gasping sobs in the locker room stalls. Two: I realized Master of Puppets is glorious and it has taken the mantle as my favorite Metallica song. No, I will not take any criticism.

Into The Woods (2014 Film) While my parents went on a date night the first year we moved to our new state (where aunty ‘Chelle lived), me and my sister stayed at our aunt’s house and I watched Into the Woods with her for the first time, which would become a little phase of mine. (I think I also had my first watch of Grease with her.)

Johnny Depp So not exactly a piece of art, but rather a person. Aunty ‘Chelle loved every movie he was in. Edward Scissorhands, Sleepy Hollow, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, and the film pictured above. A Pirates of the Carribean poster we got for her four years ago is now set in a frame in her younger son’s room.

Stevie Nicks My parents bought tickets for me, my dad, and her to go see Billy Joel and Stevie Nicks on tour (she was in it for the latter). My dad brought home two bags of my aunts clothes the other day and I kept a tank top with Stevie Nicks on it that I’ll now be wearing to said concert.

Marvel Movies Most times we visited my aunts old house we’d see the ten-dollar grocery story action figures placed on tables or strewn on the ground. Mostly Spiderman or Captain America, (the second of which I think was mainly caused by my father). A result of her younger son whom she’d watch the movies with as they came out. We knew her passing was coming, my parents especially, and the same day she died we kept our tickets to see Ant Man: Quantomania. Because honestly, my parents are naturally the type to cry in intervals rather than a larger grief session, and they personally watched her health decline. They knew and so did what they could, but when all was said in done just wanted a little distraction before being brought back into the aftermath. While a fun film that worked well as a little diversion, we were all kind of struck as the opening title card appeared on how she wouldn’t get to see this or any future Marvel films release with her son.

Just fifty years old, she should have had fifty years more. I miss her like hell, and I look forward to really taking in all the art she loved so I can know her better, even now that she’s gone. She was an amazing person who will always have my love and thanks. Love you aunty ‘Chelle. 🌻🌻🌻

[yaeran]

[tokyo rev timeskip] my girlfriend is an idol??

ran haitani

ran,, i’d like to think he didn’t know about you being an idol— perhaps it was because he was too busy with his gang stuff but he just happened to meet you out of the blue and eventually started dating.

no one would’ve ever guessed the relationship, first off all the differences between you both, ran being an ex convict, active gang member and you, the perfect bubbly idol everyone loves. the only thing you guys had in common was the busy schedules. despite that you guys always made time to meet each other or even send texts.

one day he walked into one of the bonten rooms where haruchiyo and rindou often stayed in and saw haru putting up a poster of a person ran knew the facial features of too well.

ran being a bit too confident a firmly spoke, “you guys been spying on my girlfriend and i?” thinking this was all just a prank to tease ran that he had a girlfriend. the silence and confusion was loud, rindou and haru’s jaws could’ve touched the floor.

“take that down!” ran raised his voice walking towards the two.

“ran you drunk?” haruchiyo gasped still holding the poster up. ran furrowed his eyebrows then squinted at the poster. why is the photo so high quality? we’re you a model or something?

ran examined the photo more but was distracted by his brother that was wheezing a bit too loud.

“ran when did you start to like idols? even enough to call them your girlfriend?” rindou spoke through his wheezing. “why do you have this?” ran asked frustrated not hearing the question.

haru finished putting up the poster then t posed in front of it to keep it away from the lanky boy that looked like he was about to rip it off, “it’s just a poster of my favourite idol, can you chill?”

ran really didn’t understand the situation, “quit playing,” he towered over haru, rindou quickly pulled his brother back still laughing at the situation, “you guys can have the same favourite artist, don’t fight ran you’re not going to be her only fan.”

“favourite artist?” ran croaked with a confused tone.

haru and rin peeked at each other, “ran who do you think this person is?”

"that's yn?"

"precisely, yn ln the popular artist. we've played her songs around you before," haru looked like he was lecturing a class.

"songs?" ran was really a lost boy.

"how else do you know yn ran?"

"i'm dating a girl that looks like her and has the same name," he bluntly responded.

“what’s her occupation?”

“why would i know that?”

“does she know what your occupation is?”

“yea but i told her i’m an accountant.”

“wtf-“ rindou sighed, “what about, you guys have a conversation about your personal lives.

ran thought about it.

“and then when she does tell you she’s the amazing idol yn, can i meet her?” haru cuts in.

“no”

+ + +

and so he confronted you about your job.

you said you didn’t think it was important but in the first place ran must’ve been living under a rock for not knowing who you were.

it also explains the bizarre outfits that covered your face way too much when you’d go on dates, ran always wonders about the scarf on during summer.

he loves asking you about your music and started going to the concerts with haru and rindou.

he only now finds out some of the music you wrote was about him.

you still think he’s an accountant, his real life is still hidden.

extra:

the reason why ran faked about being an accountant is being one, he has no idea how to explain his job to yn, two, if ever yn wanted help financially, he can call koko for help.

haru was the only one that was a fan of you, you’ve noticed him from some of your concerts and you remembered him screeching cheering for you during your concert :D

rindou has only heard your music through the version of haru’s screaming.

haruchiyo always flirts with you, and has your number but he flexed it so much it’s almost gotten leaked at least 3 times. you probably went on more outings with haru than ran cause he’s stated “if she can’t be my girlfriend she’ll have to be my best friend”

the whole of bonten loves you, often asks ran to share.